Sucking in a sharp breath as the pack touches his bruised skin, he scowls at me. I can tell he’s tempted to push me away, but he doesn’t.
“Bad day?”
He shrugs. “I’ve had better.”
We stay like that for a couple beats, neither of us saying anything else. His lips are swollen from our kiss, his beard rubbed raw, and I wonder if he’s still thinking about it.
I want to ask what happened. How he knows Elena, or her husband. Technically, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other, but the secret, dangerous life he lives doesn’t seem to leave much room for that. It’s been a while since I moved in, and yet he’s only been here every night long enough to sleep on the couch.
He’s always gone before I wake up.
And while I know that this is what I signed up for—a fake relationship in public, not in private—I can’t help wondering what the point is. We’re not really pretending if no one’s around to see.
My hand slides to the middle of the counter, and I slowly pull the discarded invitation over. He watches the movement, shoulders stiffening as he seems to read the font.
“I have an idea.”
Jonas closes his eyes. “I’m listening.”
15
Alistair crosses one leg over the other.
Uncrosses them.
Takes a sip of his tea.
Drumming my fingers on the arm of my chair, I sit forward, waiting. “Did you summon me here just to stare at me, brother?”
He snorts, running a hand through his coal-black hair. It’s unkempt and longer than it was just a few short weeks ago, and I try not to think anything of it not being perfectly in place.
It’s the middle of the night, after all, and none of my business what he does in his free time.
“Can’t a bloke invite his brother over for a spot of tea?” Placing his cup on the round wooden coffee table between us, he folds his hands in his lap. Throws an ankle over one knee, gripping the joint with his hand.
“Sure, but I don’t drink tea, nor do we sit around gossiping like old hens.”
Humming, he lets his gaze wander around the living room, and I follow, glancing at the outdated wallpaper with the little boughs of holly printed on it, and the wooden molding that surrounds us.
Not at all the kind of decor Alistair is accustomed to, but being mayor means accepting tradition, and unfortunately, the interior of Aplana’s mayoral housing hasn’t been updated since the turn of the previous century.
“It’s blasphemous that you refuse to drink tea, you know.”
Clenching my jaw, I exhale, trying to stifle the urge to bust his kneecaps with the knuckle-dusters tucked in my jacket pocket. “Probably blasphemous that I ask people to give me their confessions before I put a bullet in their skull, too, but here we are.”
“Here we are, indeed.”
Pushing to my feet, I give him a little salute. “I’m not really in the mood for games right now.”
“For Christ’s sake, relax, Jonas. I’d have thought now that you’re bollocks deep in the Primrose girl every night, you’d be wound a bit less tight.”
My ears heat, irritation simmering in my bloodstream. I’ve been on edge ever since Elena showed up at the beach house and questioned the sanctity of my relationship with Lenny.
Rightfully so, maybe, but the kiss I sprang on my little puppet wasn’t.
In fact, it was undoubtedly selfish.
Inane.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
Settling on the edge of the armchair, I fold my arms over my chest. “Like I told you before, I’m not shagging her. Too messy.”
“I’m certain it could be.” He grins like it’s the funniest joke, but I just stare at him. Finally, he sighs, pushing a suspender strap off his shoulder, and reaches into the breast pocket of his white button-down. “Okay, fine. I have a request.”
“I’m still in the middle of your previous request.”
“Okay.” Holding a folded piece of paper between two fingers, he lifts a brow. “This one comes from the Great Beyond.”
“What are you on about?” Leaning with my forearm on my thigh, I snatch the paper away, untucking the corners. Smoothing it out on my leg, I clear my throat, scanning the page.
The tendons in my neck grow taut, tension slithering along them like a thick sludge.
I look up. “This is Dad’s handwriting.”
Alistair nods.
Reaching the end, I flip it over, certain there’s more. A note, instructions, anything. “It’s just a list of names.”
“A list of whose names?”
My mouth dries up, and I don’t respond.
Can’t, really.
“Surely you didn’t think it’d been me funding your extracurricular activities all this time?” Picking his teacup back up, he takes a drink. “I’m merely the messenger.”
Crumbling the paper in my fist, I glare at him. “Why am I just now getting the message?”
“If we’re aligning destinies, I figured it was time. Now that you’re deep in the trenches with the Primrose family, why not use that to your advantage, and get your revenge on the people who helped bury Dad?”
My father’s face flashes before me, bright and smiling even when his world was falling apart. Blame was crowned on his head, and the weight of his associations came crashing down, resulting in his death at the behest of Tom Primrose.
Tom didn’t act alone, but it would’ve been much easier on everyone if that were the case. The list in my hand proves otherwise, though I’ve worked through the majority of them over the years already.
The realization is almost disappointing. Had I known they’d played a hand, I might have enjoyed their demise a bit more.
Still, I don’t like the idea of Alistair driving the ship. “I told you, I’m not after revenge.”
“I know what you said, brother.” He shrugs. “If that’s the hill you want to die on, fine. But I don’t believe you.”
I leave not very long after that, and not before he reminds me about protecting his image, placing the responsibility of our family’s honor squarely on my shoulders again.
Like that worked out so well the first time around.
Part of me is tempted to head straight home. Maybe take some comfort in the liveliness that Lenny provides, even if she does tempt me in ways I can’t begin to comprehend, given that I’m supposed to loathe her existence.
Lust doesn’t compute with hatred, though. My dick appears to think feelings are invalid, so long as there’s the promise of getting it wet.
Since I’ve made such a big deal at this point about not bedding her, I pass up the turn to the beach house and wind up outside Primrose Manor instead. I sit there for so long, reliving the night everything changed over and over until I’m disgusted with myself all over again.
All I had to do was get in, make the hit, and get out.
Back then, the Primrose family didn’t fully understand the scope of danger they were surrounded in; Tom invested in far more than just property, though, which is how he came to know my father in the first place.
Getting in was simple. A quick scale over the stone wall, the clipping of a cable connecting the security system to the internet, and the picking of the lock to a side door off the chef’s kitchen.