Chapter Twenty-One
Simon Hoover.
Sixteen Weeks Prior
Ty: Chase just confirmed that Raven is back on campus.
Me: WTF is she doing there?
Ty: She re-enrolled.
Thadd: There’s no way my father allowed that. I’ll go talk to him.
Me: Keep us updated. The last thing we need is for her to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.
I set my phone on the nightstand, in my seedy Brazilian hotel, wiping the sweat off my brow, and go back to the girl tied up and in the fetal position on the laid-out tarp now at my feet.
I kick her, lightly in the ribs. She whimpers and the sound makes my heart beat out of my chest. I squat down and brush her dark hair away from her face.
Fresh tears roll down the sides of the bridge of her nose and drip to the tarp I have laid out on the grimy carpet.
She’s a bit younger than I prefer, being seventeen, but she’s the right size.
I like them a little pudgy. They get so pink and bruise even prettier.
The fatter ones don’t break as easily. I mean I would know, Raven survived, didn’t she?
“Tudo bem. Tudo acabará em breve.” I shush. It’s okay, it’ll be over soon.
“Porfavore-“
I like that. When they beg.
She just made it so easy; you know? Walking the streets of Rio.
Just trying to make a living by spreading her thighs.
I don’t usually go for the locals, but she reminded me so much of my first kill, the one I used for my initiation after Raven survived…
really, I could blame Raven for this affliction of mine.
What we did to her that night. God, the delicious crunch of her leg breaking under my boot and her scream…
fuck it did things to me. It made me feel… powerful. Strong .
Then the next girl, Amber, my initiation, was a dream. It’s when I realized this wasn’t sexual for me. Just a stress release I was really, really good at. Besides, I had my little wife at home.
Another reason I’m doing this.
All that negotiating my father did with someone of her caliber, all the wedding planning, all the money spent on said wedding…
and I got a fucking dud of a woman. We’ve been married just over a full year, and we just found out she can’t have children.
Not even IVF. Her eggs are dry at age twenty-one.
And I’m not allowed to divorce her because my idiot father forgot to put it in the clause that should this happen; we’re allowed to divorce.
So it’s either murder her and spend my life in jail… or take it out on someone else.
The girl at my fingertips gives a shuddering sigh, but it’s no good. She’s seen my face. She has to go.
I grab my Polaroid and snap a picture to add to my collection, then set it to the side and begin .
Twelve Weeks Prior…
Ty: Chase is dead. He was found on the RMU campus, OD.
Thadd: Riordan is saying something else.
Ty: My uncle has one of our coroner’s doing the autopsy. We’ll know more during the meeting.
Me: Funeral?
Ty: Wake is Wednesday. Funeral’s on Thursday.
My palms are sweaty, watching my wife dance with some man, her hands on him, swaying her hips, her head leaning back, and his hands smooth over her short dress, downward, under the hem, touching what’s mine.
It used to work for me. Someone touching her would set me off on a jealous rampage and she would get so wet we’d end up fucking like rabid animals on any available surface.
Now she just tries too hard and it’s just sad and pathetic.
She’s a beautiful woman. Magazine cover worthy. Actually worked with Sofia Monroe’s agency for a while. But you know what they say, one man’s barren wife is another’s cum dumpster, or whatever.
Past my wife, I see a gorgeous little brunette bombshell sitting at the bar.
Fake tits, fake ass, fake lips, and while someone like her could never be in the same tax bracket as me, it doesn’t mean she won’t be a good fuck.
A hole is a hole. She lifts a brow and tilts her head towards one of the VIP rooms of Inferno, sliding off the stool and heading that way.
I set my glass of vodka down and stand, buttoning my suit jacket before giving my wife one last eye roll and following the bitch in heat through the sweaty, dancing bodies.
She’s a screamer, and the banging on the other side of the two-way window is none other than Clarissa, I’m sure.
Watching me pound into this fake beauty from behind.
I come with a roar as she screams, filling the condom to the brim.
She giggles, pulling up her panties that only made it to her knees, and kisses me on the cheek.
When she opens the door, a teary Clarissa enters, slamming the door closed behind her.
She slaps me.
Cute.
“You’ll fuck her, but you won’t fuck me?”
“You want me to fuck you, Clarissa?”
“Please!”
“Then suck my dick clean.”
She looks at me in horror. “Her juices are still on your dick, you asshole.”
“Then clean it up with your tongue or let me get the fuck out,” I growl.
