Chapter 212
Raven
"Well then," I said, my voice honey-sweet and utterly false, "what are we waiting for?"
Chandler hesitated. "The Surgeon prefers to conduct meetings on his own terms. He'll send for you when he's ready—"
"Chandler." Nash's voice dropped into a register I recognized. It wasn't Anthony's bluster anymore. It was something darker. More dangerous.
The kind of voice that had probably ordered executions over breakfast.
Chandler must have heard it too, because his smile faltered.
"We didn't fly halfway around the world to wait in line like we're at the DMV," Nash continued softly. "So here's what's going to happen. You're going to take us upstairs. Right now. Or Marianne and I are going to walk off this boat, and instead of thirty million, Helix BioGen gets a very detailed FBI report about what we just watched."
The room went silent.
I held my breath.
Oh shit. Did we just push too hard?
Around us, the other investors shifted uncomfortably. Maria Santos's champagne glass paused halfway to her lips. Chen Wei's expression went carefully blank. Even Dmitri Volkov—who'd seemed amused by everything up to this point—now looked genuinely alert.
I could feel the security detail tensing. Hands drifting toward concealed weapons. Exit routes being calculated.
We overplayed it. We're about to get thrown overboard in weighted bags—
Then Chandler started clapping.
Slow. Deliberate. His face breaking into a wide, genuine grin.
"Ha! Ha!" He slapped his knee, dissolving into laughter. "I fucking love your balls, Anthony! I have no idea how you're still alive with that kind of attitude, but God damn do I respect it!"
The tension shattered like dropped crystal.
Around the room, nervous chuckles erupted. Chen Wei actually wiped his forehead. Maria Santos raised her glass in a silent toast.
I forced myself to exhale slowly. Jesus Christ.
"Of course the Surgeon will see you," Chandler continued, still grinning. "He's upstairs in the owner's suite right now. Been waiting to meet the legendary Anthony Goodman face-to-face."
My pulse spiked. He's here. Right now. Just floors above us.
"Well, fantastic—" I started.
"Ah-ah-ah." Chandler's smile froze, transforming into something colder. "Patience, Mrs. Goodman."
The way he said it—like he was reminding a child to wait her turn—made my fingers curl into fists beneath the table.
"I'm having a conversation with your husband," Chandler continued, his eyes still locked on Nash. "You know, Anthony, you really need to train your wife better. She's awfully... eager."
Scattered laughter. Maria Santos actually snickered.
Breathe. Stay in character. Marianne wouldn't kill him. Marianne would pout and defer to her husband.
But Phantom would rip out his tongue and make him choke on it.
Nash's hand found my thigh under the table. Squeezed once. Easy.
"Besides," Chandler said, leaning back in his chair with the satisfied air of someone about to drop a bomb, "you're forgetting our little tradition, Anthony. Every major gathering, I like to make sure everyone's properly... relaxed before business. And you, my friend—" He gestured at Nash with his whiskey glass. "—you're radiating tension like a nuclear reactor. All that aggressive negotiating. That 'take me to your leader' energy."
He snapped his fingers.
"Let me help you burn off some of that excess... fire. Consider it an apéritif before the main course."
A side door opened.
Four women walked in.
Not just women. Stunners. The kind you'd see on Milan runways or Victoria's Secret campaigns. Long legs, perfect curves, faces that belonged on magazine covers. All wearing designer cocktail dresses that left very little to the imagination.
And all of them headed straight for Nash.
"Your favorites," Chandler purred. "Blonde, busty, and very, very accommodating. Trust me, they've been... prepared to be exceptionally agreeable tonight."
Oh no.
I knew that drug-glazed look in their eyes. That mechanical smile. These women had been dosed with something—probably a lighter version of Synthesis-47 to make them compliant.
And Nash...
Nash had gone rigid as a corpse.
I watched his pupils contract. Watched his jaw lock. Watched every muscle in his body seize up like he'd just been tasered.
The first woman reached him, trailing manicured fingers across his shoulders. "Hello, handsome..."
Nash flinched.
Shit. Shit shit shit.