Chapter 13: : Chapter 13

I’m going through paperwork at my desk at Lucy’s when my father walks in, his second closely following him. My father signals him with his gaze alone, and he closes the door. It’s irritating, the way my father still acts like he owns everything.

Technically, he still does. Until he hands it over to me, it’s only a matter of time before he does it, even if I don’t have a wife, because my mother is sure as shit pressuring him to retire.

“Whiskey’s there.” I point to the bottle at the edge of my desk. He picks it up and smirks at my exquisite taste.

I look at my watch. It’s two in the morning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Pops?”

He doesn’t even acknowledge the smart-ass comment, and I try to hide my own smile. My father is as straight-laced as they come. His humor is… well, it’s on the border of non-existent and dry, and I’m almost certain he might be a psychopath.

In this, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

“I was just finishing with some business before heading home. Did I hear correctly that you cut Edward Graham’s finger off and carved a message into his chest?”

I don’t look up from the paperwork I’m signing off on. “No. I cut his finger off and doubled our profit. Dutton carved a message into his chest.”

My father nods approvingly. “That one is full of surprises, isn’t he? You did well doubling the profits.”

This catches me off guard. My father very rarely praises me. It’s cause for alarm in itself. I give him my attention now. Over the last two years, I’ve taken the lead on sixty percent of his businesses, and I handle most of his indiscretions. Slowly, he’s handing me over the empire I’ve continued to build upon, but he still holds enough of the reins because of that archaic marriage stipulation.

“Your mother is adamant I have a party for my birthday,” he says grimly. We both sigh at that. My mother is probably the only thing that keeps us from losing all of our humanity. Neither of us cares for moments of celebration, but we both indulge her because we love her. She deserves her every demand. “I’d like to announce my retirement then to make your mother happy.”

Tension ripples in the air. Because what goes without being said is that I will have to be, at the very least, engaged by then.

His birthday is in three months.

“If you haven’t found someone of interest by then, I’ll also be treating it as a matchmaking event.”

“Multitasking at its finest,” I growl. “And does Mother know about this?”

“Of course not. But are you going to tell her otherwise? Will you ruin the pleasure she gets in party planning because you can’t pull your head out of your ass?”

I clench my teeth.

“I love you, son. And I’ll kill anyone who interferes with you or this family in any way. You are my heir and the second love of my wife’s life.”

“I’d say her first love,” I correct.

He gives me a scathing look, his dark eyes promising payback in my future, and I smirk. “Don’t get smart.” He’s always jealous of my mother loving anyone else. I’m actually surprised my own father didn’t try to suffocate me as a baby with how much attention she gave me instead of him.

“Back to the topic at hand. Whether you think I’m being unfair or not, there is a code. You understand this more than anyone since you’ll be the next head of this family. No exception is made, not even for you. There wasn’t one made for me, and I will apply the same rules to you.”

“And if I don’t have someone by your old-man party?” I jest, always wanting to get under my father’s skin.

He throws back the rest of the whiskey, admiring the empty glass. “Then your mother will be upset, and I will remain in charge for many more years to come.” I know he’ll force my hand before he upsets my mother.

“I may not be nurturing, but if there’s one thing I’ve instilled in you, it’s that you’ll do what needs to be done. Don’t agonize over this one caveat. Take an obedient wife and rule over New York. It’s as easy as that.” He stands and places the glass down.

He steps toward the door but pauses. “Also, I received your gift.”

I grin. “The new car? What do you think?” I had it custom-made for him and oversaw the specifications myself. The car is fucking sexy.

“Just don’t tell your mother about it. Wouldn’t want her to know I go over the speed limit or anything,” he says dryly, and I chuckle. The corner of his mouth tilts up as he excuses himself.

I’m left alone in the office, his words swirling in my head.

“Take an obedient wife and rule over New York. It’s as easy as that.”

Why does that thought make me want to vomit?

Because there’s no fun in that.

My mind drifts to a pair of amber eyes and the memory from earlier tonight of holding her in place against my cock. I would much rather force my wife into submission than have her come willingly.

Even after I leave the club, I can’t stop thinking about the way she melted against my palm, fucking herself on my fingers. I should’ve killed her the moment I first cornered her in that room at the party. But I find her very intriguing, not just because she’s an attractive woman but because of her very blunt and cold personality. I can tell she doesn’t like it when men touch her. She tensed up when Dutton placed his hand on her back, and she always puts space between herself and anyone else, as if it personally offends her when someone gets too close, which is precisely why I do exactly that. I want to force her to crumble into defeat and submission. I remind myself it’s just business to use her as a pawn to flush out whoever is targeting me. But now, the intrigue is far outweighing the logic.

