Out of serious concern about losing my cool, ego, and probably dick, I leave Nicole and Jayden as soon as we land in London.
I even scheduled for a driver to take them to my mansion in East London. I didn’t have to prepare it to be habitable overnight because its live-in staff takes care of it better than they would their children.
It’s the only property I kept after I left. My graduation gift, not from my father, because fuck that guy. Grandpa had it in the will in my name for when I turned eighteen. Zach, who holds the sacred title of the firstborn and leader of the Sterling clan, received a small island in the Pacific.
No shit.
Our family is extravagant like that.
Of course, Zach now owns the family business—as in, a multitude of companies I lost count of. Or more like, he manages it. I own fifty percent of its shares and have the ability to kick him out and become acting CEO if the attorney gig doesn’t work out.
Not that I would.
I chose not follow engineering for a reason.
The family business disgusts me more than food.
This land revolts me, too.
Every fucking thing in it.
As soon as I’m done with what I came here for, I’m leaving and never returning. I’m taking Nicole as far away as possible. To Mars, even, if they opened trips to there.
Talking to her on the plane was no different than pulling teeth and choking on my own blood while simultaneously flying to heaven.
Ever since last night, I can’t look at her without experiencing that crushing feeling of “I could’ve stopped it.” I can’t talk to her without tasting that bitter pill of “what-ifs” or seeing the hazy color of guilt.
But at the same time, I couldn’t not talk to her, listen to her voice, make her laugh.
Fuck. I’ll never get used to the sound of her laughter. It’s like a fucking siren in a mythical story that I’m willing to let harvest my soul.
And the fact that she can still laugh is similar to squeezing my own heart with sharp nails.
So I did more. The whole fucking seven hours. I didn’t let her sleep, I got her talking about the years she spent raising Jayden on her own, and the story of how she found Lolli.
On her balcony, pretending the flat was her house.
Sounds like her.
The cat came with us, naturally, because both Nicole and Jayden threw a tantrum about leaving her behind.
Lucky little shit.
Anyway, talking to Nicole gave me a sense of peace I didn’t even dream of having since the day she left my life without looking back.
She can be oddly sarcastic and fluent at talking back any chance she gets.
And I was wrong. It’s not the old Nicole peeking through.
Did I even know the old Nicole beyond the image she plastered for her mother and stepfather’s sake?
Did I even see Nicole when she was deliberately leaving me lollipops and letting me be the one who had taken her virginity?
Or did I only see my fucked-up prejudice of her?
Last night, after I put my plan in motion, I couldn’t sleep. So I rewound every single interaction I’d had with her since that day she nearly died because of fucking peaches.
And every line I thought was set in stone is getting blurry, undecipherable.
And bloody confusing.
But I’ll deal with that.
After I deal with him.
The man who’s been living on borrowed time since the day he fucking touched her.
Knox gave me the phone number of a hitman in his future wife’s family. He’s married to Anastasia’s great-cousin and has killed more people than he could count or remember.
“He’s British, Irish, or maybe Russian. No fucking clue. His name is Kyle Hunter and he’s the only one who understands my sarcastic humor at their dinner table. Anyway, he’s your man. But don’t tell me what the fuck you need him for. I’m out of this mess.”
Kyle agreed to meet me here and even said he’ll have Christopher waiting for me.
He only needed his full name and that’s it.
When I was on the plane, he sent me a text with a location.
That’s where I am right now. In an abandoned warehouse in an old industrialized area.
I walk straight in and sure enough, the fucker whose life is on a fast hourglass mode is sitting on the chair, head lolled to the side.
A black figure comes from the shadows, and I’m slightly taken aback.
He’s tall, wears black like a Gothic model, and has the looks that go with it. Doesn’t strike me as a mobster at all.
“Kyle, I presume?”
“Daniel.” He tips his head. “I delivered your package. Do you need a bullet in his head? Or heart? Junk, maybe?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll be outside in case you need anything.” He shoulders past me. “Oh, and you can make him scream, the area has been carefully chosen so no one can hear.”
“Got it.”
“Next time, try to pick someone in the States. England is a hassle for hiding your tracks.”
The door screeches open, then closed, as he steps out.
Blood roars in my ears, then nearly spills all over the floor like fucking lava.
I stalk up to Christopher, rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. I abandoned my jacket in the car and my phone, too. I need zero distractions when I deal with this piece of shit.
My fist finds his face first. I was never a violent person, not when I was young and definitely not when I grew up.
Yes, I was a troublemaker, but not in a violent way, more in a mischievous way.
I’m the fun-loving Daniel.
The heart-of-the-party Daniel.
The charming Daniel.
But now, I’m channeling the vengeful spirit of a fucking warrior.
Christopher jerks from his slumber. At first, he blinks as if he doesn’t know on what planet or decade he exists.
Then his attention falls on me and he squints before recognition settles on his sickeningly good looks.
