You Bloody Bastard
Alistair
“Come on, Saira. You can do better than that. Not even a hello?” I laughed into my phone.
“How can you do this to me? I swear I’ll find out why you’re doing this.”
“I’m doing this for Damian, love.”
“Love? Don’t you dare use that word, you rotten shit. You never loved me. If you take Damian from me, I’ll give you hell.”
“You’re not the first person to promise me hell. What do you want?”
“I want you to leave me alone. Why did you sic the police on me?”
“Oh, I wonder why,” I drawled. “Maybe because you’re busy screwing the mafia on a mattress stuffed with dirty cash.
How’s business these days? Drugs still moving?
Girls still unregistered? And those little sex parties—where the rich pay to play and you’re the perfect hostess, serving cocktails and cocaine? Sounds like someone’s been very bad.”
“Guess what, you mongrel?” Saira snapped. “The police showed up at my door this morning. No warrant, no search. Just their endless bullshit questions. I missed a meeting because of it. Does that make you happy?”
“No. First, I want my son safe. You know what I promised after what happened to him at your place. Second, there’s a man—Julian Richland. University professor. You know him.”
“He’s my business.”
“He’s mine now. Touch him, and you’ll deal with me.”
“What do you want, Alistair?”
“Leave Julian alone. And for once in your life, try being a mother.”
“And if I do, will you stop siccing the police on me? A record doesn’t suit me. And I’m not giving up Damian. He’s my son, too. I love him.”
“Then keep your distance from Julian.”
“Why? Do you want him for yourself?” Her laugh cut sharply. “Does he stir your cock? I could set a price. You’d get your taste.”
“Cut it out, Saira.”
“Oh, please. You’ve always had a thing for pretty men. Remember when I caught you and Nick in bed with his whore draped across you both? You were lovers—”
“You had your own affairs, so what difference does it make? Besides, Nick is dead.”
“Yes. A boating accident in Italy. Five years ago. Such a pity.” Her voice dripped with mock grief.
“Your father’s been dead for years. Nick inherited most of his money, and you’re still bitter about the will.
Did you really think he’d leave it all to you?
” I bit into an apple, slow, savoring it.
Nick had style—even in death. Leaving his fortune to the Scott Charity for Kids had been the perfect parting shot.
All Saira got was the family company. To her credit, she’d turned it into a gold mine.
“I hate you with every breath,” my ex-wife hissed.
“I’ve heard it before. So let me be clear—stop circling Julian. Or I’ll unleash the dogs and bleed you dry.”
“You cold, heartless bastard—”
“Manners, Saira.” My voice cut clean. “Leave Julian alone, or I will crush you. Do we understand each other?”
Her pause stretched, then: “Fine. Agreed.”
“Good. Now piss off with your empty threats. I’ve got better ways to waste my time.”
Vera
Wednesday, June 15
I scrolled through Alistair’s messages on my cellphone one more time. Most of it was dribble, but the last line cut through.
Vera, talk to me. Let me explain. You need to know the truth.
A tear slipped down my cheek as I hit call.
“Hey, Scotty.”
“Hello.” His voice was ice—flat, stripped of warmth.
I didn’t waste time. “Who is Erin to you?”
“She’s my brother Oliver’s wife.”
“So you got her pregnant behind his back? You make me sick.”
“Vera… Erin and I were in a relationship once. She’s not innocent either.”
“Was she the woman you loved? Do you still love her?”
Silence. Heavy.
“Hello? Scotty?” I paced my room, glancing at the screen like the connection was to blame.
“I’m here.” His voice finally came, low. “We were in love. But that’s the past.”
My stomach twisted. “Were you fucking Erin while you were with me?”
“No. I ended it before you and I met. That’s the truth.”
“Yet I saw you kissing her.”
“It’s not what you—”
“Not what I think? Then tell me what the hell it was. What kind of man are you?”
“I’m sorry. I care for you, Vera. I do.”
I bit down hard, tasting salt. “It’s not enough. I want to trust you—but I can’t.”
“You have to trust me. I told Saira to leave your brother alone, but she’s a snake in the grass. She’ll strike again. You may still need me—more than you know.”
I rolled my eyes, wiping another tear before it fell. “Thanks for helping my brother. But I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”
“Sweetheart, just lis—”
“Stop.” My voice cracked sharply. “Don’t contact me again. Ever.”
“Vera,” Alistair pleaded. “Please. Think about it. Is this really what you want?”
“It’s what I need. I need space from you.”
Silence stretched, cold and suffocating.
“Very well,” he said at last, voice turning to steel. “Consider this a business transaction closed. If space is what you need, I’ll give it to you. Goodbye, Miss Richland.”
“Goodbye, Mister Scott.”
The line went dead. My chest hollowed, an anchor sinking deep. I deleted his number, hands trembling. Sometimes, sorry wasn’t enough. And this was one of those times.