9
“I think you should do it.”
Wiping the sheen of sweat from my forehead, I glance over my shoulder at Alistair as he lounges on my suede love seat. His suspenders are unhooked, limp at his waist, and the top two buttons of his burgundy undershirt are undone, revealing a corded necklace that matches the bracelet I wear.
Both gifts from our father, just before his death.
Aside from the pub, it’s the only tangible connection we have left.
Working another heap of fat and muscle into the vintage meat grinder, I focus on making sure the mechanism doesn’t clog, keeping the funnel straight.
“You think I should date the daughter of our family’s mortal enemy?”
Alistair chuckles, pointing at me with a brown beer bottle. “Dad’s mortal enemy. I’m not sure your mum would possess the same rivalry.”
“Yes, well, my mum isn’t exactly here to contest my resentment, is she?”
The last of the meat pushes through, leaving me with the dirty bones of some former CIA agent my brother asked me to track down. I’m not sure what his motives were, nor did he give me anything to ask before I sliced through the man’s carotid artery, and I don’t particularly care.
Since I kicked her out of my pub and told her not to return, my little puppet has given me an endless string of headaches over the last few days. I’m sure she thinks I’m oblivious to the fact that she leaked our lackluster rendezvous to the press, but the timing was just too coincidental not to be her doing.
And now there are people loitering around my pub all the bloody time.
Lenny’s asinine proposal makes me leery of her in general, and it’s having the opposite intended effect.
That night in my office, maybe I was right tempted to take her up on the offer. Perhaps sweeten the deal by making sex one of the conditions.
I would’ve taken her right there on the desk. Fucked her ’til our arrangement felt real, and then pumped her full of cum just to spite dear old daddy.
Jesus. The image of her thighs and juicy little cunt sprayed with my seed sends a spark of arousal through me, rolling down my chest as I continue scrubbing.
Imagine the look on her father’s face when he realized I’d soiled his precious baby girl. Tainted her soul and marked her as mine.
Her desperation—and the alcohol—told me she would’ve been willing.
Now, though, I wouldn’t mind tying her to a cement block and sending her to the bottom of the bloody Atlantic, mob style.
It would be the least she deserves for fucking my life up so spectacularly.
“I’m just saying. Dating the Primrose daughter is probably your best shot at getting back at Tom.”
Alistair stretches, throwing his arm over the back of the love seat. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he watches me switch to the bones at my side, cleaning them so they’re easier to dispose of in the vat of limestone I keep in the backyard.
Pausing, I squeeze the scrub brush in my hand. “Who says I want to get back at him?”
“If you don’t, that’s news to me.” He hooks an ankle over his knee and shrugs. “Fine, don’t do it for revenge. Do it for me.”
“You.”
“Having the backing of a Primrose would help immensely when I campaign for the Senate.”
“And the fact that I make most of my living as a hired killer… you think that’s something everyone will just overlook?”
“I’m overlooking it right now.”
“You’re the one paying me.” Dropping the brush, I get to my feet and brush my hands on my jeans, irritation spreading through my limbs like tree branches. “I don’t even know the bloody girl. She could be a fucking prop, and you’re encouraging me to partake in her little scheme?”
Alistair rolls his eyes, checking the bulky watch on his wrist. He stands, swiping his black suit jacket from the arm of the love seat, and moves to the kitchen to toss his bottle in the recycling.
Bracing his palms on the counter, he steels me with a look. “The fact of the matter is, we know I barely got this mayor gig, and I can use all the political support I can get. Maybe if the public thinks the Primroses and the Wolfes are moving on, they’ll be more likely to support one in office, and I won’t have to resort to such… drastic measures to keep my rightful place.”
I don’t say anything, because deep down, I think we both know that isn’t true. Once you get a taste of power, of bloodshed in the name of power, you don’t ever look back.
Our father certainly didn’t, and it cost him his life.
There is no world any longer in which Alistair won’t spill blood. Even if he only hires someone else to do it.
Fingering the pendant on my bracelet, I consider his points. “And what if I decide to just kill Tom Primrose, once and for all?”
“I trust you’ll make it untraceable.” He shrugs. “Get the public support first, and you can do whatever the fuck you want afterward.”
This time when she shows up at my pub, I’m fully prepared to indulge in her presence. Everything happened so quickly the other night that I didn’t get to appreciate what her being in my midst really meant.
For some reason, even though she was possibly roofied the last time she came, Lenny shows up alone again. As I watch a weekend bouncer stamp the back of her hand on the security monitor from my office, I doubt she even has an actual bodyguard in the first place.
When I look her up online, I’m met mostly with pictures of her and her father, darting to and from events. His arm is always around her shoulders, as if afraid she might float away, and she always has a bright smile plastered on her face and a hand lifted in greeting.
Fucking greeting the slimy paparazzi.
My chest winds tight as I continue through the gallery of photos, annoyed by Tom’s face in so many. The spinning ceases altogether when I get to those of her attending red carpets and cozy restaurant dates with some preppy-looking douche.
Something akin to rage spirals through me, shooting through my veins like white-hot flames, and I keep clicking through, seeking an end. Both to the two of them together—his hands on her hips, her neck, the underside of her breast where they definitely don’t fucking belong—and to the insane, fiery sensations zipping through my bloodstream.
I wasn’t putting her on when I said I don’t date. My adult life leaves very little room for such adventure, and I find most people so dreadfully bland that the idea of keeping their company makes me want to blow my brains out.
It shouldn’t be any different when it comes to Lenny Primrose, and yet I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s occupied the majority of my thoughts since I found her on the balcony at her family’s party, and even though I’m pretty sure something is off with her motivations, the desire to find out for myself takes precedence.
When a random patron approaches her as she makes her way to the washrooms, I push out of my desk chair and head out front. Violence thrums against the ventricles of my heart, and I locate her immediately, glaring as the wide-shouldered frat boy traps her between himself and the wall.
Rational thought doesn’t register in my mind as I reach the two. My actions are driven entirely by primal instinct, some natural resistance to other people toying with the things that belong to me.