It’s people like him that get away with it. Sons of men in power, sons of men who taught them that women are only good at spreading their legs.
“Daniel?” he croaks.
“The one and only, motherfucker.” I punch him again, sending his face flying backward.
A splash of blood explodes on his face and drips down his chin. Next, it will be his goddamn teeth.
“What the…what in the bloody fuck…?” He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “Why are you doing this?”
“You don’t know, huh? Probably had it written down in your memory as a good fuck, then moved on to your next victim.”
His eyes widen a little and then he laughs, loud, in a bark. “It’s about Nicole, isn’t it? I knew you were a puppy in love when you almost hit me that day you found me with her. Ruined my fun that night, but I got her anyway, Danny. Here’s a little life lesson for you. If you leave something behind, someone else will pick it up.”
My jaw clenches and I feel myself about to lose control, about to strangle him to death. But that would mean he’d get away with it easily.
So I erase his words, the fact that I pushed her to him by being a brainless fucking twat, and square my shoulder. “Is that why you seduced her mother and married her while she was in prison?”
“I told Nicole I only fucked her because she looked like her mother, but it’s the exact opposite. I went to her mother to relive a fetish of sorts. Have you ever fucked a mother and a daughter? The feeling is exquisite. She didn’t bleed like Nicole, though. Pity.”
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“She was as dry as a desert, Nicole, and I guess she started bleeding. I never liked lube as much as I did at that moment.”
A roar echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine as I kick him, sending the chair and the scum in it tumbling backward.
His deranged laughter echoes in the empty space. “And you know what the funny part is? The bitch kept calling your name like a fucking chant. Daniel…Dan…help… You weren’t there to do that, were you, Prince Charming? And guess fucking what? She’ll never forgive you for not coming to her rescue.”
I grab him by the collar, then crash my head against his. Blood explodes on my temple and slides to the collar of my shirt.
The physical pain is nothing compared to the searing injury that’s ripping my soul apart.
She called for me.
She came to me right afterward.
And I wasn’t there both times.
Fuck!
Christopher shuts up for a second, then grins like an unhinged psycho. “I’m gonna have her back, Danny. With my kid. We’re a family.”
“Death is all that you’ll have.” I take his head and jam it against the dirty floor. “Did it feel good to hit her head on the floor, Chris? Did you feel so powerful by taking her power away? Did you get high on it? Hard for it?”
I stand up and before he can move, I slam my Prada shoe on his head. I wore them today for their sturdy soles, and is that a crack of bone I hear?
“You fucking—”
“Doesn’t feel so good when the tables are turned, huh?” I kick his head until he drools blood and his eyes slip out of focus.
“Then what did you do? Ah, right.” I’m surprised by my calm tone considering the fucking need to rip his teeth from his skull. Still stepping on his head, I squash his dick with my other foot like it’s a useless cigarette. “You used this thing to rape her. To hurt her. Make her bleed. That will happen to you, too, not in that particular order, then I’ll put so many objects in your arsehole, you’ll wish for death. Maybe then you’ll know how it feels to be violated. By the end of tonight, you’ll be dickless, raped by a metal rod and other stuff. On Monday, you will withdraw the custody case and live in fear, Christopher. That man who got you here, I’ll pay him extra to keep you in his sights. If you raise your head from the gutter you live in, I’ll have it cut off. If you go to someone for help, I’ll have you erased off the face of the earth. Remember, Christopher, you’ll stay alive, not because I can’t kill you, but because death is too easy of a punishment for you. I want you to stare at where your dick once was and wish you never fucking touched her.”
“You will…” he croaks. “Have another man’s waste.”
“The only waste of air is you. As for being a man, you won’t be one in about five minutes—not that you ever were.” I jam his head harder, so he eats the dirt and stops talking. “Nicole, however, was and will always be a fucking queen.”
One I don’t deserve, but can’t move away from either.
By the time I’m finished with the fuck, I want to throw myself off a bridge.
Not because of what I did to him—I would repeat that in a heartbeat. His wails and screams and blabbering like a baby didn’t affect me, not one bit.
I would do it all over again.
I would restart if I could. Every day. Until the day I fucking die.
Kyle joined me some time later, offering a hand, but I refused, so he just hung around to watch.
He told me he’ll keep him on a leash with the help of his friends here. I didn’t ask who his friends are and I couldn’t give a fuck as long as Christopher never sat right, peed standing, or breathed clean air.
I would pay them the billions in my name if I had to. Every single last dime.
As long as Chris’s life turns miserable.
This brings me to the reason behind the emptiness.
Despite what I previously thought, this doesn’t fix it. Doesn’t bring back what Nicole already lost.
Doesn’t erase the fact that I’m part of the reason she was traumatized.
Not anyone else.
Me.
I take a sip of the cheap whiskey bottle I kept in my rental car for this purpose.
Two hours. That’s the amount of time I spent in my car on the opposite side of the street, unable to go inside the house.
