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Pursing my lips, I tilt my head to the side and give him a small sense of hope. As if I’m considering his idiocy—pretending for those few seconds that I don’t know the kind of pathetic wanker he grew up to be. He’s mistaken my friendship for something it’s not, and even if he were family, I’d slit his throat just the same after a betrayal of any kind.
There’s nothing above loyalty. Not even familial ties.
“Liar,” I spit out through clenched teeth, and he stumbles back on his haunches, trying to crawl away but the stomp of my boot on his left knee stops him. Four times, and a scream rends the air; he’s quick to grab the injured leg but stops when the tip of the knife in my right hand presses against his forehead, digging in just enough to bring blood to the surface of the small incision. “You’re not worthy of the family you had, Jonathan. Melissa deserves better than you, and I’ll make sure they’re both taken care of. She’ll never work two jobs again, nor will she continue to pay for your mistakes.”
“If I don’t return home, she’ll call the cops. There’s a file—” He trails off when the briefcase is opened and a second later a manila folder is tossed at his feet. He makes no move to grab it, but tears do fall when a few seconds later a dial tone fills the warm building I own a few hours outside of London. The area is all private farmland, almost two hundred acres of untouched property with a few buildings at the center that I use for personal storage. There’s one road in and one out with security around the clock to take care of my cars, a few small planes, and my private collection of war memorabilia—weapons used throughout history to be exact, including a tank used during the Gulf War.
“That file?” The knife’s tip digs in a little deeper.
His expression is one of disbelief—betrayal—but that soon turns to abject horror when his pregnant wife’s voice comes through the line. “Is it done, Callum?”
“Not yet,” I say before slicing down from forehead to cheek while puncturing his eyeball.
“Fuck!” His scream, full of anguish, makes pleasurable goose bumps rise across my flesh. The darkness within my soul is feeding off the echoes that surround us in the large, open space. The cut isn’t deep enough to cause blindness, not that he’ll be alive to enjoy the sights and sounds of life outside these walls, but enough to make him hiss in pain and tear up—each track down his cheek turns a reddish-brown as the dirt on his face mixes with his blood. “No more. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“We have a request I must oblige.” Maybe it’s because of the cut or the realization that he’s truly dispensable, but Jonathan’s face drops and his shoulders slump. He’s the poster child for someone who’s disingenuously ashamed, yet either way, I pat his head like one would a dog and wag the knife in his face as one would a finger. “Someone needs to hear the verbal confirmation of your blessing.”
“Are you taking the piss?” Her laugh is sardonic, completely ignoring his pain-filled yell, but I can still make out her tears. The anguish Jonathan has caused. “Do my words really matter?”
“Yes.” Yet I’m not the one she’s asking. Her question is directed to the piece of shit on his knees crying like a git. “Give me your vote.”
She takes a deep breath, and I plunge the blade of my knife from one cheek to the other and leave it there while her husband whimpers. Paints the ground red with his blood one drop at a time, the sprinkling reminding me of one of those designs made by a macabre artist I admire from Seattle. “I’ve been a widow since the day after we said I do. It’s time to recoup my full freedom.”
“No!” Jonathan yells out without thinking, ripping the flesh on each cheek apart. His mouth fills with blood, it rolls down his neck and onto the dirty collar of the light pink polo he’s wearing. “Love, please. Please don’t abandon me. You’re my—”
“I’m tired of bailing you out,” she says lowly, the words full of so much hurt, and for the first time, I see true repentance on his face. Too late. “Your family’s legacy is gone because of your selfishness, you bloody bastard. The dealerships are under insolvency proceedings, the houses are being sold to pay back the money you stole, and all while your mum had a heart attack at the care home after finding out what you did. While you were busy shagging...” She chokes on a sob, the pain raw, and if I had a better conscience, I’d forgive him for her. But I don’t. I won’t. “She’s been in a coma while you were busy bending over a woman that isn’t the one you promised to love and cherish.”
“I’m sorry.” His split lip wobbles, his entire frame shaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“No. You’re not.”
“Melissa, I know I’ve hurt you. That I’ve—”
“Wasted enough years of my life.” The woman on the other end takes in a deep breath, the silence looming from the line before a painful sigh escapes her. “I can’t do this anymore, and neither can your mum. You can go in peace knowing we’ll be better off.”
“I’ll make this right. Just please—”
“You’re only sorry you were caught, Jonathan. Goodbye.” The dial tone follows, and the sorrowful scream that leaves him shakes his entire frame. And I’m humanitarian enough to give him a second to come to terms with his reality. His death sentence was handed out by the same person to whom he tied his life to, and then proceeded to hurt by breaking each of those sacred vows.
And while I’m not a man who believes in love or spending my life with one woman, I respect those who do. I respect those vows. I’ve seen in my life what a good woman can do for a man in my aunt and uncle’s relationship, my own parents not being the best example, but those two made it work. She was his true right hand before he stepped down and Casper took over as the head of our family.
Classy and poised—nothing like the women that cross my path.
They want an easy fuck with the hopes of taming my cock and bank account. To become a Jameson.
I fuck and leave. No strings attached. No commitment.
Pussy doesn’t rule my life. I scratch the itch when the need arises and that’s as far as it goes.
“Call her back.” It’s no more than a whisper, but I hear, and I also don’t respond. “Call her!”
My hand extends out, palm side up while my eyes hold his. His anger is rising, and I find the false bravado amusing to an extent. It also doesn’t last long as a second later my favorite toy is placed in my hand by the cleaner just slightly behind me.
The heavy leather feels good in my palm, centers me, and I breathe in deeply while letting its coiled length fall to the ground. The slapping sound isn’t muted, and the subtle hint of a clink makes Jonathan’s ire lose all strength, going from hot to a shivering form sitting atop his own mess.
He knows what this is. He was with me when I acquired the specially made whip.
“Vest off.”
