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sunflwrvolume6 · 3 years

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plausible deniability [thirty-two]

“generosity”

An enormous boxing ring takes up most of the space, and blue mats cover the floor around it. Bare light bulbs hang overhead, bright spots of white illuminating the scene. Metal scrapes against concrete, and Aila turns her head. Tania waves jauntily from her chair at the edge of the mats, and Zayn and Harry sit on either side of her.

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The courier comes back an hour later, this time bearing a message with only Terms accepted. Aila doesn’t bother responding. The meeting is set. It’s the worst decision she’s ever made, but Tania said it herself: Working with Irwin is their best bet at making sure he doesn’t wage a war.

Even if Aila wanted to reply, she has no chance. She has just reached the study when Liam appears at her side. He latches onto her arm and drags her down the corridor. She struggles against his hold.

“Excuse me, that’s my arm you’re ripping off my body.” Aila frowns when he stays silent. “Liam? What’s going on?”

“C’mon, we don’t have much time.”

“‘Time’? Time for what?”

Again with the not answering. So Aila shuts up and stumbles after him through the kitchen and down the stone staircase to the basement. He takes a right instead of straight ahead—away from the infirmary—and shoves her forward. Aila gapes at the set-up in front of her.

Liam gestures her into the ring. As soon as she is within reach, he yanks her hands toward him and begins winding tape around her knuckles. “We have loads to teach you. Just in case, I mean. I highly doubt Irwin will try anything, he’s too intrigued by you. But we never know what could happen. Figure out who you’re gonna take?”

“N-not yet. You, maybe?”

“Can’t be me, love. Or Zayn. Irwin will think it’s an ambush.”

Aila gasps as he swings a moment later, barely managing to duck in time. His fist still grazes her ear. Cursing, she lashes out, but he blocks the blow easily. The next punch lands against her jaw. It’s evident he’s holding back, not letting loose with all of his might, but fuck, it hurts anyway.

“Pause.” Tania slithers under the ropes, sauntering to Aila’s side. “Hands up here, protect your chest and face. If not, you’re gonna end up as ugly as dumbass Styles.”

Harry splutters, “Oi! What did I do?”

Aila giggles even as she lets Tania move her into position. Once the woman is satisfied, Tania grips the ropes, slides under the bottom one, then takes her seat once more. Aila makes the mistake of not paying attention: Liam’s fist sinks solidly into her gut.

By the time Robert interrupts two hours later, Aila has a split lip and a ringing in her ears that won’t go away. Liam grins, blood dripping from his mouth, then climbs out of the ring. He holds tightly to his ribs as he walks away. She leans against the ropes and takes the towel Harry holds out to her.

“Miss Aila, Mister Niall wishes to speak with you.”

“Thanks, Robert.” Aila sits on the mat as the valet passes over the telephone. Her chest aches when she tries to inhale deeply. “Hey, love. Miss me already?”

“What’s going on?”

Aila frowns then realises what it must sound like, her wheezing breaths and voice that trembles. “No worries. Everything is fine. Just working out for the first time in forever. The only thing worrisome is maybe me dying from my lungs collapsing.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Niall replies with a snort of amusement.

“I don’t think ‘enjoying’ is the proper word for it, but sure. What’s up?”

“I was just wanting to check in on you. I do miss you already.”

Aila turns away from the knowing look Tania throws her way. “I miss you, too. Oh! Before I forget,” she starts before swallowing. She has no idea how he is going to react. “I’m having lunch with a—a friend tomorrow. I won’t be able to talk to you until later.”

“I see.” Niall’s voice is tight, controlled. Measured. “Take your mobile in case it ends... early. I don’t want you to have to walk home. Going alone?”

“Nope. I want to do some shopping after, so Harry is gonna go with me. Someone has to carry all my stuff, and it certainly isn’t going to be me.”

“Wish I could be there,” murmurs Niall, and she closes her eyes. The unspoken meaning rings clear in his words: I wish I could protect you.

