The receptionist smiles politely but warily at me across the desk.
“I’m sorry sir. Councilman Leery is extremely busy. I’m afraid you’ll need to make an appointment and come back lat—sir!”
Fuck it. I made a passing effort at doing this the nice way. But the not-so-nice way is so much more fun.
“Sir!”
I ignore the receptionist’s protests, blowing right past her and yanking open the door to his office. The Councilman looks up quickly from his desk, his brows knitting in confusion.
“Sir! You can’t just—” the receptions glares past me at her boss. “I’m sorry, Councilman Leery, he just—”
“He’ll buzz you when he needs you.”
I shut the door firmly in her face and lock it. Shame Leery couldn’t see into the future to do that before I arrived.
Slowly, I turn to smile a sharp, predatory smile at Councilman Leery. Also known as Greg Leery.
The same Greg Leery who went to school with Neve. The same Greg Leery who, alongside Mike fucking Jennings, got her drunk, or roofied, or whatever, and then used a Polaroid camera to take predatory pictures of her unconscious body. Up her skirt. With her shirt pulled up.
Of his fucking dick wagging next to her face, like a complete fucking degenerate.
Today, that same Greg Leery is Councilman Leery, whose Manhattan district includes the Lower East Side, SoHo, the South Street Seaport, TriBeCa, and Washington Square. Not too shabby.
He’s currently looking at me like I’ve got three heads. Until slowly, realization hits him and that dumb fucking confused look on his face drops like a brick as he connects the dots. He starts to pale.
“Hang on—”
“Do you know who I am?”
He swallows, his face turning the color of ash.
“I asked you a question.”
Greg opens his mouth and immediately snaps it shut again. It’s pretty clear he’s heard about his little pal Mike’s visit to the ER two nights ago. And I’m guessing coming face-to-face with the grim fucking reaper—aka, me—has him about a nanosecond away from shitting his pants.
“Look, I—I’m not looking for trouble—”
“Well, that’s a shame.”
I smile thinly as I cross the office until I’m standing over his desk, glaring down at him.
“Because you just found it.”
He’s too busy staring up into my face in horror to see the windup coming. My fist slams into his face, knocking him sideways out of his chair and to the floor as he bleats in terror. I storm around to his side of the desk just as he’s struggling to get up. Another fist to the face knocks his ass right back down.
I’m not done. Hell, I’m just getting started.
I hit Leery a third time, making sure he’s a sniveling, writhing worm on the ground before I do what comes next.
Which is to unzip my pants and pull out my cock.
Greg’s face turns white, his eyes wide in horror as he looks up at me.
“Woah! WOAH, man! Chill! I’m not gay or any—”
The back of my hand cracks him across the jaw.
“Shut the fuck up.”
I glare down at him as I wave my dick in his face.
“Doesn’t feel good, does it? To have intimacy forced on you when you don’t want it. Or when you can’t say if you want it or not.”
Leery swallows, looking like he’s going to be sick.
“Look, I was a kid, man. We were drinking—”
“Come up with another pathetic excuse and I swear to God I will throw you out the window.”
His mouth snaps shut.
“The pictures,” I growl.
When Greg doesn’t say anything, I roll my eyes as I tuck myself back in and zip up.
“Now would be a good time to start talking, shithead.”
He shakes his head vigorously.
“They’re gone!” he blurts. “I burned them years ago! I swear!”
I want to believe him. I so want to believe him. Because it would make this so much easier. But there’s no fucking way he’s telling the truth.
I’ve done my homework on Greg. He comes from a long line of politically-minded scumbags who are willing to do whatever it takes to seize power. He’s got a great-uncle who did time for fraud and embezzlement in New Jersey. Another cousin in jail right now in Florida, for accepting bribes as a state senator.
And as much as I want to think of Greg himself as a moron and a fuckhead, he’s actually not stupid. An undergraduate degree at Harvard can be bought. That, and the fact that his father attended, would have made Greg a shoo-in for admission even if he was dumb as a sack of hammers. But he’s not, and he aced Harvard. He was also near the top of his class when he got his law degree at Georgetown.
