dark, and death lingers in the air like a bad smell. If it were my other brother sitting opposite me, he’d demand I turn on a light and crack a window. But Gabe is content in the shadows, relaxed in an armchair and puffing on a cigar.
“How did you know Blake was Griffin’s nephew?”
The cherry of his cigar glows red. “How did you not?”
Huffing out a dry laugh, I run a hand down my throat, feeling it tremble over my pulse. My brother’s question gnaws at the one thing I bring to this family: common sense.
Griffin’s shouts as I broke my knuckles on Blake’s jaw. His coldness in the days that followed. I should have seen the signs and dug deeper. Instead, I muffled them with the weight of Penny’s thighs. Drowned them out with her too-loud laugh. I couldn’t see them past the girl’s heart-shaped back tattoo, even if I’d tried.
Under Gabe’s judgmental glare, I pour vodka into a tumbler and down it in one.
“I knew something wasn’t right after you killed Blake and I stayed behind to clean up the mess. Griffin was all over the place, trying to stop me as I dragged Blake’s body to the edge of the cliff. Then there were the hushed phone calls in his car.” Gabe’s eyes lift to mine, cigar smoke swirling in front of them. “One of my men did some digging and stumbled across his family tree.”
Another laugh escapes me, this one acidic. I guess nepotism is rife in every fucking industry, then. Maybe Blake being Griffin’s nephew was too soap opera-ish for me to connect the dots, but with hindsight being a smug little prick, I can now see something was off. All my men are ex-military, and yet, this kid always acted like he’d just gotten his first gun for Christmas and couldn’t wait to shoot it in the yard.
Still, I’d trusted Griff to do all the background checks, and to train them all up to our standard. Fuck, I’d trusted that man with my life.
“I’ve been following you.”
I pause. “You have?”
Our eyes clash, and for once I can read my brother’s expression like a book. If he was following me without me noticing, anyone could have.
Before my glass reaches my lips again, those awful Visconti traits, violence and impulsion, grip me and I lash out, hurling the tumbler at the wall.
Glass shatters. Liquid splashes. Gabe glances indifferently at the mess and says, “At least vodka doesn’t stain.”
Ignoring the fact that my brother chose today of all days to develop a sense of humor, I rise and pace the room, lacing my hands behind my head.
I’ve been riddled with bad luck for three weeks, but nothing stings quite as much as being confronted with your own mortality. I guess in the grand scheme of things, everything else I’ve lost hasn’t mattered. Money, bets, business. It’s all trivial shit that can be replaced, but my heartbeat can’t.
Gabe’s gruff voice coasts over the planes of my shoulders. “As much as I hate to admit it, Vicious is right. You need a plan.”
I stop in front of the French doors and glare out to the ocean. It’s ink-black and sparkling. My eyes find the staff speedboat bobbing in the path of the moonlight. Two of Gabe’s men heave a body bag overboard; it dips under the surface with a violent splash. The next two lumps are just as heavy. When a fourth doesn’t emerge, I frown.
“Where’s the fourth body?”
“Griffin isn’t dead, only maimed.” His knuckles pop. “I’m saving him for later.”
Visions of Gabe’s cave flash against the window. I grind my teeth; even my brother’s sadistic tool box isn’t punishment enough for the cunt that betrayed me.
“Plan,” Gabe presses.
I push a rough hand through my hair. A plan? I don’t have a plan and I don’t know why I ever did. It’s clear the second I tapped the King of Diamonds, Fate took over planning my life for me. All I had to do was follow the motions and avoid the Queen of Hearts.
Instead, I let her in, even if only temporarily, and I can’t say I regret it. The worst part is that I actually liked the reckless thrill of the bottom, but now I realize it wasn’t the bottom at all. Just a rest-stop on the way down.
Maybe it’s the near-death experience that loosens my tongue, or maybe it’s because I’ve drunk half a bottle of vodka, but I find that I have to confide in my brother or else something else is about to get smashed.
“It’s the girl,” I grind out, glaring at my reflection in the glass. “She’s bad luck. Ever since she came into my life, everything’s gone up in flames.”
The silence echoes. It’s so loud that my shoulders clench when the groan of an armchair interrupts it.
There’s a clatter of metal on wood, then heavy footsteps move away from me.
“Then take her out of it,” Gabe says quietly.
The door slams shut behind him.
I don’t want to turn around because I know what I’ll find, but tonight I’ve been confronted with all the truths. So, fuck it; what’s one more?
Gabe’s half-smoked cigar rests easily in an ashtray. Next to it lies a gun, a silencer screwed onto the end of it.
The calm before the storm always holds a certain charm. Outside, the waters are at peace, gently rocking the boat to sleep. The moonlight pours through all the portholes and glints off the chrome surfaces in the kitchen.
The digital clock on the oven glows. I was only meant to be passing through, but somehow, hours have passed and I’m still here, palms braced on the counter.
I’ve smoked seven cigarettes and I can’t smoke another.