I’m not sure how long I’ll keep her alive, but even Will has drawn a blank on who might’ve hired her. She’s either very fucking good, or her client is very lucky. I can’t work out which one it is.

That undeniable curiosity has me driving past her apartment at three in the morning. I park along the curb, surprised to find her shadow moving across the curtains.

I consider the things my father said, and at no point was I even tempted to tell him about my precarious situation. If my father knew anything about it, his advice would be very simple: kill her. In fact, he’d probably try to do it himself.

My phone lights up with a text message.

I can’t help the smile that tugs my lips. Is that what she calls the notes she leaves stabbed to my door? I guess she did leave a kiss mark, so maybe that’s her definition of a love note. It also doesn’t surprise me that she knows I’m parked outside her home. I don’t care much if she bugged my car or just has phenomenal security outside her window. It’s not like I’m exactly hiding.

I reply to her message.

I look back up to her window. Only a few seconds pass before she pulls back her curtain. And despite the distance, I notice the scornful glare she shoots me. She flips me off with her bandaged hand, and my upper lip twitches, amused by her incessant urge to piss me off.

I like the spice she has in her. When I was watching that man talk to her at the bar, I could see her demeanor change completely. It was like she went from being a seductress to a lethal killer. I haven’t seen anything like it in a woman in a very long time. Anya Ivanov, the twins’ adoptive mother, is the only woman I have ever seen switch so quickly and completely, but then again, we always knew she was a little crazy. And although the twins aren’t biologically hers, they definitely take after her.

Her face is illuminated as she looks down at her screen, and then my phone lights up with another text.

After I read her message, I look back up, but she’s already closing her curtains, and then the lights switch off.

Although she’s being a smartass, I contemplate leaving her a “love note” to return the favor of the dead rat.

A love note. Can’t say I’ve ever written one of those before, but if her love notes are anything to go by, I’m sure I’ve got this in the bag. I sit parked outside her apartment for another thirty minutes, contemplating welcoming myself into her apartment.

Then again, this cat-and-mouse game isn’t so fun if I trap her so easily in her own home. I can come back anytime.

I decide to drive to my mansion. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from the city, and it gives me time to consider my next hand to play, as well as my father’s words.

When I arrive home, I undo my tie as I approach the entrance. One of my guards stands at attention, and I throw him the keys to my car. My home is quiet at this time, and it’s nice to see neither of the twins has crashed here for the night. Sometimes Hawke likes to crash at my house simply because he thinks the gaming is better in my cinema room. It’s just an excuse for him being bored and constantly needing to be around people.

Unless we’re conducting business, I usually let them have the weekends off, much to my father’s dismay at me not having constant security.

I begin to undo my top buttons as I walk to my bedroom and open the door. The moment I enter the room, something feels off. Someone has been in here. I slowly grab the gun from my pants, and when I switch on the light, I find it empty.

An ominous object catches my attention. A knife has been punctured into the middle of my bed, pinning a scrunched-up note to the mattress.

Anger floods me at her ability to sneak into my space once again, yet my dick twitches at her cockiness.

When I open the note, the first thing I notice is the red kiss mark. Those fuckable little lips acting as a calling card.

This was most likely what she got up to tonight after fleeing my club.

I liked your watch collection. Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed one or twelve.

I crack my neck as I head into my closet and contemplate her last text message.

Everything looks just as I left it a few days ago until I open a drawer and notice my entire watch collection is gone. I don’t like sharing things, let alone someone disrupting the orderly way I place them. But I’m equally impressed. Either way, I’m going to have to install those fucking cameras because of her.

I walk into my private bathroom and pull my shirt over my head. When I’ve removed it completely, something catches my eye. I approach the marble counter, where my aftershave, comb, and toothbrush are. My left eye twitches as I adjust the aftershave into the right position. Did she go through my bathroom?

I scan the room, checking if anything else has been moved, and that’s when my attention is drawn to the corner behind the toilet.

She’s not even trying to hide the fact that she placed a camera there, and so I smirk with a brilliant idea. If this is the game she wants to play, then we can play it. I free my cock and begin to fist it while facing the camera, thinking of how tight her little pussy was wrapped around my fingers tonight.

I don’t know if she’s watching this now or if she will when she wakes, but I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget me, especially when I’ve made my mind up that I’ll bury this cock in her one way or another. However, when I kill her is still undecided.