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“At least, allow me to explain fully. It’s too much now, all at once,” Victor looks over at my father then at me. “I’ll tell you who murdered your mother once you’ve had time to digest this.”
“Don’t fucking go there.” The oxygen I tug into my lungs hardly fits. I attempt another anxious inhale. Futile. Anger, strife, and rage grapple for power over me.
“I let you in.” I touch my chest, which is raggedly clawing for air. “I told you things about me I would never tell anybody else. My mother and me. I fucking let you into all of that. You bring her up now? You manipulative son of a bitch.”
My heart quickens as Victor takes my shoulders. The very feel of his hands is repulsive. How could I not sense Victor the same as I had with the Russian? I’m staring at the devil, beguiled by all his glory.
“Luxury, listen to me,” Victor implores. “I promise to tell you all about your mother’s death and your father’s botched assassination attempt.”
“Promises are no good.” These are my last words to Victor before he is out of my life. I turn my back on him.
My brain hopes he’s vanished for good. My heart, in contrast, still won’t see reason. If I could, I’d pull the pathetic muscle straight out of my chest. What has love ever done for me anyway?
41
VICTOR
The Learjet hums quietly on the tarmac. Burt’s at the bottom of the steps, fatigued face unreadable. He needs a bloody holiday, me too. But if I tell him that a tropical oasis is our next destination, he may keel over. At least in my case, I’ve been a dead wanka walking for over a decade.
“Fuck!” I shout. The sides of my fist smash the roof of the car. I dent the driver’s side door with my boot while fixating on Luxury, Dr. Whitson, and Dr. Charles Everhart.
Lux loathes me.
Jonah Whitson will survive, although I’m to blame that Luxury had to shed another tear.
Dr. Everhart—that bloke’s as elusive as air.
My balled fist crashes through the window. Shards cascade over the seat as I cuss in a manner unfit for royalty.
Biting a sharp bit of glass from my knuckles, I pitch the sliver onto the asphalt then have myself a laugh.An adult outburst, really good look.
“Let’s go, Vic.” Burt utilizes the same tone he would employ right before taking me to bandage another wound as a child.
Inside the jet, we move between sleek wood panels and a couple rows of thick, leather reclining seats.
Possessed with Luxury’s safety, I begin, “Paul—”
“The lad and Monica will not rest until they’ve found him, Victor,” Burt cuts in. “Paul put the search on hold when the police questioned you. Monica needed all personnel to enterSpecial Agent Garyandyour superiorinto the bureau database.”
“Thank you, old man,” I mutter.
“You’re human. You’re a royal. You’re not an immortal.”
“Of course. What’s next? Should I contemplate my grandmum’s reaction?”
“Grandmother or not, the Queen would be livid.” Confident he’s had the last word, Burt heads for the wet bar. He reaches into one of the cupboards to grab the first aid kit and scotch.
Burt cocks his head toward the seats. “Remove yourself from the reckoning for a few days. Your team, or that Bobby fellow, will secure Everhart’s information. I’m sure of it, and we will murder him.”
“We?” I settle down into one of the plush chairs.
“Humph, you’re perfectly aware of what I meant.” Burt pours shots then removes bandages from the first aid kit. “I had a discreet conversation with Bobby George about apprehending any further suspects. He understands that it’s not necessary to dispose of the riffraff through the proper chain of command. I believe that’s how Milton and Hanover perished, attempting to detain the assassins. For a nominal fee, any unsavory persons will be turned over to our stead, not the bloody authorities.”
“Lesson learned.” I rub my eyes.
“Security detail has been increased. Now we know Luxury will be safe.”
I toss back the drink. “Shebetter besafe.”
