And the woman in the bed down the hall wasn’t my wife.
I had no wife. I had no family. I had no real home. What I had was a house with four walls and roof. With no art. Certainly not like the artwork covering the walls in this house.
Paintings with whips and chains and cages. And beautiful women. Men in masks. Discipline.
That’s what she needed. Discipline. Harsh punishment for lying to me.
Another sip and I almost dropped the glass. Fuck it. I didn’t need liquor. I needed peace. I needed answers.
I needed to kill the son of a bitch who’d almost hurt my family. Not my family. My…
Vivian Evangeline Hamilton. She might as well go by her mother’s maiden name of McCarthy.
Why? Because she would easily get a table at any restaurant in town. My guess was she wouldn’t need to live in a shitty ass apartment any longer. In truth, she wouldn’t even need to work. Why was she working? Why the fuck not just follow along in her uncle’s footsteps?
That was a good goddamn question.
I turned away, sick to my stomach from seeing the fucking pictures my search had turned up.
Beauty. Brains. Bullshit.
The three Bs. Another laugh and I stumbled backward. Maybe a little too much to drink.
She’d need to be dealt with. She’d tricked me.
Into what? How did she trick you, asshole?
With her gorgeous body. “She lied to me.” In saying the words out loud, I turned toward the door, half expecting to see someone. Well, shit. I still had the gun in my hand. With my hand still shaking, I managed to ease the weapon down, backing away as soon as I did.
Can’t you see she’s trying to live a different life? She’s not her uncle.
“Bullshit!” Bullshit. She was… A perfect, precious daughter.
A plan. That’s what was needed. I had no doubt the fucking Irish were at least funding the Ghost. That made sense. She’d been on the flight. Of course. I’d been such a fool to fall for her act.
Now what? What could I do to take control? I could use her. How? She was worth money. She was special. She was mine.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I rolled the glass across my forehead, my body swaying as I tried to think about what to do with her. Yes, a plan was needed. The Ghost. I had to find the Ghost.
Where was he hiding? In plain sight? Had he somehow managed to infiltrate Dimitri’s operation?
I had to know. I had… to know. I had such an urge to break something. To destroy something.
To kill. After another swig, I had to wipe my mouth. Dimitri needed to get his fucking ass back here.
Where was my phone? I searched through the items on the desk, barely registering a sound. I’d knocked something off. Fuck it. There it was. I slid the glass onto the desk and eyed the screen,blinking profusely as I tried to remember his number. Oh, yeah. I’d programmed it in.
Under X. For X marks the spot. I leaned against the desk as I dialed the number, the ache in my chest increasing to the point I was panting like some dog.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Jesus, Kirill. What the hell are you doing working so late?” Dimitri’s question was followed by a laugh.
Hissing, I controlled my temper. Barely. “That’s what happens when you’re lured into a trap.”
“So I heard. I’m surprised you allowed that to happen.”
