King of Envy: Chapter 14

While Ayana answered the door, I went to the dryer and retrieved my shirt. I pulled it over my head, my mind seething with the mistakes I’d made today.

Offering Ayana a ride. Agreeing to come upstairs. Telling her about my past with Jordan. Fucking laughing.

All perilous missteps that drew me closer to her orbit when I should’ve been keeping my distance.

I’d sold her a half-truth about the Brotherhood and what I needed Jordan’s money for, but if she’d asked me for details, I might’ve told her—not everything, but enough that she would look at me the way other people did. Like I was a monster in a man’s clothing.

In her eyes, I was a better man than I would ever be, and I was too selfish and masochistic to disavow her of that notion.

If I couldn’t have all of her, then I’d hoard the piece of her that still offered me a glimpse of hope for redemption.

The low murmur of voices from the entryway intruded into my thoughts. One male, one female.

Ayana and who? Jordan? An overly friendly neighbor? Who the fuck was visiting her in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon?

The possibilities dug under my skin.

I shut the dryer door and headed into the living room. Ayana’s back faced me, but I spotted the tension pouring off her body from a dozen feet away.

“I went there to consult on something for the wedding. That’s all,” she said. An edge ran beneath her calm tone.

“I see.” The oily response made my molars slam together. Hank fucking Carson. I’d recognize his sleazy voice anywhere. “I find that interesting, considering Brown, Kermit & Wells specializes in business contracts. Specifically, breaking them.”

“Marriage is a contract, and it’s certainly business for quite a large number of people.” Ayana’s voice chilled another degree. “I love Jordan, but I would be foolish not to protect myself.”

I love Jordan.

A vicious pressure swelled in my throat. I forced it down, but the toxic green residue lingered like a stain that refused to fade.

“That’s good to hear.” Hank’s tone smoothed enough to hide most, if not all, of his skepticism. “I simply wanted to check in and make sure we were on the same page. Emmanuelle would be upset if she heard you were planning to leave.”

I’d heard enough.

I came up behind Ayana, my body coiled with pent-up tension. Hank was already on my radar after their limo call in California, and I’d waited patiently for the right time to strike.

But my patience was fraying, and if he didn’t remove the threat from his voice when he talked to her, I was going to rip his tongue out, patience be damned.

Hank opened his mouth, but it froze into a shocked O when he saw me. To his credit, he stood his ground this time instead of running off like he had at the Vault.

“Mr. Markovic. What a surprise.” He recovered, his gaze sliding between me and Ayana. A curious gleam entered his eyes. “I didn’t realize you and Ayana were so close.”

“We ran into each other earlier, and he was kind enough to give me a ride home in the rain.” She responded before I could. “I invited him up so he could dry off. Now, if there’s nothing else you’d like to discuss, I have a kickboxing class in an hour.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to get in between you and your workout.” Hank’s lips pursed. “It’s a shame you’ll be missing Paris and Milan this year because of your wedding.”

A warning noise rumbled up my throat.

He flinched, and he took a small step back before quickly adding, “A wedding which I’m sure will be beautiful.” He glanced at me again. Behind a veil of fear, the gleam in his eyes turned speculative.

I bet he was already spinning a thousand stories about why I was in Ayana’s apartment—stories he would then use to manipulate her into doing his bidding.

I’d met men like Hank before. I’d killed men like Hank before. I knew exactly how they operated.

He must’ve sensed the danger brewing in the air because he jerked his gaze away and left with a hasty goodbye.

Ayana shut the door with more force than necessary. She faced me, a crinkle of irritation digging into her brow. “Sorry about that. I had no idea he was going to drop by.”

Does he make a habit of showing up at your house unannounced?

“No, which is why I was so surprised.” She sighed. “He got wind that I visited a law firm a few weeks ago. They’re known for getting their clients out of iron-clad contracts, and he suspected I had plans to leave Beaumont.”

A cold whisper rattled through my veins. My team couldn’t confirm my hunch about the founder, which worried me more than if they’d proved me correct. Either I was overthinking the connection I’d made with the dossier, or Emmanuelle Beaumont was in league with people good enough to wipe her history clean.

Either way, Ayana was better off without the agency, but they wouldn’t take too kindly to losing her.