I swipe up the whiskey glass and bring it to my lips. The bitter smell under my nose gives me pause, but then I slam it in one go. The heat fizzles in my chest until a hollowness forms there. I have an awful feeling it’s going to be permanent.
I didn’t even want the fucking whiskey. I only drank it because I knew once I did, I couldn’t turn back.
The knife makes a menacing swish when I drag it off the counter. It’s only a paring knife, anything larger would be noticeable, and I can’t bear the thought of her being scared in her final seconds. Gabe’s gun, even with the silencer, was out of the question for the same reason.
Too much liquor gives me a tremble in my knees as I make my way out of the galley and into my private chambers. The squeeze in my chest has nothing to do with my vodka-whiskey mix and everything to do with her.
Fate fucked me. She assigned the Queen of Hearts as my doom card then sent me a girl I’d never be able to resist. Not only have I let her into my life, I’ve let her under my skin. She crawls inside me now, does stupid shit to my heart, the shit people make songs and movies about.
But there’s no sunshine and rainbows in this story, only losses and near-death experiences.
I can’t keep her and I can’t let her go.
Turning into the corridor, I see the orange glow seeping out from under my cabin door, and unease fills my stomach like cement. Fuck, although I knew she’d be awake—she still only sleeps in my car—the reality of it makes me nauseous.
I can only hope I make it painless.
I’m hiding the knife against the small of my back, but as I enter the room, I might as well have stabbed myself with it.
Penny’s asleep. Curled up on my side of the bed, her hair fanned over my pillow. Her skin radiates gold where the light of the lamp touches her. Her For Dummies book is open at the end of the bed; a cup of tea sits half-drunk on the bedside table.
Emotion closes my throat. Fuck, I wasn’t expecting this. She’s in my bed, my home, asleep. She can’t even sleep in her own bed, but now she’s sleeping in mine. The sight should make this easier, but it only makes me want to claw my fucking heart out of my chest.
I’m sure it’d hurt less.
Grinding my molars, I take a step forward. The floor creaks under my foot, and Penny jerks awake. Her gaze is unfocused, her hair mussed as she props herself up on the pillow. When her eyes slide to mine, they sharpen.
She bolts upright. “I’ve done something awful, please don’t hate me.”
My grip tightens on the knife handle. “What?” I growl.
The covers crumple at her feet as she scurries up to the headboard. “Say you won’t hate me first.”
I glare at her. “Penny,” I warn.
She sighs, drops her attention to my shoes, and fingers her lucky necklace. “I found a cheat code on some dodgy website for Mario Kart. But instead of adjusting my score, it just deleted yours. All your trophies, too.” She glances up at my stony expression. “I’m sorry, okay! I know I said I wouldn’t swindle anymore but I just couldn’t resist. You’re always so smug about being better at it than me. I just…” She scowls. “It makes me want to bite you.”
I stare at her.
Then all my insides crumple like a house of cards.
Fuck. Who am I kidding? I can’t kill the girl, even when the only other option is killing myself. Now, I’m looking into her big blue eyes and I actually feel like doing that. Guilt gnaws at me, making me sick and hot.
Her eyes search mine, panic flickering in them. “Say something.”
My laugh comes out bitter and tinged with disbelief. Fucking Mario Kart. I killed off all her big problems, and now all she has left are soft and innocent worries. Suddenly needing to be near her, inside her, I take a step to the lamp and plunge the room into darkness. Then I slide the knife into my top drawer and crawl into bed with her.
“Come here.”
She tenses under my touch, but I slide my hands up under the hoodie—she’s barely taken off since I demanded she put it on—and I pull her toward me, until every inch of her warm skin sizzles through my suit. I run my fingers through her hair. It smells like nostalgia and temptation. She’s so still, I don’t even think she’s breathing.
Her lips tickle my throat. “You don’t hate me?”
I smile sadly into her crown. “Of course I hate you; we’re enemies with benefits, remember?”
She pauses. “But no more than usual, right?”
“No more than usual, Queenie.”
Her little sigh of relief makes her body melt into mine. Now, I can feel her heartbeat against mine, feel her lungs rising and falling under my palm on her back. Fuck, to think I was about to snuff this life out of her.
Before the guilt pounding behind my breastbone becomes unbearable, she wriggles from my grasp and props herself up on her elbow. Backlit by moonlight, she peers down at me.
“Tell me why you call me Queenie.” The tips of her hair brush against my forearm. I twist them around my fist, pulling her head down to mine. My forehead presses against hers. We’re so close her lashes tickle my cheeks. “I know it’s not because you think I’m regal,” she says.
“If I tell you—”
“You’ll have to kill me, yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, sticking her tongue out and licking my nose.
I choose wiping my wet nose over hers instead of responding. I wasn’t going to say I’d have to kill her; that’d be a bit fucking ironic, all things considered.
No. I know if I told her she was my Queen of Hearts, she’d want to leave.
I push her elbow so it falls from underneath her and she comes crashing down on my chest with a yelp. I wrap my arms and legs around her so she can’t escape.
Even though she’s brought me to my knees and set my world on fire around me, I’m not letting her go anywhere.
