“We have every right,” Sterling Chase informed him. The Boston commander leaned against the back wall of the closed room, his arms crossed over his chest. “We have evidence linking you to criminal activity in this city—”
“Criminal activity?” Gates scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have no cause to believe that, let alone evidence.”
“I assure you, we do,” Chase said. “And I’m sure JUSTIS would be very interested to hear how one of Boston’s most upstanding pillars of polite society has secretly been involved in illegal sport and various other unsavory pursuits.”
“That’s insane,” Gates refuted with a scowl and a dismissive shake of his head. Then he turned a pointed glower solely on Nathan. “If you think humiliating me in front of my daughter and my peers will change my promise to you tonight, you’re sorely mistaken.”
At Chase’s questioning look, Nathan grunted. “Mr. Gates made it clear to me that he does not approve of my interest in Jordana and won’t permit it.”
“He threatened you?”
Nathan shrugged. It hadn’t fazed him then and hardly mattered now. After the way things went down tonight—the way Jordana looked at him, so hurt and betrayed—he doubted Gates had anything more to worry about when it came to Nathan’s intentions with her.
She might never want to speak to him again, would most likely never forgive him for taking her father away from her. She might despise Nathan forever for breaking her heart.
And he wouldn’t blame her.
He had never deserved her. Their worlds had been too different from the start, and tonight had proven that.
Bitter truth, and it didn’t make the cold hollow in his chest ache any less.
He wanted nothing more than to go to her now and offer comfort, explanations. Reassurances that everything would be all right.
But as he watched her father protest and begin to squirm under his interrogation, Nathan knew he couldn’t give Jordana any of those things.
Martin Gates’s guilt was written all over him. He was a man with deep secrets, secrets he’d apparently kept hidden for many years. His darting, anxious gaze said he knew the respectable mask he’d worn for so long was about to be ripped away. Gates had been living a lie that was suddenly about to be exposed.
And when it was, nothing in Jordana’s life would ever be the same.
“I have no intention of putting up with this thuggery for a moment longer,” Gates announced, one final, obvious bid to halt the disturbing conversation before it went any further. “I demand you release me at once, or I’ll—”
“Or you’ll what, Mr. Gates?” Chase interjected calmly. “Go running to law enforcement? Complain to your Darkhaven cronies and country club colleagues? Or maybe you have other alliances you think you can lean on. The kind of alliances you and Cassian Gray thought you could keep in the shadows, along with your other less-than-respectable business dealings?”
Gates’s expression went slack. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Chase stared at him in dangerous silence. Gates endured the prolonged quiet for a few moments, his gaze flicking from Chase and Nathan standing before him to Jax, Eli, and Rafe positioned near the door of the interrogation room.
Abruptly, he bit off a curse and vaulted to his feet. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this bullshit. I’m leaving. You can expect to hear from my lawyer—”
Nathan took a half pace forward, subtly blocking Gates’s path. There was no need for words or physical persuasion. Gates took one look at the flat intent in Nathan’s eyes and immediately backed down.
As Gates dropped into his seat again, the last of his bravado fled and he peered up at Nathan, studying him nervously. There was defeat in the male’s face, the kind of look that told of a crushing burden carried for far too long.
Gates lowered his head. When he spoke, his voice was subdued, reduced to a thready murmur. “Have you known all along, then?”
“You and Cass covered your tracks very well,” Chase answered. “It took us a while to unravel it all, but you couldn’t hide forever. We know you own La Notte. Cass may have run the place, but the club and all its profits—illegal and otherwise—belong to you. Now we need you to tell us about any other dealings you’ve had with him.”
Gates looked up, eyes narrowed. “Since when does the Order have the license to police a citizen’s private or business affairs?”
Chase wheeled on the vampire with a snarl. “Since the night last week when Opus Nostrum tried to blow up a global peace summit.”
“Opus Nostrum,” Gates replied, genuinely taken aback. “Are you saying you suspect that I—or Cassian Gray—had anything to do with that?”
Chase lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t heard you say you didn’t.”
“Well, I didn’t. Neither did Cass, I promise you that,” Gates said. Then he exhaled a sigh and leaned back in his seat. “I should hope the Order has better leads on the attack last week than whatever supposed evidence you seem to think you have linking me, or Cassian Gray, to those terrorists of Opus Nostrum.” Gates paused, pointedly cleared his throat. “If there is nothing further—”
“He’s not telling us everything.” Nathan approached him, taking in the look of relief on the Darkhaven male’s face. “The club isn’t the only thing he’s invested in with Cassian Gray. What else are you trying to hide?”
Gates scoffed. “Cassian Gray is my friend. Our business dealings are between us. We may not run in the same social circles, but last time I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”