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"Never is with us." I folded my arms, and planted my butt on my desk, facing him for the first time. "The fuck do you want?"
Brandon reached back and flicked his fingers along the underside of the windowsill where it was covered in small chips and scars of faded initials. "If you don't remember, this is my room once.”
Yeah, and Dad’s.
But I didn't say that. "And your point is?" I tried to affect a bored persona, but my brother was the one who could always get under my skin.
Him, and Dad.
"Are you going to ask me to stay for dinner?"
"Depends on what you want." My nails dug into my palms as I stared him down.
Brandon kicked himself up into a sitting position. "I have a task for you.” He waved a glossy black square envelope with my name embossed on it in gold. “You'll need it," he said shortly.
My blood ran cold.I’m sick of being his lackey."I have a home game this weekend. Championship’s in a few weeks." And I damn well would make sure we made it to that final round.
Brandon placed his elbows on his knees. "The task trumps that," he reproved me quietly.
"Fuck off."
"I used to say the same thing." He laughed softly. "You're born into this business, Beau. You don't get to walk away."
"What a fine pity party.” I applauded slowly, mockingly. “You’ll have to kill the fuckers yourself." I motioned towards the open door. "It’sYourproblem if anybody hears you. You're the messenger, remember?" I put emphasis on the first consonant, making it a capital. "I’d hate to see the repercussions for failure."
"Both of us have had those." Brandon stood and straightened his suit jacket. "I'll see you soon."
He walked out my door, and within in seconds it was like he was never here except for the overpowering stench of effeminate cologne that shit me up the wall, because now my bed fucking stank of it. On my pillow sat the black envelope.
I flicked open the envelope with one hand and opened the window with the other. A black and silver card fell into my palm, an invite to the Governor’s ball, or some shit, plus one.
On the back was a single name, handwritten, a room number, and a time.
I nodded, extracting a lighter from my desk. I waited until the cardstock took flame, and the tips of my fingers sparked with the burn before I flicked it onto my windowsill and watched it turn to ash. Tiny black flakes flitted out of my window. For good measure I did the envelope, too.
No evidence.
No remorse.
My first and second lessons in this world.
No love.
The third and final. Anyone I cared for could be used. Friends, team mates...girlfriends. Anything or anyone who could create leverage against me. I’d say against my family...but it was usually them who used such menial people as their tools.
I stripped off my jeans and shirt, heading for the shower, letting scalding water heat tight, cold muscles. My shoulders as I flexed and stretched through the aches, relishing the strain.
I wasn’t afraid of a little pain, nor did it seem was my not so timid Sylvie Quick. Seeing her alive and fighting gave me more pleasure than I wanted to admit. The girl had as many facets to her personality as I did. In the hospital I’d seen her quiet, reflective. Scared. Back here, with the risk of her impending death a mere memory, she became a formidable woman I could fall to my knees and worship with my tongue and fingers.
But no matter what I wanted, how much I craved her nightly when my palm was the only one who knew my secret, we could never be more than rivals bitching uselessly at each other and causing pain in both directions.
I stepped out of the shower, drying off and throwing on fresh jeans and a black stretchy tee. I might not be able to have her as mine, but no rulebook said I couldn't take a pretty girl out when the occasion warranted. I rifled through my desk and found the number one of my pet hackers acquired for me, though I’d never used it.
Beau:Want to go to a ball, Cinderella?
Sylvie:Not with you.
She shot the reply back so fast that I grinned manically at my phone.
