Fucking hell. The panic.
Looks just as sweet on your hundredth victim as it did on the first.
Seconds later, I’m granted access through the gate. Wiping blood spatter from my chin, I exit and leave my vehicle there, tucking the gun into my waistband. It’s the middle of the night, so I’m not expecting anyone to be up; in fact, half of me anticipates finding the manor completely empty, convinced Tom would steal his family away in an effort to distance them from me.
Unfortunately for him, I’m quite invested in this family.
One member, anyway.
The light beneath the porte cochere is on, and there are figures standing under it. Their shadows cast on the ornate front doors, warped in the wood so they look massive.
I recognize one of the forms immediately and glue myself to the hedges before they notice my presence.
“Lenny, come on now. You’re being ridiculous.” A male voice, pinched and slow, as if deliberately reviewing each word before he says it.
“So what if I am? It’s my right to be, and I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
“You’re just gonna leave without telling anyone? Think about your father, bug. This will crush him.”
She doesn’t come right out with it, but “good” is implied through the heavy silence anyway.
“What do you even know about this guy? Aside from the fact that he tried to kill your father. Or is that something you’re conveniently forgetting?”
“No one conveniently forgets attempted murder, asshole.”
I glance up at the second story of the mansion, curious to see if anyone else is watching the spectacle. All of the windows are dark, though, and I wonder where Lenny’s brothers are. Her security guards.
If she’s so precious and dear to her father, why is there never anyone around to protect the little puppet?
“Then what the fuck are you doing? If you’re trying to hurt me, congratulations, it’s fucking working.”
His tone takes a dark turn, developing a sharp edge, and it raises alarm in my gut. Pushing off the hedge, I shove my hands in my jacket pockets and continue to where the pair stands, my face growing hot when I see how they’re tangled together.
A man stands in front of Lenny, his hands clutching the brass knobs of the front doors. My chest tightens, watching as she shoves at him, and he takes the opportunity to move closer. One hand leaves the door and snakes up her side, cupping just beneath her left breast; his grip is so taut that it pulls the T-shirt she has on flush with her tit, and I can see the outline of her nipple all the way over here.
“Stop it, Preston.” She squirms, her fist balling at her side. “You’re not my dad or my boyfriend, you have no say in where I go or what I do.”
“But I have a say in who you do,” the man—Preston, apparently—says, releasing her shirt to capture her chin instead. “And your father already agreed to let us date again.”
He forces her to look up at him, and I see her hand slip into her shorts pocket. My chest draws tight, somehow knowing what she’s doing before I even see the end of a paintbrush poke out from her fist.
She fiddles around, and as my shoes hit the cobblestone walkway, her gaze flickers to me. It might be a mistake, but I swear I see a flash of relief before she steels herself and glares at the man, retracting her hand.
“You’re psychotic. I’d rather drink bleach than date you again.”
I can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at one corner of my mouth.
“God, okay, bug. I fucked up, I know. Let me… I’m trying to make it up to you, okay? Just… don’t fucking go. Don’t tell me you’re moving on and living with someone else.”
Desperation reeks as it wafts off his lean body, smacking me in the face and instantly souring my mood even more. The toes of my boots meet the backs of his boat shoes, and silently, I slide the pistol from my waistband, fitting the cold mouth against the back of his neck.
He freezes, his shoulders drawing in.
It gets completely still, like the calm before a storm. Satisfaction settles hard and heavy on my soul as his fear seeps into the air, and I let my index finger brush over the trigger, relishing in the shiver that racks him.
“Would you rather I tell you, mate?” I pause, tapping him forcefully. “All right, here it is. I’ve come to collect my fiancée, and I don’t appreciate you putting your dodgy hands on her. I suggest you remove them now, or I’ll be forced to make you my third victim on Primrose property.”
Nobody moves for a moment. Lenny’s eyes remain on me while mine stay on the little shit, afraid of what I might find if I look away.
Fiancée wasn’t what we discussed, and yet for some reason, it’s what fell out of my mouth. Once the first syllable passed my lips, it was too late to backtrack and not look like a bumbling idiot.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” he says finally, breaking the silence and ripping me from my spiral.
“You first.”
His grip on Lenny’s chin becomes harsher, and she grimaces. My nostrils flare at that, violence seeping from my bones and getting swept into my bloodstream. With a sigh, I pull my hand back, trying to reel in the anger coursing through my nerve endings before I scar the girl for life.
Rearing my elbow back, I flick my wrist forward, turning at the last second so the butt of the gun connects with the guy’s ear. The familiar crack of metal colliding with bone rings out, and immediately his hold falls away as he stumbles to the side, clutching his head with a sob.
He falls to his knees, moving his hand to look at the blood pooling from a small cranial laceration. It covers his fingers and drips down his wrist, and perhaps I shouldn’t add insult to injury, but I’ve come too far at this point to stop before it gets good.
I glance at my little puppet as she pushes off the door and combs her fingers through her hair. “Are you all right, love?”
She nods, stepping up beside me.
“Holy shit. Lenny, he just fucking hit me. You’re gonna go off and live with this freak?” The man cradles his head, hissing under his breath.
“Maybe if you—”
The front door swings open, interrupting her reply as a burly figure fills the space. “What in the Sam Hill is going on out here?”
Even though she’s standing inches away, I can sense Lenny’s body tense up, and I feel slightly responsible. Something close to guilt scrapes at my spine, trying to burrow in my marrow, and I don’t bloody like the sensation.
As if driven by its own train of thought, my free hand finds the small of Lenny’s back, and I hook a finger in the hem of her shirt. She doesn’t relax, exactly, but she leans into the gesture, as if she needs the support.
Then her father steps outside, holding the flaps of his plaid robe closed. He frowns as he inspects the injured creep, and then freezes altogether when his gaze swings around to me.
A grin threatens at my mouth for a brief second, before breaking free.
“Thomas. Long time, no see.”
12
Mama paces across the room, and each time she turns to walk in the opposite direction, I wring my hands together, ignoring the way my stomach growls. Not because I’m hungry, but because my body wants a different kind of discomfort.
By the time Preston comes out of Daddy’s office, my fingers are turning purple, and I rub my hands together as I shoot to my feet.