CHAPTER EIGHT #3
Only when he gives a nod does Fenwick begin.
?
Lachlan is hospitalised due to blood loss.
He’s given transfusions in the medical suite of the Estate and a four-day stay.
Carrigan visits him three times a day for rundowns.
They’re on bad terms. Whatever tenuous friendship they had before is now stretched past breaking point and Lachlan knows it’s all his fault.
He pulled her into this, and he’s the one making the mess.
She glances at his wrist tattoo whenever he tries to apologise, to…
well, he can’t explain any of it but at least put his side across.
She simply shuts him down and stays focused on the work.
Each of the lashes needs several stitches and his back is disfigured for life.
On the third day, Alistair brings both kids to visit. It’s so strange seeing him with Mimi and Jules, jarringly wrong.
‘There, see? He’s doing much better today,’ Alistair tells his daughter who climbs eagerly up on the bed and throws herself into Lachlan’s arms while Jules hangs back. ‘How are you feeling, Lachlan?’
‘Fine, sir.’
‘I hope you know that we still very much consider you a part of the family. You were instrumental in crafting a cautionary tale for lower tiers as well as teaching my children a valuable lesson about respect. Would you like reconstructive surgery for the scarring?’ he offers lightly as if carrying a tray of delicacies and encouraging Lachlan to sample one.
‘No, thank you, sir,’ he says. ‘I’d prefer to remember it.’
He’ll remember sunshine and grass and cartwheels.
‘Excellent. You’ll be back on your feet for the party?’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’
Mimi completely ignores him. Jules gives a curt nod.
When he’s gone, Mimi whispers, ‘I was so good, Daddy! Did big pretend like Jewel told me to.’
Jules moves closer, amber eyes lifting to Lachlan. ‘I explained that what you did was wrong and it’s bad to disobey father.’
Mimi pulls back, makes a sad face. ‘Very, very wrong!’ she declares, over the top. Lachlan is glad that Jules did that. They have to teach Mimi how to lie sooner or later.
‘We still get to go outside,’ Jules tells him, ‘so that’s good.’
Lachlan smiles. ‘Fantastic.’ His back is a tapestry of white-hot agony. Painkillers don’t work. He’s immune to all but the strongest, but it doesn’t matter because he has Mimi in his arms. ‘So, how’s Mari?’
?
Two days before the party, Lachlan is operating at one hundred percent again and dreading this party because no matter what they do, it will never be completely safe. He has to prioritise, so he does.
Fenwick hasn’t apologised for whipping him and Lachlan hasn’t apologised for threatening to shoot him, a threat he would have wholeheartedly carried out, but they’re professionals so the planning goes well, enacted to the letter.
The Estate is made ready for what feels like royalty.
Blaire outright tells Lachlan when they’re alone, two button privacy, that she’s his friend and whatever he does going forward, she has his back.
‘That means a lot,’ he says, a little awkwardly because he’s not good at making friends, worse at keeping them. ‘I’ve got your back too.’
‘Yes, darling, but mine isn’t quite such a mess.’
He chuckles, likes her dark sense of humour whenever he gets a glimpse of it. ‘True. Look, I need your help with Carrigan.’
Lachlan knows he’s almost completely lost her at this point.
Blaire shakes her head. ‘It’s too late.’
‘No, you can bring her back around.’
‘I’ll try, but I don’t believe I can.’ She holds his gaze. ‘How’s the healing?’
She was the one applying antiseptic last week, carefully cleaning the wounds, ensuring no trace of infection set in once he was released from the medical suite.
‘It’s fine,’ he says, efficiently dismissive. ‘I need Carrigan to—’
‘You should teach me how to throw a punch,’ Blaire cuts across, rising to stand. She scoops up her devices, grassy green eyes sparkling with challenge. ‘Whenever you’re free.’
Oh, it’s… a little flirty. It catches him off-guard.
Truth be told, Lachlan had sort of forgotten he has a dick.
The last few months have been so catastrophically stressful that sex was the very last thing on his mind, purposefully so at times.
Therefore it’s strange to realise he would like to fuck Blaire and that he’d probably enjoy it more than he has in years because they’ve become close without noticing.
They share meals, she buys his clothes, they are often the last people they see before one of them sleeps.
He knows her parents’ names, he knows about the tattoo on her chest, the sister she’s estranged from.
He knows about the time she went to Muzo, Colombia and found something beautiful but lost it.
He knows her favourite foods. He knows how she takes her tea.
She cleaned his wounds. She sends Margot money. She handles everything.
She’s beautiful too, Blaire is.
‘After the party,’ he tells her, surprised by how much he wants it, just not right now with all this worry and chaos. ‘Definitely.’
?
The day before the party, he and Fenwick go over everything together.
‘If it’s more than three hours, I can’t guarantee—’
‘It’ll be however long he wants,’ Fenwick counters when Lachlan points out that he can’t keep Mimi up that late. Kids fall asleep when they choose. ‘Give her some sugar or something.’
‘Why not amphetamines?’ Lachlan suggests, sharply sarcastic.
Fenwick smacks his hand down on the table atop briefing papers, vet lists, catering staff checks.
‘Enough of your sanctimonious shit! This is a job. You’re a professional, or you used to be, so sack up, do what you need to and get over it.
They’re spoiled brats who I’m not even sure need your protection in the first place and you…
you’re a melt,’ he sneers, going cold again as he recovers from his outburst, only he can’t quite get there.
He’s riled and shaken. ‘I wish I’d hit harder till I saw bone. ’
Lachlan grins, edged with something dark that itches under the skin. ‘You’d only have seen steel ‘cause I’m a fucking machine, bitch.’
It’s unexpected that they end up on the table.
It’s even more unexpected that Fenwick bottoms so easily.
It’s super fucking unexpected how good it feels to hate fuck someone he genuinely wishes were dead. Lachlan might be a good man when it comes to those kids, but he’s a killer, always has been just like his mom said, and the crows always knew it.
He chokes Fenwick while he fucks him, brutally harsh, they don’t kiss, but Lachlan does spit in his mouth and slap his face, and Fenwick drags clawed fingers down his back and opens up newly-healing stitches while Lachlan fucks him so deep it’s hurting his balls until he comes inside, moaning, ‘Fuck yeah, fucking take it, you slut, you fucking whore, so dead inside nothing could ever grow,’ and Fenwick comes so hard it hits Lachlan’s chin, goes everywhere, on the plans, the paperwork, their skin.
The release is like pain cresting so high it triggers death euphoria.
Not good, but amazing.
Then it’s over. And it’s awkward.
And Lachlan feels distinctly like he just made everything ten times more complicated.