Devour, p.17
Devour, page 17
Scott nodded dramatically.
“Good call,” he said, turning to Scott. “Natalie’s graduation is tomorrow and we’re expecting—”
“Oh my god, that’s right. You’re a father now. Holy shit! How old’s your daughter? Well, I’m guessing 18 if she’s graduating tomorrow, right?”
Michael stood. “Seventeen actually. Smart kid, which is why she’s graduating early. And yes, lots of her classmates and their families want to celebrate at the…” he bowed, “Nicest restaurant in all of San Francisco.”
“Your brother’s modest, too. Listen, you gents continue without me. Besides errands, I need to kill this crushing headache before I return—in an hour,” she smirked.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Barthold,” Scott smiled, extending his hand.
“Same here,” she smiled, returning the gesture. “And you can tap the brakes on formality, Scott. Jasmine will be fine. Welcome aboard.”
“Okay, you go chill,” Michael said to Jasmine, “And we’ll get started in there,” pointing toward the kitchen.
She was nearly to the lobby when Michael turned to find her looking at him and smiling. They waved and she was out the door.
“Might as well show you the ropes, Scottie, ‘cause now’s as good a time to start as any.”
Slamming Michael’s hand with a high-five, Scott shouted, “That’s what I’m talking about!”
As Michael waved his brother toward the kitchen, a nagging thought echoed in his mind: We don’t speak for decades and he shows up outta nowhere, needing a job…odd.
38
Cluster Freak
Michael gave Scott a thorough tour, provided paperwork to fill out, gave him a key, and showed him where he could find a uniform. There was enough work for him to get started, so he did. Michael, on the other hand, had his mind elsewhere as his anger reignited at the thoroughly odd and ridiculously awkward situation between Jasmine and Dalton.
Fuming, Michael entered his office. Inside, he paced, feeling the heat rise inside his shirt as the Alpha in him had awakened. He was not going to stand by and let anyone mess with any of his girls—family or otherwise. Taking a seat, he used a breathing technique to tame his temper.
No such luck.
Removing Dalton’s card from his desk, he dialed from the house phone. Someone named Baxter answered, saying the Warden was on another call, and asked if he would mind holding for a brief moment. While he waited, he glanced across his desk to the list of wines he had prepared for Dalton’s infamous dinner.
Blackmail is more like it, he thought.
“Michael, what a surprise!” Dalton bellowed through the phone. “Run across a wine you just couldn’t refuse?”
Taking a breath, Michael said, “Surprise is right, Dalton. However, it appears you and I have a more than slight problem.”
Dalton’s defenses switched on to full alert.
Grinning, he said, “Reeeeeally? What, pray tell, could cause such a thing?”
“Where do I begin?” he snorted. “First of all, what’s with the cloak and dagger? Are you so lame you have to demean others and yourself with fake names and professions just to get a date?”
“Woah, woah, Michael. First of all, let’s all take a breath—”
“Don’t tell me to take a breath, you pompous fuck.”
Dalton had to literally bite the inside of his mouth to keep from coming unglued. Running his tongue across the inside cheek, he tasted blood and enjoyed it.
“Michael, allow me to stop you right there. And to assure you that I am, indeed, a pompous fuck,” he said, breaking out with insane laughter. “But that notwithstanding, I think it best we discuss this face to face. Like gentlemen. If you could—”
“I could give a shit, Dalton. Or should I say Nash? James Nash? Where the hell did that come from? Not important. The main reason I called is because I don’t give a shit what you call yourself, or what you do on your own time, but what I DO care about is how you treat my friends or my family. And this time? You’ve crossed the line. What in the—”
“Stop!” He yelled. “Apologies for the outburst, but Michael, I won’t be talked to that way. And I certainly won’t be disrespected by you or anyone else.”
Taking a breath, Michael jumped in. “Warden—if that’s even true—what were you thinking asking out my employee, then proceeding to get her drunk—only to take advantage of her?”
“Well, if you’d stop interrupting and allow me to answer, I have a perfectly good answer for all the above.”
Michael took a breathy pause and mumbled, “Do it.”
“Thank you,” he mocked. “First of all, the faux moniker is for business reasons. Do you have any idea how hard it is getting a date as an officer who works at one of the most famous prisons in America—home to notorious and depraved killers? Especially when every association to the institution involves nothing but heartless men of wicked character?”
“Well,” he eased, “I can only—”
“Yes, you can only imagine. But I live it. Every single solitary day of my life. It’s not easy. And having lost two important girls in my life …” he paused for effect. “Sorry, but having lost my wife and child—well, perhaps you can imagine. But let me tell you, dating these days is entirely different than it used to be. And it certainly isn’t easy.”
Softening just a bit, Michael said, “Well, sorry for your loss. I didn’t know you were married or even had a child.”
“Thank you.”
Reignited, Michael barked, “But Jasmine told me you got her drunk and tried to take advantage of her. And it wasn’t particularly—how do I say it—sane? I mean, what the fuck, Freddie?”
Trying to keep from screaming, he strained, “Frederick, please. And Michael, we’re all adults here. And good or bad, we’re all different. And we have different ways of, well, showing affection.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Please stop interrupting and allow me to explain. Let me begin by asking you something. Are you aware of how much she drinks?”