Are you? Leaving Beaumont, I clarified.

She hesitated. “I’m thinking about it.” Caution underlaid her words. “There are a lot of considerations at play, which is why I consulted a lawyer. I didn’t mention it to Hank for obvious reasons. If I stay with Beaumont but they find out I’d been thinking about leaving, the career repercussions would be…dire.”

I wasn’t familiar with the intricacies of the modeling world, but I knew that certain agents wielded disproportionate power. Emmanuelle Beaumont was one of them.

I studied Ayana. She’d curled her hand around the doorknob again, perhaps unconsciously, and she met my gaze so steadily it was as if she were forcing herself to make eye contact so I wouldn’t think she was lying.

She wasn’t happy with Beaumont—that much was clear. But based on the few interactions I’d witnessed between her and Hank, I bet she’d already made up her mind about leaving. She just didn’t want to say it out loud yet.

Why do you want to leave?

“Turning the tables on me with the questions, I see.” Ayana’s brief smile faded. “I’ve been with Beaumont my entire career. They’ve done a lot for me, but I think it may be time for me to branch out. Plus, Hank is…Our personalities and working styles aren’t a good match.”

There was more to the story than she was telling me. There always was.

I’d heard horror stories of the way agencies treated some of their models. Perhaps Ayana’s success protected her from the worst of it, but even the biggest names weren’t immune to exploitation and abuse in an industry with so few regulations.

The general public thought celebrities could do whatever they wanted, but many were beholden to their agencies, labels, and other powers that be.

Something dark and insidious stirred in my gut. I needed to dig deeper into Ayana’s relationship with Beaumont, but right now, I had a more pressing question: if Ayana didn’t want her agency to know she was leaving, how did Hank find out about her visit to the lawyer?

“I’m not sure how he knew I met with a lawyer.” It was like she’d read my mind. She dropped her hand from the doorknob and touched the pendant at her throat. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. He knows everything.”

My eyes narrowed. Explain.

Her hesitation lasted a beat longer than normal. “He just has a way of finding things out,” she finally said. “For example, he knew you were with me in California instead of Jordan. He mentioned it during our call, but I hadn’t said a word to him about it. There are other things too—little details about places I’ve gone and people I’ve met outside work. I haven’t asked him about it because I don’t want him to know it bothers me.” She let out a rueful laugh. “Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I feel like if I call him out on it, he’ll double down. And he’ll be more careful about whatever he’s using to keep track of me so I’ll never find out how he does it.”

Ice spread through my veins, cold but searing.

“Before you ask, yes, I’ve swept my apartment and devices for bugs,” Ayana said. “I didn’t find anything.”

How often do you check? I kept my hand movements tightly controlled even as the beast inside me frothed at the mouth to hunt Hank down.

Her expression turned sheepish. “Um, twice total?”

Christ. My team swept my house, car, offices, and devices daily. Old habits died hard, and the corporate world could be just as ruthless as the criminal one.

There are certain surveillance devices that basic bug detectors won’t pick up on. I should know—I’ve used them myself. I’ll have my team do their own check. They’ll be discreet, and we’ll get to the bottom of it.

Ayana released a shaky breath. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it. Truly.”

I’ll be in touch. I reached for the door.

“You’re leaving already? I mean, you haven’t finished your tea,” Ayana added hastily.

I almost smiled for the second time that day.

I wanted to stay. She was clearly shaken from her encounter with Hank—which was exactly why I needed to leave.

I’ll finish next time. I opened the door. I have some business to take care of.

Hank lived in an apartment on the west side. It was a strikingly average building for a man who flaunted expensive watches and blustered as much as he did, but the contrast tracked with what I knew of human nature.

The smallest men compensated in the biggest ways.

I parked a few blocks away and entered the no-doorman building with no issues. My search for the mystery Brother would have to wait another day; I had a more pressing issue at hand.

One text to Sean had turned up Hank’s address and license plate number, while an educated guess led me to believe the agent had gone straight home after leaving Ayana’s place.

His senior agent role at Beaumont meant he had more flexibility to work from home. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner, and Ayana’s apartment was relatively far from the neighborhoods where fashion types usually met. If he’d had a packed afternoon, he wouldn’t have had time to see her and make it to his meetings. Ergo, his most likely location was at home.

