A brief pause. “I’d prefer to be by your side, sir.”
“You think some teenagers are going to assassinate me, Yosef?” It’s a funny thought, and my lips curl up slightly. I’m thirty-eight years old, but he still acts like I’m a fumbling beginner to the criminal underbelly of the world. I’ve been living and breathing it since I was eight and my reluctant father realized he wasn’t getting any younger, and he needed to work with the son he had rather than the son he wanted.
“They aren’t teenagers anymore, sir.” His tone is respectful, but his words make me huff another almost-laugh.
He’s right though, Kira just had her twenty-second birthday.“Time is going so fast.”
It feels like just yesterday when my older sister died giving birth to little Kira. I was barely sixteen, and I held the newborn baby in my arms and swore to take care of her until the day I died. My niece is the only family member who is part of my inner circle. The rest of my father’s family–his legitimate daughters, his widow, all my cousins–they live separate from me, and are content to gripe about my methods from afar. I give them hush money to stay out of my way, and they do. Because if they didn’t, I’d kill them and feel absolutely nothing.
But not Kira. My sister’s child is special to me, because my sister was special to me. She never treated me poorly. She was a legitimate child of my father’s, so she was only a half-sister, but she treated me like full-blood kin.
“I’d better oversee it,” I decide reluctantly. “Kira’s much too soft-hearted. I have a feeling she lets her peers bully her.”
Yosef makes an agreeable noise, and steps out to presumably arrange it all. I sigh and begin the lengthy, headache-inducing process of moving my schedule around. It’s just a week, after all.I’ll get to see Kira, make sure no one bothers her too much, and take a much-needed break at one of my many properties.
What could go wrong?
Chapter 2
Tommy
I’ve never been on a private jet before. Hell, I’ve never even been on a regular plane before. I know what planes are and how they work, but I’d never considered buying a ticket anywhere.
Not only for the practical, logical reasons, like I have no ID and no money. But also for wispier, less concrete reasons like…I have nowhere to go, and nowhere I want to go. I barely want to behere. I don’t have enough positivity to try and work up the motivation to want to be somewhere else. So the whole world outside my city is just a big blank space of stuff I’ll never see. Why bother thinking about it at all?
Except today, Iwillsee a little more of the world. I’m on a motherfucking plane, baby.
Take-off is thrilling: the speed, the jump into the air, the tilt upwards and the knowledge that I am higher than humans probably should be. It’s great. We could plummet to our deaths at any time. Engines are notoriously fickle things, you know? I vibrate in my seat with adrenaline, and it feels kinda good.
Now, I’m poking around the jet, looking at everything. My new clothes are soooo fucking soft, and smell so good. I’ve never had such soft, sweet-smelling clothes on my skin, ever. And I look nice, I can admit that. Looking in the mirror after the tailor delivered the wardrobe was like seeing a new person. I have slim-fitting designer shirts, all soft and fashionable and dyed weird colors. Not like ugly colors, just… Somehow, I can tell just by looking at them that they’re rich person colors. I’m also wearing “casual” jeans that I’m honestly worried about getting dirt on, and that kind of stress is new to me and very unwelcome. Add in the haircut Lexie insisted I have–I’m now rocking afresh new fade, which does actually look fantastic–and I look like a million bucks. Even the underwear is new, all bright white straight from the package, stark against my dark skin. And the socks are thick and there aren’t any holes or threadbare patches on any of it. It feels weird having socks and briefs that actually hold onto me and cup me where they’re supposed to. I’m going to hoard fuckingallof it. It’s all mine now, bitches. You’ll pry it from my cold, dead hands.
I’m surprised the girls are allowing me to keep wearing my double-ear piercings and my nose stud (albeit with shiny new gold pieces; you bet your ass I’m keeping those, too), but they both insist that it adds to my ‘hot-guy allure’. I’m happy, really, because at least I still feel like myself in some small way. But for the most part, it’s like being someone totally different, someone I don’t know.
I have new clothes, new hair, and a new identity. The girls gave me a fake last name before I even had the chance to tell them I didn’t have one of my own. Or if I ever did, I don’t know it. I think they gave me the last name as a cover story, not because they somehow knew I was undocumented and alone. Still, it feels weird. I feel weird.
Tommy Claremont. That’s me now. Pretentious ass name, in my opinion, but I guess that’s the point. Tommy Claremont is an interesting guy, with tons of money and class and a family that loves him probably. And he wears fancy watches.
“Tommy Claremont” might need to come stay with me for a while after all this and live with me at my house, slide into my skin and wear me like a new coat. Maybe I’ll enjoy being Tommy Claremont. I bet Tommy Claremont never killed a man. I bet he never had to.
I’ve killed three.
Not that I’m counting or anything.
“Tommy,” Lexie calls me over to the cushy seats she and Kira are reclining on. “They’re bringing drinks over.”
On cue, a server brings out a bottle of champagne that glitters like it’s made of diamonds. I ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at it as I hurry over and fall into the plush bench-chair with Kira, smooshing her a little.
She laughs, then shyly, hesitantly, puts her hand on my thigh while I wrap one arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She lets me position her so she leans against my side, her head tucked on my shoulder. She fits really well, and I can guess by the sparkle in Lexie’s eyes that we look good together. We’ve been practicing boyfriend-girlfriend behavior all day, at Lexie’s adamant direction, and I’ve slipped into the role of affectionate, doting boyfriend almost too easily. It pleases something in me to act the part, even if I don’t actually like Kira that way.
It makes me a bit wistful.I wish I wasn’t so devastatingly single.
I hold in a sigh. As talented as I am at stealing, I can’t steal a whole person, so getting a boyfriend seems hard. Like, who wouldwantto stay with me, anyway? I’m a fucking mess. And my last fling made it clear that I could bend over all I want, get on my knees whenever he asked, but since I could never cum, I might as well not even bother trying. He said I was broken, and it made him feel like shit to use me if I didn’t even “like it.”
But I did like it, sort of. I don’t hate having sex with someone if I’m into them, it feels nice to let them feel good. I just…I can’t…finish. I try, but–
Shut up, stupid brain!
“A toast!” Lexie declares happily, raising a delicate flute of bubbling alcohol. I hand Kira her glass before taking my own. It was second nature to me, but Lexie nods approvingly. “You’re fantastic at this boyfriend gig.”
