Page 32 of Vicious Kingdom

He couldn’t scream if he wanted.

“What happens to your precious position when I tell Mrs. Lawson that you’re a traitor? Hmm? You think she’ll reprimand me for this?” I pushed harder.

Those beady eyes nearly popped out of his purple face.

“The thing about informants,” I continued, “is that you’re as useful as your own ambitions. You don’t have those, do you, Peter? You’re looking to make a quick buck from a company that’s in merger talks. But what then? Hmm? Who’s going to hire a snitch?”

Blood leaked from the cut on his cheek. The crimson tendrils looked like tears.

“You’re done.” I pressed the iron harder, bruising his throat, before releasing him.

Gasping for breath and clawing at his throat, Peter had the good sense to scramble back.

But I wasn’t finished.

I grabbed the little shit by the scruff and hauled him from the trees. The sick, twisted part deep in my chest—the one I so rarely indulged in given my public image—sighed with contentment. Who knew golf could be so fun?

Mrs. Lawson peered over her slim cat sunglasses at us as we emerged onto the fairway. “Goodness!”

“Couldn’t find the ball,” I responded. “But I found something better.”

Adjusting her gloves, she hopped from the back of the cart where she’d been sitting as the caddies stood at a respectful distance.

“Mr. Midget here was telling me how he had something from Lawson Oil for sale beforetrippingover a branch.” I shoved Peter toward the window.

He sprawled over the short, bright green grass.

I was fairly confident that the roach wouldn’t lash out at the late founder’s wife. But my fingers itched to grab him once more. The club in my hand seemed to sing with its desire to strike again.

“You shouldn’t have gone in the woods, Peter. Those branches are deadly,” she said coolly.

Appreciation flickered through me. The old bitty had no remorse for the man who’d just tried to sell her out. A pity. If I’d known that, I would have roughed him up more.

My inner beast paced in frustration at the tight leash I kept on him.

“Why don’t you sit this hole out and have a think on what your explanation is,” she continued.

“I want to leave,” the traitor whimpered. He shot a pleading look to the caddies, who were busy adjusting the clubs in their bags.

The widow’s voice dripped with ice. “We’re not done.”

“Actually, ma’am, I was thinking of walking the rest of the holes, since it’s clear from the scorecard who’s the winner of this game.” I gave her a saccharine smile. “Why don’t you take Peter back, have a talk, and then call him a cab?”

Mrs. Lawson stuck out her bottom lip, painted the same shade of bubblegum pink as her tank top and skirt.

“He’s spoilt my mood for the game,” I added before she could argue against the plan.

“Oh, well, if that’s where things stand,” she sighed. “But I’m going to demand a rematch, Leonard.”

Cazzo! No….

“I’ll bid you good day, then,” I insisted.

Peter scrambled into the cart, but a sharp word from the widow had him joining the caddies on their cart. In a cloud of gas, they whizzed off, and I drew a deep breath.

I would have to be careful when I returned to the club house, sneaking through the service lots so I wouldn’t stumble upon the widow, who would no doubt be waiting like a spider to suggest luncheon at the main lodge. The old battleaxe was a hard one to shake.

As I walked down the paved path, I plucked a piece of turf to wipe the blood from my club. I doubted the little fucker was smart enough to press charges, but years of being careful ingrained the habit of hiding evidence.