Michael did. In fact, there had been more than a couple of occasions where she came in late to work because of being over-served the night before. But Michael let it go because she worked so hard, and it never really had any effect on her work.
And it wasn’t that late when she showed up.
And besides, he was crazy about her.
“Actually, I do.”
“Then you perhaps see my side—”
“But that gives you no reason to—” he took a deep breath. “Wait, is it true you nearly bit her tongue off?”
Dalton howled with laughter for a good long moment before saying, “Apologies for that outburst,” he cleared his throat, “But Michael, is that what she told you?”
“Yes!”
“Right. Well, I don’t believe it’s necessary to go into great length with you—for obvious reasons—but she is rather, how shall I say, aggressive. I mean, she’s a beautiful woman—don’t get me wrong—but she’s larger than most women, and, well, powerful. I imagine she’s always gotten pretty much whatever she wanted.”
Between Dalton’s calm demeanor and logical explanations, it was becoming easier for Michael to see his reasoning.
“Perhaps I can see your point a little better, Dalton. But it’s pretty hard to swallow.”
Oh, what a fine choice of words, my ignorant friend, Dalton thought. “I knew you would,” Dalton sneered to the mirror across the room.
After a long beat, Michael said, “I suppose since you put it that way, I can better understand the need for a fake name. I mean, I never spent much time in the dating circuit, but I have pals on dating sites, and they say how everyone lies through their teeth about everything. Like women and their photographs—you know how that goes.”
“Yes, I do, Sir. All too well. And again, to ease your mind, it was Jasmine who was being the aggressor. Sure, I had a couple too many cocktails, but I would never, ever demean or hurt a woman. You have my word.”
Michael was hearing what appeared to be Dalton’s truth. But he also knew Jasmine very well. Even with her overzealous drinking from time to time, she was a woman of her word.
“Nonetheless, Freddie—I mean, Frederick—I’m sure you can understand how I need to be protective.”
“Understood, Michael. Completely,” he grinned.
“And furthermore, I think it’s best for us to, well, keep your little dinner on hold. Just for now, anyway.”
Dalton stared at his image in the mirror as his fury ignited. The thought of his not getting his way made his face flush and his eyes bulge. And as much as he wanted to reach through the phone and strangle his opponent with the chord that connected their call, he knew he had to remain calm if he hoped to get what he truly wanted. Dalton wanted his chance with Michael more than the warden job which allowed him to hunt his prey. And certainly more than having the chef’s hot-headed girlfriend.
“Dalton? You still there?”
I know exactly what I’ll do, he thought. “Yes, Michael, sorry. My man-servant Baxter just entered the room with a note,” he crumpled paper for effect. “Seems as though I’m being summoned into a meeting. My apologies.”
“No worries. But before you go, we’re clear, right?”
Dalton could care less what Michael said next. It wouldn’t matter because he was going to turn his world so upside-fucking-down he would need directions to see which end was up.
“Absolutely. The dinner is off. Until further notice. And Michael?”
“Yes?”
“Before I go, and since I want to be respectful of everyone’s schedule—can you give me an idea of when we should plan for our event?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, calculating his girls’ trips, the new restaurant launch, and the new book he was working on. “I was going to say two, but let’s just be on the safe side and say three months. Between all the different—”
The ringing in Dalton’s ears began—it always happened when he got so angry he could not think clearly. He could hear Michael rambling far in the distance—behind the piercing sound and the incoming freight train of a headache. He could just make out the half-assed excuses Michael was babbling, but quite honestly he did not care. In fact, he could not give a shit.
Because he wanted whomever he desired—whenever he desired them.
The men ended the call—neither of whom got what he wanted—but it was apparent one would win while the other would lose. And what they won or lost remained to be seen.
One thing was certain: someone would be eaten alive.
39
Memory Lane
After the call, Michael took a small snort of a prized 20-year old single malt Scotch, then retreated to the kitchen to prepare a quick dinner for him and his brother. It was the first time they had had a meal together in forever. It felt odd at first, but as they discussed what both had been up to all these years, Michael tried not to overthink matters while Scott did not drill down on specifics. Michael surmised his older brother had definitely become the screwup instead of Michael—something neither one of them would have expected to be the case over two decades ago.
Scott seemed genuinely interested in the path Michael had chosen and listened as he shared the years of education and apprenticeships he had nurtured—moving from New York to Los Angeles, and eventually back to San Francisco. Kathryn had always wanted to return to her hometown in order to raise her child in a less frantic city, and it had become the best decision. Scott asked question after question about Natalie, completely excited about the opportunity of one day nurturing a relationship with his only niece. Learning Scott had spent several tours—as he called them—inside State prisons, Michael developed a skepticism about allowing them to become too close too fast. Even with Natalie traveling overseas, then returning to leave immediately for college, he relaxed knowing time would handle matters in its own way.