“Don’t worry so much, love. It’s only lunch. I’ll pester you as soon as I’m done.”

Aila doesn’t want to, but someone is trying to get his attention. So she ends the call after another reassurance that she’ll be smart about this. That she will be safe. She can’t monopolise his time, not when he’s meant to be fostering new connections.

When she climbs to her feet, Tania is right behind her. A pair of black ankle boots dangle from her fingertips, and Aila gapes at the length of the heels.

“What’s with the shoes?”

Tania smirks and shoves the boots into Aila’s hands. “Gotta learn to run in heels, babe.”

Aila spends hours following Tania’s ever command—walking on the mats, in the boxing ring, up and down the stairs, and even along the edge of the indoor pool. Running takes far more effort. She barely manages to not fall into the water, and that’s only because Liam yanks her back onto her feet.

Finally, Tania deems it ‘acceptable’. Aila can’t argue with the less-than-satisfactory assessment. She’s too tired and sore. Harry makes sure Aila’s wounds are superficial before letting her leave the infirmary. Her feet ache as she pads through the house barefooted; any shoes would be torture.

She doesn’t speak during dinner, but no one expects conversation from her. They must see her exhaustion, the winces whenever she moves. Sparring with Liam is quickly catching up with her. Lilyen clears her plate from the table with a bow, and Aila forces a smile before leaving the dining room.

Mera already has a hot bath drawn by the time Aila shuffles into the bedroom. “Allow me to help you, Miss.”

Aila does. A voice in her head tells her she should be mortified at the fact Mera is pulling her clothes off, that Mera helps her into the tub. Instead, it feels… nice, if awkward, to be taken care of like this. This is Mera’s job, but more than that, the woman has become a friend.

“Mera?” Aila groans as she sinks into the water. “Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not a miracle worker. You’re fucking amazing.”

Mera grins, ducking her head. “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Aila. When you’re finished with your bath, Mister Niall has a salve he uses when he exerts himself too hard.”

“So… every day?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that implication, Miss.”

“Every day,” laughs Aila before she submerges herself.

She falls asleep in the middle of Mera rubbing the cream into her back, calloused hands pressing firmly against the tension.

Tania drags Aila out of bed at the crack of dawn the next morning. While Aila eats breakfast, the other woman stays behind to pick out an outfit. Aila tries to protest at the clothes spread out on the bed, but Tania doesn’t budge. So with no small amount of reluctance, Aila dresses in what Tania chose.

Aila doesn’t see how the meeting this afternoon will go well when Irwin can see the subtle hint of the bra straps criss-crossing over her chest through the semi-sheer blouse or how the black slacks hug her legs and ass.

By the time Tania finishes with her, Aila hardly recognises herself: Dark eyeliner accentuates the blue of her eyes, and her blood-red lips look fuller. Mera pulls Aila’s hair into a sleek, severe bun. The ankle boots from last night complete the outfit, and Tania steps back to examine her handiwork.

“Good enough,” she finally announces.

“Do I really need—?”

“Yes. Look, I know what Irwin likes, okay? I know how he thinks.” Tania touches up her own makeup before catching Aila’s eye in the mirror. “He isn’t going to expect you looking like this, like one of us. He’ll be thinking you’ll be just as demure and innocent as you were in the club.”

“I just…”

“Do you trust me?”

“As terrifying as you are, yes.”

“Then shut the fuck up and get downstairs. We have less than three hours and shit to do.”

The ‘shit to do’ turns out to be a manicure—Tania explains it away with a quick Gotta treat yourself sometimes. Aila settles back in her chair and lets the nail tech do his job. At least it keeps her mind off of what’s coming.

Harry listens as Aila complains the entire drive to the warehouse. She whines about her body still hurting, the tight bun tugging at her scalp, even the too-bright sunlight. He doesn’t tell her to shut up, only watches her hands gesturing wildly. But the instant the car comes to a stop in the car park, Aila can’t speak. She stares out the window at the rusted metal walls, the enormous gaping hole where the doors should be.