One knock proved me right.

Hank opened the door, still dressed in the same shirt and tacky watch he’d sported earlier. His eyes rounded when he saw me. “What are you—hey!” He yelped when I shouldered past him. “You can’t just come in like that! You’re trespassing!”

I ignored his caterwauling and assessed his apartment with a dispassionate glance. It was an open space, so there were no walls dividing the living room from the kitchen and dining areas. Flat-screen TV, magazines stacked on the coffee table, dirty dishes in the sink. The typical bachelor pad.

“Get out or I’ll call the police.” Hank fumbled with his phone, his hand shaking. “Right now.”

I strode to the kitchen and plucked an apple from the fruit basket.

“Did you hear me?” His voice pitched higher. “I’m calling the police!”

I pulled a knife out of the wooden block.

Hank’s face paled, but he didn’t dial 911. It would take time for the police to get here, and I could do a lot in a short amount of time.

His tone turned coaxing. “Is this about Ayana? Because I swear, I was only there to check up on her. She’s one of my most important clients. I care about her well-being.”

Funny how fast he switched up. He didn’t seem so tough now that he didn’t have an easy target to intimidate.

I slowly peeled off the apple’s skin with the knife. The methodical motion restrained my rage, but the more Hank babbled, the more those restraints frayed.

His voice reminded me of his conversation with Ayana. His conversation with Ayana reminded me of how upset she’d been—and of what I’d overheard before I made my presence known.

I love Jordan.

The keen edge of the blade tore through the apple’s flesh. A chunk of it fell into the sink next to the pieces of skin.

Had she been lying, or had she been telling the truth? I’d convinced myself she wasn’t as excited about the wedding as a bride should be.

Perhaps I’d been wrong.

The last piece of skin landed in the sink. I took a bite of apple while Hank fell silent. He appeared to have realized his odds of survival were better if he didn’t talk so fucking much.

I didn’t take a second bite. Instead, I walked toward him, knife and apple in hand. My steps echoed against the bare wooden floors.

Hank inched back until he hit the couch. His gaze darted toward the door, clearly gauging his odds of escaping before I reached him. They weren’t good.

I stopped a foot away. Up close, Hank’s eyes were slightly bloodshot, and he reeked of cologne. He stared up at me, his face several shades paler than normal.

My rage simmered and swelled. It strained at its leash, begging me to let it loose and carve out my frustrations on a man who was little more than an overblown bully.

The wedding. The Brotherhood. The stress on Ayana’s face when she’d been talking to him.

All that would feel so much better with a little slice or two.

My gaze flicked from Hank’s face to his hand, to the couch, and back again. A crinkle formed between his brows before realization dawned.

He opened his mouth, then shut it and rested a shaky hand on the top of the couch.

I shook my head and notched my chin up. He hesitated before turning his hand palms up. Beads of sweat dotted his hairline.

I placed the apple in his palm—softly, almost gently.

A beat passed. The crinkle in his brow smoothed, and his shoulders relaxed. “If you⁠—”

He cut off with a piercing scream as I brought the knife down. It happened so swiftly Hank didn’t get a chance to react before I drove the blade straight through the core.

His scream was still ringing in the air when the tip of the blade met human flesh. Blood stained the fruit, its faint coppery scent mixing with the smell of urine as Hank pissed himself.

He held the apple, seemingly catatonic with shock as I stepped back. The knife quivered from the residual force of my violence before it finally stilled.

If I hadn’t stopped when I had, it would’ve torn through muscle and bone and rendered his right hand useless.

My lip curled. I’d merely nicked him, but his near brush with mutilation had wiped away all his false bravado. His skin resembled wax paper as he shook like a lone leaf in the wind.

He had no problem threatening or spying on Ayana, but push back a little and he pissed himself.

Pathetic.

I left him in his apartment, covered in piss and blood, and calmly made my way back to my car.

If I’d had my way, I would’ve taken things a few steps further. However, Ayana was the last person he’d been seen with—her building’s security would’ve documented his arrival—and I didn’t want to place her in the middle of a murder investigation.

So no, I couldn’t deal with the agent the way I wanted yet, but I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do.

What happened in Hank’s apartment proved you didn’t always need words to communicate.

He’d heard my warning loud and clear.