The lame bitch sinks to her knees and puts my spent cock in her mouth, licking and sucking but fuck, it just doesn’t work for me.
She sucks harder, cups my balls, throating me the way she knows gets me so hard it feels like my balls are going to burst. But I don’t feel a goddamn thing when it comes to my wife.
I laugh, pulling my dick out of her mouth. “Damn, Clarissa. Even your mouth is as useless as your cunt.”
I leave her there, on the floor, without even a glance back.
Ten Weeks Prior…
Last week we buried Chase. This week it’s Tyler.
Ashleigh and Thadd won’t shut the fuck up beside me as we watch Riordan give his eulogy by Tyler’s body at Grimm & Sons’ funeral home.
I can feel eyes on the back of my head and when I turn back, I can see Axel and beside him, Raven stares at me, caramel gaze so striking it sends an electrical spark down my spine and straight to my dick.
Fuck she looks good. I smirk at her and turn back around to face a whining Riordan.
God, he looks terrible.
Grief does not do a person good.
________
We throw moist, cold dirt over Tyler’s casket along with a rose.
My hands feel disgusting, and I need to cleanse myself.
But there are no bathrooms here. I avoid everyone, get to the Towne Car waiting for me, and tell the driver to head to the Prescott Estate.
I need to wash my hands quickly. Truly, I need to bathe but, I highly doubt I’ll have the chance to do so.
I summon control over my tics and the urges I get.
I haven’t gotten laid since that brunette at Inferno, I haven’t killed in months, and now I’m fucking dirty.
My mood is sour at best.
The Syndicate meeting ends after the Prescott’s interrogate Jonas, and he leaves too quickly after some commotion in the hallway. I don’t care. I can still feel the grime of the dirt on my hands even though they’re clean and I need to fucking shower. I need to fuck someone besides my dirty fist.
Eight Weeks Prior…
The dancer on Stephen’s lap is new and kind of awkward, albeit hot as fuck in a super tight, almost see-through bodysuit.
She leans a lot and can barely dance but obviously, Stephen only purchases her as arm candy.
I can see why. Again, she has an ass I want to shove my face into until the pattern of her fishnets are imprinted on my skin .
Fuck, I need to get some pussy soon.
“My son has been your lackey on both occasions.” Mr. Anderson spits at Stephen, I’ve never seen the old man so worked up. “Wasn’t it your nephew that burnt her house to the ground with her inside?”
I’m bored of this entire thing.
As soon as the dancer’s hour is over, and we’re all set to leave, Stephen pulls me to the side. “Have you been in contact with Mikaelson?”
I nod. “He’s in Bermuda. Next project in Australia.”
His voice lowers as if the music blaring throughout Inferno isn’t loud enough. “And my half-breed?”
“New York. Where you left him.” I inform the Elder.
He nods, lips rolling inward, eyes to the side. “Pull him away from whatever job he’s working on. I need him as a Watcher.”
“Who is he watching, exactly?”
“Raven Monroe.” He sighs, taking a dip from tumbler, the amber liquid settling and he swirls it before eyeing me again. “I’ll send you more details later this week.”
I nod, and we part ways.
7 Weeks Prior…
Father: You need to come back. The entire Whitmore clan is dead except for Vivian.
Not really what I want to read while I’m eight miles out in the Indian ocean in the middle of disposing of… what was her name? It doesn’t matter. Her polaroid is in my duffle bag back at the hotel. She was a fighter. I loved that. Got me good across the temple and almost got away .
Fortunately, I was able to slash across her heels, and she slipped in her blood and fell. It was fun.
Although it makes sense now why Thadd never made it to Malaysia where I had to kill off some asshole that owed the Prescott’s too much money to simply be written off anymore.
Their bodies I left to be found like a good little Syndicate soldier.
This girl? Well, I shove the rest of this girls body off the back of the boat I rented to a fisherman that was probably shadier than I was.
I knew I should’ve gone with someone plumper, but Thadd likes them… petite .
I watch the black water begin to churn where I dropped her bits and pieces. Chum. I can’t even enjoy the way the great whites make the tide foamy and tinged red with whatever blood was left of… Aisyah? Amira? Again, it doesn’t matter. Because there’s only one name I can think of.
Raven.
I’m not too sure but I’m fairly certain I may have seen her signing to Elena during Tyler’s wake. I’ll have to let Stephen know.
Six Weeks Prior…