Michael disclosed how close he and Natalie were, and how she was the best thing that had ever happened to him—even better than his marriage to Kathryn, as awesome as that had been. He explained it was better than his decades long dream of running his own restaurant, which surprised Scott. As hardened as he had become over the years, Scott felt a lump in his throat when he heard his kid brother talk like that. While he did not show it, Scott was both happy for and a bit jealous of his brother because Scott knew he would always be a fuck-up. Unfortunately, he had followed in his father’s footsteps; however, not all of Sebastian’s doing was his own fault. Scott swore to himself he would never tell Michael what really happened. That would be something he would take to his grave.
As their meal came to an end, Michael was having a battle in his mind, debating about mentioning the Dalton thing to his brother. Given the fact Dalton was the warden where their father was incarcerated, it would only make sense they had potentially met.
Then, as if on cue, Scott asked if Michael had seen or spoken to their father lately.
“Funny you should ask,” Michael said, taking a last bite before taking their dishes to the sink. “Actually got a call recently. About that very thing.”
Scott’s head whipped up. “Really?”
Michael’s back was to his brother as he rinsed the dishes; he thought he should let out the line to see where the conversation went.
“Yeah, Warden Dalton at San Quentin wanted me to come up and meet someone,” Michael continued rinsing the dishes. “So, curiosity killing the cat and all, I went,” he turned and grinned.
Scott’s eyebrows raised instantly. “Really?”
“Yeah. So, I figured why the hell not,” he snorted. “And went to see our old man.”
He stopped to sip the last of his coffee, waiting to see how his brother would respond.
Nothing.
“Crazy right?”
Nodding, Scott swallowed. “Yeah, freakin’ crazy. I mean, geez, I don’t know the last time I saw him,” he said, walking to the sink to put on an apron.
“Like about a year ago?” Michael said, watching his brother.
Scott looked from the corner of his eye. “Um maybe. Yeah, I guess that sounds about right.”
Michael grinned, having no doubt his brother was hiding something. Checking his watch, he knew Jasmine would arrive shortly, and he needed to decant a rare bottle of wine for a standing customer. Besides, his Sous Chef Kiko would arrive any minute to begin prepping.
“Well, I gotta get to it,” he started out. “We can talk more about that later. If you like.”
“Sure,” Scott said to Michael’s disappearing back.
Three hours later, Michael and Jasmine had their hands full with a packed restaurant operating as a finely tuned machine. People were enjoying the best food San Francisco had to offer while laughter and clinking glasses were the background orchestra of the beautiful space.
Like most nights at Dévorer and with most clients who dined there, money was no object. Business was exceptionally good, and life seemed wonderfully calm—until someone arrived to change all of that.
40
Kinky Combo
Later that evening, a town car pulled to the curb, and the driver quickly circled to open the rear passenger door. Dalton stepped out first, scanning the area as though avoiding paparazzi, then held out a hand to assist his beautiful date. Her long legs appeared first; tan and muscular, they practically shimmered in the evening light. Shoulder-length red hair framed exposed shoulders while her ample cleavage nearly emptied from her dress. Her ice-blue eyes were captivating and full lips—colored to match her hair—begged to be kissed. As she appeared, even the doorman’s eyebrows raised.
“Good evening, and welcome to Dévorer. I’m Jameson. Allow me to get the door for you.”
Dalton nodded, slipped him a crisp twenty, and smiled to his date. “You’re in for a real treat,” he whispered in her ear.
“Good, I’m famished,” she purred—her perfume igniting his ravenous appetite.
“Then you’re at the perfect place.”
Keenly aware he was navigating a precipice of decline—thanks to the display of his current date in front of his last one—he relished kicking the bee’s nest. As far as he was concerned, all were hearty fare to consume.
Entering the restaurant, his date immediately turned heads, and not just the men—women also could not help but stare. Dalton watched Jasmine glide through the dining room, smiling and nodding, and gently touching a male patron’s shoulder or the hand of his female date. It was her signature: creating a warm and personal touch for every customer's experience.
As soon as Jasmine’s eyes connected with Dalton, he saw what certainly was a visceral reaction. She may be a good seductress, but not a good actor, he thought.
“Hello, Jasmine. Nice to see you again,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Dalton,” she said with a smirk. “Or is that—”
“Allow me to introduce my date. Jasmine, this is Mystic. Mystic, meet Jasmine. Don’t you just adore the colorful names.”
They both nodded as Mystic replied, “Charmed, I’m sure.”
Jasmine’s expression was priceless. She could not decide whether to burst out laughing or show Mystic to the coat rack where she could strip and ride it like the pole dancer she imagined her to be. Instead, she smiled pleasantly and consulted her reservation screen. Confused, she saw that a reservation had been made, however, not by her.
“I see you do have a reservation, Mr. Dalton.”
Holding a single finger in the air, she entered the dining room and spotted a table near the kitchen.
“Excellent, we do have a table,” she turned and smiled. “It’s cozy and near the back. Please come this way,” she nodded for both to follow.
Dalton scanned the room, hoping to be seen.
Mystic was scanned by the room, easily seen.
Approaching a table much too close to the kitchen for his tastes, Dalton leaned to Jasmine and whispered, “Could you be a dear and find something closer to the front? Such a lovely view, don’t you think?”
