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“Then, you ask her.”
“It’s not the same.” Finally releasing me, he crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re the master of the house when your father is away. Make her go.”
“How?”
“Your infamous Blackthorne charm. What else?”
Chapter 3
Lucian
Present day ...
I stare through the window of my father’s old office. Even two years after his death, the room still reeks of cigar smoke and the cheap perfume of his last whore.
In the aftermath of my mother’s declining mental health, he let the place fall into disrepair. Took to drinking gin all hours of the day, and keeping with prostitutes he forced Rand to recruit from the mainland on his behalf.
A dull ache in my skull radiates over the right side of my head, and I set a hand to where small patches of hair are missing. In light circles, I try to abate the needling sensation that settles deep inside my bones. A quiet ringing in my ears intensifies just enough to add a zap of sharp pain.
Eyes flinched, I breathe through my nose until it subsides, and loosen the tight clench of my teeth.
“She’s arrived, sir,” Makaio says from behind.
I let out a shaky exhale, not bothering to turn to where the giant Hawaiian stands behind me.
At six-five, he’s only about an inch taller, but his mass makes up the difference between us. That, and Makaio happens to be far more deadly with his MMA background. I loathe the idea of having a bodyguard shadow me everywhere, but I’ve had enough attempts on my life to warrant the man’s services. I’ve known him for nearly half my life, he and Rand being longtime associates of my father. The only two people left in the world that I trust.
“You want Rand to bring her up so you can meet her?”
“Rand assisted my father in making multi-million dollar decisions every day. I’m sure he can handle hiring a companion for my mother.”
“This one looks young. Hot, but can’t dress worth a damn.”
I couldn’t care less about the new help. They rarely last here, so I find it pointless to learn more than I need. Whether from having to put up with my mother, or from staying in this rotting corpse of a house, they have a tendency to quit the job before they’ve begun. “Please have Giulia bring me some coffee.”
“Breakfast, too?”
“No. I’m not hungry.”
“How is that even possible? I don’t get it.”
I smirk, in spite of my mood. “I weigh about a hundred pounds less than you do. I certainly don’t have the same love affair you seem to have with food.”
“Doesn’t cheat. Doesn’t piss and moan every time I want a piece. And I don’t have to worry about some other asshole coming along to swipe it up.”
“Depends on what you’re eating.”
Snorting, Makaio shakes his head. “I’ll have Giulia bring the coffee.”
With a nod, I turn my attention back toward the window. From here, I can see over the surrounding forest that lines the property’s perimeter, and beyond to where the ocean dances in the distance, past the edge of a steep cliff.
Blackthorne Manor is the pillar of excess, a fortress designed to divide the rich from the poor. My great-grandfather had the castle built on the highest cliff, where it could be seen from anywhere in Tempest Cove. A grim reminder to generations that followed why one should never cross paths with a Blackthorne. It’s said the foundations, upon which this place was built, are the crushed remains of his enemies’ bones. Dramatic really. Even my own family isn’t immune to making up fables.
The ocean view morphs and sharpens into my reflection in the glass, where a cluster of grisly scars stretch across the lower part of my cheek. Twisting my head slightly to the side shows the unaffected half, the part that wasn’t torn away that night. Touching it with my hand offers palpable evidence to the visuals of the grotesque, uneven landscape of my skin. Gashes so deep that not even scar revision could hide them.
As the familiar revulsion bubbles to the surface, my hands instinctively ball into fists. I’ve punched enough mirrors to know that breaking things doesn’t make it go away. Doesn’t change what happened. But the pain feels good.
“Master?” At the sound of Giulia’s voice, I tamp down my frustration and turn only slightly to face her. “Will you be needing my services this evening?” she asks, setting down the cup of coffee on a coaster atop the desk.