“Hey, you’ll do great,” Harry whispers. “Just be as assertive and confident as you were at the club.”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “I’ll need liquor for that.”

Yuri opens the car door before she can change her mind about the meeting. About everything. Aila follows the guard, Harry follows Aila, and soon enough, they’re at the entrance. Aila lifts her chin and steels her spine. Be confident, she thinks to herself, hoping to inspire courage. Pretend you don’t want to run away.

Irwin sits at a table in the centre of the cavernous room. A man stands behind him, another at Irwin’s left. Aila ignores the guard and inspects Irwin’s second out of the corner of her eye. His bleached hair flops over his pale, round face, and his brow quirks in Harry’s direction. The door screeches as it slides shut. Yuri murmurs an apology for the noise.

Without the sunlight, the warehouse is colder, darker save for the bare bulbs hanging over the table. The concrete bears cracks of time and use, and plywood boards cover what Aila assumes were once windows. Something rustles in the rafters overhead.

“Ah, the blushing bride-to-be,” Irwin drawls, waving at the chair across from him. “Lovely even in the daylight. And shadows.”

Aila approaches the table with determined strides. She can’t let him see how terrified she is. She sits though she doesn’t want to. The chill of the chair seeps through the fabric of her slacks.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Styles, how wonderful to see you.” His voice is hard, icy. Lacking any sincerity.

“Piss off, Irwin.”

Irwin laughs then turns toward Aila. His cold, almost shark-like, eyes roam across her body. They’re so much like Harry’s—green with a touch of brown—but vastly different. Harry never looks at her like this, not even back in the beginning. She represses a shudder.

“Ashton Irwin. You are?” When Aila doesn’t respond, he chuckles. “I suppose we should begin. Does your dashing groom know you’ve come without him by your side?”

“He does.”

“And he still allowed you to come, even though he can’t protect you if I decide to take your life right now?”

“He trusts me,” she says instead of bolting from her chair. “He also trusts you aren’t stupid enough to start a war.”

“Ah, trust. Very rare in this line of work.”

“I suppose so.”

Ashton laughs again. It’s not the same as before—almost warm, lighter. Not kinder. Aila is taken aback at how different he looks when he’s truly amused.

“I’ll just have to earn your trust, then. Now, Miss Bride—” At this, he sits up straighter, elbows on the table and holds folded before him. “I meant what I said the other night. You and I will get on quite nicely.”

“That depends entirely on the reason for this meeting. And your behaviour.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be a good boy.” He winks quickly before sobering. “Horan and I… We’ve been at odds for years. Consequence of inheriting ‘companies’, shall we say, from fathers and grandfathers hellbent on destroying each other. You understand how this works, yeah?”

Aila raises a brow and struggles to pretend her hands aren’t trembling under the table. “I like to think I’m not a complete moron, so yes.”

“I’m sure you aren’t. One thing Horan has going for him: He doesn’t suffer lightly fools and idiots. Anyway. The symbiotic relationship our families have, the peace, the lack of wars between us, only goes so far as to keep ourselves in power. I’ll admit, it’s been lucrative, then and now. Horan Senior certainly knows how to grow an empire, but my father taught me to do the same.”

“Yours has grown through espionage, shady infiltration, coercion, and brute force.”

Harry kicks her ankle, shooting her a sharp look. She ignores him, stays focused solely on Ashton. He stares back coolly, unblinkingly, for a long minute. To her surprise, the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“I see you’ve heard of me. You aren’t wrong. Not really. Had to make my way up somehow, didn’t I?”

Aila rises to her feet in one graceful motion. She has no clue where this sudden confidence came from, but she clings to it. “If we’re here for a history lesson on your ‘company’, as you called it, then I think we’re done. I was under the impression this meeting was called for different reason. I really don’t like being lied to, Irwin.”

“Mm, feisty. Just like Horan to fall in love with someone who’s gorgeous and has such a smart mouth. No, sit, sit. I wanted to discuss a partnership.”

