And I might have been more bitter about that than a loser in a presidential election.
She gives me a look as stern as when she’s scolding Jay about his homework. “You’re the one who didn’t attend your father’s funeral and told your mother to not contact you.”
“I didn’t extend the invitation to him, but he took it anyway.”
Sometimes, I think I’m extracurricular in my family. Zach is the firstborn, the holy messiah of the Sterling name, and the only thing they need to keep selling our souls to the devil in a buy-one-get-one-free sale.
Even my father cared about him sometimes, but never about me. My mother always went to cry on his shoulder. Admittedly, I never allowed such blasphemy, but anyway.
Zach and I, however, were different from the rest of our family. We were close.
Until we weren’t.
“I’m sure it’s not what you think,” Nicole tells me with a smile.
“How would you know that?”
“I just do. Not everyone is as cynical as you.”
“I’m cynical?”
“Hello? Do you look at yourself in the mirror?”
“Everyday. I’m too gorgeous not to.”
“Your arrogance is staggering.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment considering your ex-queen bee status.”
“You give me a run for my money.”
“I beg to differ. You walked around as if you had a crown on your head that no one was allowed to touch.”
“You were.” Her voice softens. “But you were never interested.”
“That’s not true.”
Her lips part and a light I’ve never seen rushes to her eyes. I wish I could take a picture of her right now and keep it with me forever.
I wish I could trap her fascinating expression somewhere between my rib cage and bruised heart.
“You…were interested?”
I take a sip of water and still fail to soothe my dry throat.
“Daniel!”
“What?”
“You were interested?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get.”
That still paints a smile on her lips; one with blushing cheeks and glittering eyes, and I make it my mission to preserve that smile for as long as I can.
25
DANIEL
Out of serious concern about losing my cool, ego, and probably dick, I leave Nicole and Jayden as soon as we land in London.
I even scheduled for a driver to take them to my mansion in East London. I didn’t have to prepare it to be habitable overnight because its live-in staff takes care of it better than they would their children.
It’s the only property I kept after I left. My graduation gift, not from my father, because fuck that guy. Grandpa had it in the will in my name for when I turned eighteen. Zach, who holds the sacred title of the firstborn and leader of the Sterling clan, received a small island in the Pacific.
No shit.
Our family is extravagant like that.
Of course, Zach now owns the family business—as in, a multitude of companies I lost count of. Or more like, he manages it. I own fifty percent of its shares and have the ability to kick him out and become acting CEO if the attorney gig doesn’t work out.
Not that I would.
I chose not follow engineering for a reason.
The family business disgusts me more than food.
This land revolts me, too.
Every fucking thing in it.
As soon as I’m done with what I came here for, I’m leaving and never returning. I’m taking Nicole as far away as possible. To Mars, even, if they opened trips to there.
Talking to her on the plane was no different than pulling teeth and choking on my own blood while simultaneously flying to heaven.
Ever since last night, I can’t look at her without experiencing that crushing feeling of “I could’ve stopped it.” I can’t talk to her without tasting that bitter pill of “what-ifs” or seeing the hazy color of guilt.
But at the same time, I couldn’t not talk to her, listen to her voice, make her laugh.
Fuck. I’ll never get used to the sound of her laughter. It’s like a fucking siren in a mythical story that I’m willing to let harvest my soul.
And the fact that she can still laugh is similar to squeezing my own heart with sharp nails.
So I did more. The whole fucking seven hours. I didn’t let her sleep, I got her talking about the years she spent raising Jayden on her own, and the story of how she found Lolli.
On her balcony, pretending the flat was her house.
Sounds like her.
The cat came with us, naturally, because both Nicole and Jayden threw a tantrum about leaving her behind.
Lucky little shit.
Anyway, talking to Nicole gave me a sense of peace I didn’t even dream of having since the day she left my life without looking back.
She can be oddly sarcastic and fluent at talking back any chance she gets.
And I was wrong. It’s not the old Nicole peeking through.
Did I even know the old Nicole beyond the image she plastered for her mother and stepfather’s sake?
Did I even see Nicole when she was deliberately leaving me lollipops and letting me be the one who had taken her virginity?
Or did I only see my fucked-up prejudice of her?
Last night, after I put my plan in motion, I couldn’t sleep. So I rewound every single interaction I’d had with her since that day she nearly died because of fucking peaches.
And every line I thought was set in stone is getting blurry, undecipherable.
And bloody confusing.
But I’ll deal with that.
After I deal with him.
The man who’s been living on borrowed time since the day he fucking touched her.
Knox gave me the phone number of a hitman in his future wife’s family. He’s married to Anastasia’s great-cousin and has killed more people than he could count or remember.
“He’s British, Irish, or maybe Russian. No fucking clue. His name is Kyle Hunter and he’s the only one who understands my sarcastic humor at their dinner table. Anyway, he’s your man. But don’t tell me what the fuck you need him for. I’m out of this mess.”
Kyle agreed to meet me here and even said he’ll have Christopher waiting for me.
He only needed his full name and that’s it.
When I was on the plane, he sent me a text with a location.
That’s where I am right now. In an abandoned warehouse in an old industrialized area.
I walk straight in and sure enough, the fucker whose life is on a fast hourglass mode is sitting on the chair, head lolled to the side.
A black figure comes from the shadows, and I’m slightly taken aback.
He’s tall, wears black like a Gothic model, and has the looks that go with it. Doesn’t strike me as a mobster at all.
“Kyle, I presume?”
“Daniel.” He tips his head. “I delivered your package. Do you need a bullet in his head? Or heart? Junk, maybe?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll be outside in case you need anything.” He shoulders past me. “Oh, and you can make him scream, the area has been carefully chosen so no one can hear.”