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I take advantage of the opportunity that’s presented itself. “I’ll give you two a chance to catch up. It was nice to meet you, Senator.”
“Victor,” he amends with a wave of his hand. He doesn’t even turn to look at me, a fact I couldn’t be more grateful for.
I still don’t like the idea of calling him by that name, so I simply nod and rush away.
Lucky for me, Elaine knows this man well enough that I don’t feel bad about how quickly I ditched him upon her. I don’t have the bandwidth right now to entertain entitled people who have no concept of their own depravity. While on the surface the senator had seemed kind enough, something about the way he looked at me was unsettling enough to remind me that, despite my bravado, when you take away the sense of security I’ve found here, I’m only a helpless girl.
And I don’t like that one bit.
Chapter thirty-one
Remy
Rhea getting obliterated in the first two hours of our open house was not on my ‘father’s wake’ bingo card. I guess I should have seen it coming, considering how quickly she slipped back toward denial. She handled everything too well—because she’s not handling it at all—and it should have been obvious that she was going to end up like this. I just hope it’s a one-time thing, because between her and her best friend sauntering around my house in that goddam dress like a nymph, I think I may soon follow my father to the grave. They’re trying to kill me—maybe not outright, but intent is still ¾ of the crime. That’s why I’m in my study trying to slow my racing heart and quell the anger swelling through me.
Leaving Wes alone with a man that Dimitri hired only yesterday doesn’t sit well with me, but neither does standing by his side as he spews vitriol and fucks with his victim. And what’s worse is watching Claire fuck with him, like she’s getting off on the exchange… like she wants to fuck him. I could see her desire written on every inch of her body; She wears it like a brand on her forehead. I’m honestly not sure there’s a man downstairs who didn’t see it.
I know there was something going on between the two of them before I came along. If I hadn’t made myself a factor when I showed up to bring them to Costa Rica, would Claire have fucked him? Would she have happily sank to her knees for him, or fallen asleep in his bed only to wake with a collar on her neck? Given how she was acting just now, I’m not entirely sure she would have minded it. And there’s nothing wrong with that—I’ve been with women who have all sorts of kinks—except the fact that Wes wouldn’t have ever freed her. He’d use her until it was time to pass her along and wipe his hands clean of her blood.
That’s the problem. Consent isn’t sexy to a guy like Wes. I’ve been in the business long enough to have him figured out. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with him. Men who can have anything they want eventually get bored with the offerings and decide to take that which doesn’t belong to them. It’s the empire that our fathers built—a throne of gold atop the battered and broken bodies of thousands of men, women, and children. Wes and I were born at the top, balancing precariously on the lives and deaths of others. My father has lost his crown, but I’m still stuck at the top, trying to figure out how to get down.
Killing Davos won’t end it. I know that. It’s not enough to grant him his life when I know exactly what he’s capable of. His death may ensure Claire’s safety, since he’s the purveyor of everything that takes place under his station. His blood on my hands will only make it harder to climb down from here—two more will pop up in his place. The only way to defeat a hydra is to first chop off the center head—the one thing that unites everyone in their empire of ruin.
The money.
I squeeze the glass in my hand so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. I’m equally surprised when the door of my study opens slowly, and I look up to find Claire leaning quietly against the doorframe. “You okay?”
God. Just the sight of her is breathing life into my cock again after I finally just got it to stand by. “Fine.”
I want her to turn away and go back downstairs, but I also don’t want her to leave. And I don’t want other men looking at her, talking to her, thinking about what’s under that dress. It’s wrong, I know, to want to try and possess her when I’ll never lay claim to her. It’s why I want to see her walk out of the room as much as I want her to shut the door and come ride on my dick until she’s seeing stars.
“Once more,” she crosses her arms, a smirk tipping the corner of her red-painted lips. “With feeling.”
Cocky little thing. I manage to keep my eyes locked on hers when I tell her, “I don’t have feelings.”
Claire only laughs. “Sure.”
She waits for an answer while I drain the rest of the bourbon from my glass and set it down with a little more force than necessary. But I don’t have any response for that, so I ignore her for a moment longer, pretending to shuffle some things around on my desk. When I look back up at her, heat spills in my stomach. “What do you want, Claire?”
Her façade falters. For just a moment, I see hurt flash in her eyes. And then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “I just wanted to be sure you were alright. You seemed… agitated.”
I drop the pen I just picked up a moment earlier and stand. It only takes a few strides to cross the room and snatch her against my chest. She has the foresight to kick the door shut behind her, which is smart because I doubt she wants anyone to overhear what I’m going to say. “Do I seem agitated, Claire?”
I almost expect her eyes to spark with fear, but she only chuckles as she looks up at me, holding her thumb and forefinger up just a hair apart. “A little bit.”
“Why on Earth would I be agitated? Doesn’t every man dream of watching a beautiful woman eye-fuck his sadistic half-brother right in front of him?”
Instead of wincing at my accusation or the anger in my voice, she simply raises an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s trying not to laugh. I want to wipe the smile off her face—maybe bury her face in the sheets until that smile turns to a scream while I hammer into her from behind so hard that she forgets other men even exist.
No.
Bad idea.
“What?” I demand. It’s terse, more of a growl than a question.
She shrugs, humming some sort of noncommittal noise that only serves to irritate me further. I tighten my grip on her until she looks up at me with those clear eyes that I’ve been bewitched by since the start. “That’s just the first time you’ve complimented me.” When I only stare at her, she shrugs again. “I can never tell what’s going on in your head. It’s just nice to know.”
I suppose she’s right. I haven’t told her she’s beautiful; I assumed she knew as much. Besides, I’ve been trying to fight the attraction I feel to her, of course I’m not going to string her along with niceties. I need her to be willing to walk away and that won’t happen if I let her know I think she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. As much as all that is true, her words are also ironic. “You think I can tell what’s going on in your head? You think it doesn’t bother me to see you go from zero to sixty as easily as if you flipped a switch? I can’t tell if you’re ashamed of fucking me, or what we did before that.”
