AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And what would you like me to do about it?” Clay asks, drawing me away from that simulated smile, chilling to view on a grieving son’s face.
As Anderson mumbles his answer, I look down at my fists, the skin of my knuckles ripped and raw from boxing. My gaze moves to the empty whiskey glass I poured when we entered this room ten minutes ago, then to Clay’s glass which spins on the desk in his fingers, nearly untouched.
My big brother is ‘on.’
Always on.
Not me.
“Speak up, Anderson,” I state. “I won’t ask you again.”
“Well…” Anderson begins shakily, “you know.”
“No. I don’t,” Clay states, an effortless warning carrying his words across the desk. “Do I look like the kind of man who asks questions not expecting an answer?”
Anderson pales further. “No, Mr Butcher.”
“Then”—Clay raises his hand from the desk— “give me my answer,se?”
“I want someone to speak with him,” Anderson finally admits. “Scare him. Threaten him. Whatever it takes for him to leave her alone.”
There we go.
You can’t ask for favours without asking.
And my brother loves to watch them squirm.
The clock ticks.
Time stretches between us. Clay stares contemplatively at the man across from him. Anderson’s neck gathers beads of sweat, and I watch the red fear on his face rise like water filling a glass cup.
Minutes after silence, Clay rises to his feet, smoothing down his black tie. “I accept.”
Anderson looks startled, his mouth flapping with words that don’t quite form.
Clay continues, “Xander will get the details. If you don’t mind, I have people to see.”
The door to Clay’s office opens before he reaches it. Que, his first assistant, stands on the other side as Clay exits the room.
Now, I’m up.
“Where does he usually take these pictures? At his house? Yours?” I ask Anderson as he runs his sweaty hands down his thighs and breathes hard with relief.
I can’t help but smile this time—a real fucking smile because that’s me. “Calm down. What did you think would happen? You’re in our home. Taking up our time. Just answer my questions so we can both get the hell out of this room. You look like you need a drink.”
He nods. As he talks about Grayson’s perverted interest in his twelve-year-old child—he follows her to the restroom and corners her at the shopping centre—the discomfort rushing beneath my skin intensifies.
I hum. “But he’s never touched her?”
“I don’t know,” Anderson answers sadly. “She says no, but she’s my daughter. She won’t tell me.”
“Tell me about these pictures?”
Disgust tightens his face as he begins to describe the images he’s witnessed—some taken down her jeans, others up her skirt, and a few simply of her blushing.
It’s not my job to enforce. I’m supposed to get the details and organise our soldiers to complete the job.
In fact, Clay would hate it if I left this sham wake and went straight over to Grayson Young’s house to complete this job, but I can’t imagine anything more therapeutic than using Chuck’s sick little brother’s face to beat some candour into my day—yeah, Clay would fucking hate it.