“’A partnership’?” she murmurs after a pregnant pause. “Between you and Niall?”

Ashton gestures toward her chair, remains silent. Aila sits again. “Yes. A partnership. A team. A chance to—what would you say, Mikey? Strengthen the truce between us. We’ll keep our own various holdings, obviously. I don’t trust your fiancé with financial aspects as far as I can throw him.”

“But?”

“But we’d work together under an umbrella of sorts. We’ve teamed up before, I’m sure we can again.”

Aila exchanges a look with Harry, wondering what the Hell Ashton is talking about. Niall has never mentioned working with the Irwins before. Harry shakes his head minutely—he knows what Ashton means. He won’t tell her. Not here.

“Continue,” she demands as she looks back at Ashton, and he grins knowingly.

“When we’re having difficulties procuring our gains, we’ll rely on Horan and his employees for help. Same goes for him. He asks, we help. We ask, he helps. We can give support when needed.”

Harry’s foot presses against hers, a steady pressure that keeps her grounded. She swallows thickly and muses over what Ashton said. Even without knowing the depth of the history, she can imagine how horrible it would be if they refuse this offer. If she refuses. She doesn’t doubt that Ashton does not take rejection well. Finally, she clears her throat.

“And what exactly do you propose? If everything is being kept separate, wouldn’t it be exactly as it is now? And what kind of support would you demand of us? We don’t exactly strong-arm those we watch over into obeying us.”

“Of course you don’t,” he says, voice far too mocking and sardonic for Aila’s liking. He rolls his eyes. “You can’t really be this naive. No one obtains loyalty without force.”

“Loyalty with force isn’t loyalty at all,” she counters. “What you’re talking about is a dictatorship. Niall doesn’t do that. He works hard to earn the trust of our people. Yes, sometimes there are consequences, I won’t deny that. I’m not quite ignorant enough to believe otherwise. But he is fair. He punishes only the ones who deserve it. So I’ll ask once more. What kind of support do you want?”

Ashton’s eyes gleam with something Aila can’t quite read. He leans forward in his seat and gives her a slow, humourless smile. “Nothing much. Just presence, really. See, our side? We don’t do the whole ‘hold hands and chant prayers and love and rainbows’ thing. We do whatever is necessary to maintain control. Hear about that barricade at the docks last August?”

She thinks back then gasps. Her stomach lurches, her breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. She remembers the news reports as hospitals all over Primden—all three sections—filled with dying patients. Doctors begging for medication and food that could have saved them all.

“That was you?” She blinks rapidly; she can’t cry. It’s weakness. “You realise there was important cargo on those ships, don’t you? People died in the thousands because of that barricade.”

Ashton shrugs without remorse. “I don’t care. They weren’t obeying, so I made them. Moving on. I’m certain those refugees Horan seems to care so much about? Victims running from their abusers? And the homeless he provides with warm food and shelter? We can help.

“I know Tomlinson supplies them with documentation. Styles here allocates funding to the shelters. Horan runs a tight ship with his charity,” Ashton spits out as if the word is poison on his tongue, “but we can help relieve some of the load on resources. We own the docks your precious food is delivered to. We can stop it from coming in again.”

“You’d do that? Simply because we say no?”

Ashton smirks and checks his watch. “Think about it, Miss Bride. Talk to your fiancé and send Davenport with the answer.”

“When do you want a response?” she asks against her better judgement. She should say ‘no’. Right now. Open her mouth and tell him to fuck off.

He stands, planting his knuckles against the tabletop, and raises a brow. “Sooner rather than later. If I don’t hear anything by the end of next weekend, I’ll assume you’re rejecting my very generous proposal, and we’ll all go back to being at odds with each other. And Miss Bride? I’m not this cuddly with people who actively work against me.”

Aila watches Ashton and his two-member entourage leave. The door screams in its track, and she blows out a breath before turning to Harry. “How’d I do?”

“I almost believed you weren’t terrified,” he murmurs as he pats her hand.

She can only hope Ashton believed the same.

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