Maybe I should leave now, sign over the mansion in Nicole’s name, and threaten Zach to provide her and Jayden with rich oil princes’ lives.
That would be the right thing to do.
But that would involve actually talking to my brother and me pushing her to another man.
Fucking again.
I retrieve my phone, all three hazy versions of it, and type out the ant-like letters.
Daniel: Asleep?
The reply is immediate.
Astrid: Currently painting for a fussy Glyndon. She’s nothing like Lan and Bran.
Those are her spawn. Landon, Brandon, and Glyndon. The reason they have preppy names is the fact that they’re Kings and will lead royal-like lives better than their father.
Daniel: I think I fucked up big time.
Astrid: Concerning?
Daniel: Someone. I hurt them. Badly. What should I do?
Astrid: Apologize.
Daniel: I don’t think ‘sorry I screwed up your life’ would pay the bill.
Astrid: You’d be surprised at the power of a genuine apology, Bug.
Astrid: Is this about Aunt Nora and Zach? Will you finally talk to them?
Daniel: No.
I throw the phone away before she starts nagging and acting like my surrogate mother.
My fingers are unsteady, because of being drunk and pissed the fuck off as I drive the car the small distance inside the mansion.
The doorman opens the front gate, doing a spectacular job at ignoring my sewer rat appearance.
I practically throw myself out of the car as soon as I stop the vehicle in front of the house—or in the grass. What-the-fuck-ever.
An angel appears to welcome me home.
Or I’m drunk.
I really hope it’s that and not that I actually need psychic therapy.
The nausea that I usually get from the sight of food creeps in my stomach. Or maybe it’s something different that involves my stomach and the thing beating behind my rib cage.
Nicole stands in the middle of the garden, wearing a white dress with peach-colored lace and a fluffy shawl covers her arms.
Her blonde hair falls straight to her arse with the brightness of the sun. One that’s going to burn me alive but I’d still approach anyway.
Touch it.
Fucking breathe its fire.
Her head is tilted back as she watches the moon with her biteable lips slightly open.
A sun that’s in love with the moon.
Isn’t that thing doomed in some tragedy?
Her attention shifts to me as if she could naturally sense me around her.
A gasp slips from her as she runs toward me, and fuck.
Fuck it.
Fuck me.
The sight of her coming to me nearly brings me to my knees.
I have fucking PTSD from the way she turned her back to me the day she packed her suitcases and disappeared into the night.
The air crackles with tension and shifts with her smell. Cherries, pain, and fucking heartache.
Joy, too. As small as it is.
“What happened?” Her voice trembles as she palms my face, her fingers dabbing on the dry blood from my temple.
“Pub fight.” I don’t sound so drunk. But then again, the sight of her always sobered me up. “You should see the other tool. They’re performing CPR as we speak.”
“Since when do you ever fight?”
“Since today.” I lean into her hand like Lolli does when she pets her, and no, I’m neither jealous nor mimicking a cat. “Were you waiting for me, Peaches?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I just couldn’t sleep after Jay was out.”
“You know…your cheeks become the same shade of red as your lips when you’re blushing…or lying. Which I assume is both right now.”
“Shut up. Let me clean that.” She takes my hand and leads me inside.
I let her guide me in my own house, watching her from behind, unable to take my gaze off her.
My hand itches to touch her, fucking grab her by that gorgeous hair and kiss her.
But something stops me.
She’ll never forgive you for not coming to her rescue.
My jaw clenches.
My fist tightens.
And I wish I had finished that bottle of whiskey.
Actually, I should go back to the car and do just that. Maybe crash it against the gate this time.
Nicole sits me down on a sofa and produces a first aid kit from a side table as if she played Sherlock and learned this mansion’s every nook.
Which I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.
She has always been curious, intuitive, and the smartest woman I’ve ever met.
Nicole dabs the cotton at my forehead, a delicate frown on her brows. “You’re not a kid or a teenager. How can you even get in a fight at this age? You’re a solicitor, for God’s sake, fighting shouldn’t even be one of your options.”
Her voice is like my favorite symphony and most distorted nightmare.
But no matter how much I want to close the distance between us, it’s already too deep.
Too fucked up.
You screwed it all up, Daniel. You think you have the right to touch her?
I swiftly pull the cotton from her fingers and stagger to my feet. “I’ll do it on my own.”
Her shoulders drop and her face scrunches as if I stepped on her chest.
But I don’t allow myself to look at that soft face, at the only lips I remember the taste of. For eleven years, I haven’t kissed other women, never found the reason behind it. Not after I kissed her the day her mother was arrested. In a way, I kept her taste with me until her lips found mine again on the day I fucked her in my office.
Nicole is the only woman I want to kiss until we’re both out of breath and sharing each other’s air.
Wrong train of thought, fucker.
I turn around, not bothering to take the first aid kit as I stalk to the stairs.
But before I can take a step, her brittle, broken voice stops me. “Do I repulse you?”
