He beams at the compliment, a smile stretching across his face.
“All thanks to my wife, of course. She does enjoy spending my money, and if decorating this house is what keeps her happy, then I can live with that,” he jests. His tone is joyful, but the words are condescending and meant to be an attack.
“I’m sure you know how much the ladies love our money, huh, Zack?”
And there’s the cherry on top of his sundae of misogyny. I bet his sundae taste like bruised skin and a bleeding heart.
Zade smiles, the act nearly primal and ripe with danger. “Small price to pay when they give us something so priceless every day. And if you ask me, I’d tell you I’m not worthy of it, but I’m a selfish bastard and will accept it anyways,” he answers cryptically. I don’t know how I know, but I know exactly what he’s speaking of.
Love.
Love is priceless. As Mark’s nefarious dealings have proven, pussy can be bought and is plentiful, whether they’re forcing it or getting consent. And despite all the ways Zade has forced me to my knees for him, the only thing he’s ever really wanted from me is to return his addiction. Because that’s the one thing he can’t take or force.
He can force my body to succumb to him, but he can’t force my heart to beat for him.
And ironically, it seems that’s the one thing he wants most from me.
Mark takes it the direction most men would. He laughs and offers me a wink, as if he knows without a doubt how priceless my pussy might be. But if I had to guess on what type of man Mark is, he’d put a price on me in a heartbeat.
“I know exactly what you mean,” he chortles.
Do you, asshole?
I shrug a shoulder. "I think you're the lucky one, Mark. One look at Claire, and you can see she is a strong, capable woman. Those are the most dangerous." I add in a wink, but I know it's falling on deaf ears. Mark is too comfortable in the patriarchy to consider that Claire might not shove a knife through his neck while sleeping one night.
Mark scoffs, but he takes the hint and shuts his mouth. At least he's not dense enough to feel the plummeting mood.
Zade appears relaxed and collected, but I know that beast in his soul is pacing back and forth, just waiting to be set loose. I can tell by the subtle flexing of his fist, and that way his smile appears threatening and feral. I can just feel the energy radiating off of him despite the serenity he exudes.
Why does Zade wanting to kill a man over a sleazy comment most men would say make me want to repeat the favor he stole from me in my driveway? This time I’d be much more… willing.
I hate him.
“So, Adeline, about your great-grandmother. Gigi was a beautiful woman. Even as a little boy, I remember that clearly,” he continues.
Climbing a mountain would take less energy than what it does to keep my eyes from rolling at his remark.
That would be something Mark latched onto. Gigi was beautiful, but who the fuck cares about personalities, right?
I clear my throat and paste on a smile. “Yes, she was.”
Mark tips his head back, seeming to retreat into a memory. “Yeah, I remember her signature red lips. Don’t think I ever saw her without that lipstick on.”
“Do you remember anything about her murder?” I ask, trying to keep the hope at bay.
“I remember how absolutely devastated John was when he found her. Was in near hysterics, and it took my father hours to calm him down enough to tell him what happened.”
“You said your father thought it was John, but do you think it could’ve been anyone else?” I press. I already know my great-grandfather freaked the hell out. There was a comment in the police report that they threatened to sedate him.
What I really want to know is what his father knew about the case. Maybe he knew something that wasn’t in any of the files.
He shrugs a shoulder. “From what I remember, he thinks that she was sneaking around on John—seeing some man. My father couldn’t seem to find out who it was, though, so it wasn’t something they looked into. But my father was almost certain that was the reason John snapped and killed Gigi.”
I twist my lips, glancing at Zade to find him already staring at me with an unreadable expression.
He’s skimmed through her diaries and knows she had a stalker. But it doesn’t seem that Mark or his father knew that, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Gigi’s diaries were in a safe behind a picture. The police would have had no reason to believe she would be hiding something like that.
I contemplate if I should divulge what I know. Maybe Mark would have some type of power to look into the diaries and see what he can find. But the second that thought enters, I boot it right back out.
Mark isn’t a nice guy. And he would only lord those books over my head and lead me on. I’m positive I would never see them again if I handed them over.
Besides, I’m confident Daya has many more ways to get information than Mark ever could. Mark’s father is presumably dead with the way he speaks about him in the past tense, and I’m sure the officers from the case are also dead, or close to it.
Gigi died in the ‘40s, making this case seventy-five years old.
“Why did Frank believe it was John and not the other man then?”
Mark settles back, his glazed eyes look off into the distance. "Sera was older than me at the time, by six years. She was a teenager, and I was still a ten-year-old kid who wanted to play. Of course, Sera was an angel and humored me. So, for months leading up to Gigi's death, I would ask to go over to Parsons Manor and see Sera. And every time, my father would say no. He said John developed a bit of a drinking problem and it was no longer safe for children over there. I whined and cried ‘cause I only wanted to see my friend. And then Gigi was killed, and I still didn't get it.
"Now, of course, when my father told me Gigi was gone, I understood death, but not the severity. The last time I had ever asked to go to the manor was a few days after. And my father looked me in the eye and said, 'You want to die next?'" He laughs without humor. "I'll never forget that. My blood ran cold when he said that. Never asked again, and eventually, I let go of Sera."
I frown, shivers roll down my spine. Nana didn't talk much about John. She did mention before that he was a wonderful father up until Gigi's death. He did have a drinking problem, but I think he hid most of his anger from Nana in the beginning. But once Gigi died, all hell must've broken loose. Nana never told me how Gigi died, so I had just assumed he declined due to heartbreak.
But I would’ve never thought it'd be for a much darker reason. For the first time, I'm faced with the true possibility that my great-grandfather was the one to murder Gigi.
Clearing my throat, I take a different direction. Gigi had spoken of people breaking into her house in the diary entries due to John’s gambling habits, and Nana had said in passing before that her father liked to gamble.
“My Nana mentioned before that he liked to gamble. Maybe he owed some people money, and when he couldn’t pay up, they went after Gigi?”
Mark nods his head thoughtfully. “John was known to have really bad gambling habits. They almost lost Parsons Manor at one point because of it. The only reason they didn’t was because Gigi came up with the money to pay off the mortgage and property tax,” he explains.