Bottom line: Greg is smart, and way too politically savvy, and having potential dirt on the Kildare family is worth far too much. He’s much too insidiously power-hungry to let something like that go.
“If I have to ask you again, Greg, I’m cutting off your balls.”
His eyes bulge. “I swear to God—”
He shrieks when I grab him by the collar, drag him up, and shove him over his desk. I yank his pants and boxers down, and Councilman Gregory Leery just about has a heart attack when I whip out a switchblade and rest the edge against the underside of his shriveled balls.
“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God, please—!”
“Greg. Now would be a good time to start telling the—”
“The safe!” He blurts, sobbing. “The safe! In the bottom of that hutch, by the window!”
I sigh slowly. “I’m disappointed, Greg.”
“Please!” he bawls. “Please! I’m so fucking sorry! I—”
“Go over and open it. Now.”
He about trips over himself scuffling over with his pants down around his ankles. He swings open the bottom section of the hutch to reveal a safe and quickly dials in the combination to open it. A second later, he’s stumbling and falling over his pants again to shove a manila envelope into my hands.
Slowly, I raise my eyes to his.
“These are the only ones?”
He nods violently, a shell of a man, tears welling in his eyes.
“I swear to God, man!”
“If you’re lying, the next blade I bring to your pathetic dick will be a chainsaw. Understand?”
Greg about breaks his own neck, he’s nodding so fast.
“Greg, I’m giving you a job. Today never happened. Two nights ago with your little pal Mike never happened, either. And I’m putting you in charge of keeping it that way, by whatever means necessary. Got it?”
He nods even faster. “Of course!” His brow furrows. “But I mean, Mike…”
“It’s now your job to keep the both of you silent. I don’t give a fuck how you do it. Understood?”
“Of course, Mr. Drakos.”
I turn to leave, then pause.
“Oh, and Greg?”
“Yeah?”
I spin back and break his nose with my already-bruised knuckles. He chokes, crying out and stumbling backwards as he clutches his gushing face.
“If you ever speak to, talk about, look at, come near, or even think about my wife again, I’ll be back, and I will be leaving with your balls in a jar.”
I don’t wait for a response before I’m out the door.
Neve looks up from the book she’s been reading on the couch when I walk in. I nod at the paperback in her hand quizzically, and she raises it to show me.
“Fucked Sideways. I’ve read it like nine times, but I love Bastian Pierce.”
I shake my head, smiling to myself. “You do know he fucked one of his students, right?”
Neve rolls her eyes. “He married one of his students.”
“Okay?”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “I think it’s romantic.”
Her eyes drop to my hand, and her face tenses.
“Ares…” Neve’s face lifts to mine. “There’s blood on your—”
“Come with me.”
She frowns as I walk across the penthouse and slide open the glass door to the spacious patio, but follows. Outside I open the lid to the fire pit, turn on the gas, and then drop in a lit match. The flames bloom hot and flickering as she stands next to me.
“What are we…”
I pull the envelope from my jacket and show it to her. Neve frowns.
“What is that?”
“The last of them.”
“Last of wh—”
Her face goes white, and she swallows heavily as she drags her eyes back to mine.
“Greg?” she breathes quietly.
I nod.
“He was keeping them as leverage, I think.”
She nods and shivers, hugging herself.
“Did you…?”
“No.”
No, I didn’t look at them.
She nods quietly.
“Thanks. Do you… I mean, could I…?”
I hand her the envelope. I watch as she opens it and pulls out a Polaroid. Revulsion, hatred, and shame flood her face before I reach out and cup her chin.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I murmur.
She nods, swallowing as she takes one more look through the photographs in her hand before shoving them back in the envelope. She turns her eyes to the fire roaring in front of us and in one motion drops them into the flames.
Her hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. We stand together, watching the envelope catch fire, and then the flickering neon colors of Polaroid chemicals as they curl to molten slag.
Slowly, Neve turns and sinks into me, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me close.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my chest as I embrace her back.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Well, I’m going to anyway.”
Because of course she is. She’s incapable of just letting it be without making a snappy comeback or otherwise getting in the last word.
I’m slowly realizing just how much I like that about her.
