An eerie feeling washes down my spine, icy hands skimming along the bone, as I step inside and flip on the lights. Throat tight, I scan the foyer and down the hall, kicking the door shut with my heel.
“Hello?” I call out, in case Jonas is here and I happened to miss his Range Rover.
I’m met with tense silence, and after a moment, I shake off my unease and move on. Like the foyer, the living area and kitchen are empty, and I let out a sigh when I see no signs of intrusion or missing items.
Walking to the windows on the back wall, I draw the curtains over the iron security bars. My stomach growls, begging me to grab a snack, so I pop some popcorn and take it with me to my workspace on the other side of the room.
Bending down, I pull an unopened box of charcoal over and pull my sketchpad from beneath the couch cushion, shoving a handful of popcorn into my mouth.
I’m halfway through chewing, completely concentrated on the piece in front of me, when the office door swings open, and someone who is definitely not Jonas lets out an ear-piercing scream.
34
“How many people are left on this spiritual quest of yours?”
Zipping the black duffel bag closed, I give Alistair a flat look. “You mean the one you paid me to start?”
Taking a big drink from his insulated water bottle, he glances from me to the corpse at our feet. “I don’t remember taking a hit out on the comptroller’s son.”
“Right. Just anyone who might oppose your senate nomination.”
He shrugs, stuffing a hand in the pocket of his athletic trousers. “That’s just good sense.”
Good sense would be leaving me alone right about now, but Alistair’s never been one to observe social cues. Not because he can’t read them, but because ignoring them makes people uncomfortable, and he loves having an edge.
And the gossip blogs wonder why he hasn’t dated in over a year. Not since his boyfriend went off to become a stuntman in Vancouver and broke his heart.
Made him meaner.
Having just left the gym, Alistair insisted on stopping by my house upon seeing me parked outside for the first time in weeks.
“In any case,” he says, rolling back on his heels, “there’s been a massive rise in missing person reports lately. Chief of Police called me yesterday, asking if I’d be willing to make a statement on it.”
“So?”
“So, are you trying to tell me it’s a coincidence that the missing people are all connected to a Mr. Preston Covington?”
“I think it’s interesting that you seem to have so much information about a case you say you were just told about a day ago.”
“Due diligence, little brother.” He watches as I bend down with a nylon rope, maneuvering the comptroller’s son—whose name I’ve already forgotten—into the fetal position. “But truly, what’s your endgame here?”
“None of your bloody business.”
His eyes narrow. “See, that’s not true, is it? Our fates are quite intertwined, Jonas. You get into trouble, and it inevitably bleeds over to me. I’m the one who stands to lose something from the fallout.”
Clenching my jaw, I cinch the rope tight, tying the corpse’s wrists to his knees before rigor mortis can set in. “There won’t be any fallout from this. It’s just a little rubbish pickup.”
“For your fake girlfriend?”
“Fiancée,” I snap. Alistair’s head cocks to the side, and I kick myself internally. Why does the distinction matter when it’s all pretend, anyway? “It’s not anything she asked me to do.”
“Oh, good. You’re just killing on another’s behalf without even telling them first. I’m sure that’ll be a great addition to the vows at your imaginary wedding. Have you completely abandoned the list I gave you?”
Blowing out a breath, Alistair drags a hand through his inky hair and stalks to the kitchen sink off the living area. He dumps the remaining water in his bottle, then refills it from the tap before returning to my side.
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask, dragging the folded corpse into the corner where a hollowed-out concrete block sits on a plastic tarp. “You’re dodgier than normal.”
“I’m fine. Just a bit concerned you’re losing sight of our long-term goals.”
It takes some serious finagling, but I manage to stuff the dead bloke’s body into the block, then reach for the blue plastic wheelbarrow at my side. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, I check the consistency of the concrete batch I made just before Alistair showed, then aim the mouth of the barrow at the container.
“Our long-term goals?” I shake my head. “You asked me to date her, Alistair.”
“I didn’t ask you to care for her.”
“Well, that’s too bloody bad, isn’t it?” His glacier-blue eyes widen at my words, mirroring the size of mine.
The mixture pours out, filling the empty spaces rapidly, then leveling out as it overtakes the body. Once he’s adequately submerged, I drop the wheelbarrow and wipe the front to keep anything from dripping onto the floor.
“So, that’s it? She bats her pretty lashes or spreads her tanned legs, and you give up everything you’ve been working for?”
My hand whips out as I whirl around, grabbing one of the branding irons from the fireplace and shoving my brother against the wall. His skull smacks against a sconce, knocking it out of place, and I bring the brand up to his face.
It’s still hot from where I spent the last hour decorating the comptroller’s son’s skin, and I know he feels the heat on his cheek, though he doesn’t even flinch.
Just stands there, letting me crush his windpipe. Not a single flicker of emotion reflects in his eyes, and I realize why it was easy for him to enter the world of politics, and why he’s always insisted on outsourcing his dirty work.
Alistair simply doesn’t care. About anything, or anyone, and certainly not enough to get his hands a little muddy.
One thing brings him satisfaction, and it’s the ability to get under someone’s skin. To goad them into a reaction because the man’s not capable of emitting one himself.
Lessening the pressure on his throat, I press the edge of the iron W to his jaw, testing him.
Still, he just stares. Motionless. Almost bored.
Like some sort of bloody sociopath.
“If you speak of her like that again,” I spit, my rage reaching a boiling point, “I’ll feed you your tongue and make sure those are the last words you ever utter.”
His right eye twitches, like he’s resisting the urge to roll it. “I didn’t realize how deeply involved you’ve become.”
It’s a taunt more than anything, the insinuation that I’ve come to care for Lenny beyond the confines of our contract and sex life wrapping itself around my neck until I’m choking for my next breath. With an irritated huff, I push him aside and turn away before I do something I’d probably regret.
Besides, we worked tirelessly to get to a point of ease between us. No need to ruin that progress because we’re both arseholes.
He is, after all, the only family I’ve got.
“Nothing has changed.”
As I clean up, he stands off to the side and stares at the wall. I look over a few times while I scrub the wheelbarrow clean, half expecting him to have moved away at some point, but he never does.