CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE #3
If there’s a scale for Vilest Rich People, it’s Sorrenko somewhere down at the bottom and these fuckers way at the top.
They arrived later than anyone else, complaining non-stop about all kinds of shit, and then fawning over Jules, touchy-feely in the extreme.
There’s something markedly off about the twins, siblings in their late sixties.
Lachlan suspects, but doesn’t let himself think on it.
The way these people live is none of his business, and everyone else seems blind to it anyway.
At the beach party, they’re very drunk.
‘Savvy, darling,’ Madeline purrs, pulling the girl down to sit when she tries to walk past. ‘Come sit with us, tell us how you’ve been!’
‘Very well, thank you,’ Savannah answers, sitting between Madeline and Prescott as requested.
Her mother Ariadne is sitting with Alistair at the far end of the circle, the pair thick as thieves.
Jules is with Roman and Mikhail, the three of them speaking Russian.
Lachlan can track multiple conversations, but his focus is currently Savannah.
‘And are you excited for tomorrow?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘We can’t wait to have you come stay with us in Dubai. You’ll love it there, oh, it’s heaven!’
‘That sounds… so nice.’
‘You’ll come when you’re married. Pure bliss, isn’t it Pressy?’
‘Bliss,’ Madeline’s twin brother echoes, gaze roaming appreciatively over Savannah in a way that makes Lachlan’s back teeth grind. ‘How old is the boy again?’
‘Julian is nineteen.’
‘Oh, not long to wait at all, my love,’ Madeline says, winking as she drinks, smacking her lips and then whispering loudly, ‘It’s always worth the wait.’ Savannah doesn’t seem to know what to say. ‘Have you courted anyone else?’
‘Courted?’
‘Forgive the archaic language, sweetpea. A nicer way of describing the dirty things that happen behind closed doors.’
‘Um.’ Savannah looks around, but no one is there to help.
Lachlan’s fingers flex, irritation climbing.
‘Come now, you can tell us,’ Madeline says, laughing softly. ‘You and Mikhail’s eldest seem close.’
‘Roman’s my friend, yes.’
‘Arrangements can always be made. Isn’t that right, Pressy?’
Prescott smirks. ‘Always.’
Lachlan kicks a small wave of sand towards Roman, who looks over at him with a half-formed scowl. Lachlan makes a face, gestures to Savannah.
Roman doesn’t even hesitate, goes to join Savannah and the twins, politely inserting himself before asking if he can borrow her. The twins are all silky laughter and manners atop rusted, jagged nastiness. Jules watches the whole interaction quietly, just like Mikhail.
Roman frees Savannah and Lachlan winks at him when he walks by. The other two bodyguards are stationed on his opposite side, spread out. They’re not paying attention the way Lachlan is, but they are on guard, at least.
With their amusement stolen, the Delacroix twins zero in on Lachlan as being the one to have orchestrated it somehow.
Madeline gets up and approaches with naked curiosity.
‘You’re a pretty one,’ she says, alcohol bitter on her breath. Lachlan stares openly, borderline insolent. ‘Alistair speaks very highly of you. I wonder, what does it take to guard his treasures so well? Are you full service?’
‘I’m a trained killer, ma’am.’
She giggles like a teenager, hand landing on his neck, sweaty, sandy fingers grasping as if she has any right but it’s not about right, it’s about what Lachlan will allow. ‘And how many men have you killed, little boy? How old even are you? Twenty-three?’
‘He’s twenty-six,’ Jules answers from behind her, still sitting with Mikhail.
Roman and Savannah are just by the water’s edge.
Lachlan is so fucking tense he could snap in half.
Madeline Delacroix smiles smugly, like Jules knowing it is a damning indictment. ‘Twenty-six,’ she echoes. ‘How many men have you killed?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am.’
‘Such a weak answer. What kind of trained killer doesn’t know his count?
You’d be nothing anywhere else but this godforsaken kindergarten country.
’ Her hand freely roams down his front, lower still until she digs her fingers into his belt and pulls back and forth to jostle him.
‘Look at you, so big and strong, but I know you bend when told and I know you stay quiet when ordered and I know you’ll watch as your pretty little Primary—’
‘Madeline,’ Alistair calls out, an actual degree of warning in his tone for once, ‘leave the bodyguard alone.’
Her eyes are bright with that same old evil Lachlan sometimes senses in Penhalyx. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘Let him do his job.’
‘His job is whatever you tell him.’ She looks back, fingers still hooked into the front of Lachlan’s waistband. ‘Isn’t it?’
Lachlan has already mentally calculated a dozen different scenarios and they’re all equally bad.
In the Estate, he’d go numb and let it happen if he absolutely had to, just like he would have with Ariadne Alderwyck, but this is not the Estate, and he will not leave Jules’ side the entire time he’s here even if it means breaking his contract.
‘Leave him be,’ Alistair bids.
She huffs. ‘Is this a party or isn’t it?’
‘Delly, come back to me, my love,’ her twin brother calls out.
Madeline’s mouth twists, eyes narrowing before she smiles that polite society smile and releases Lachlan. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she promises, returning to her seat as if nothing happened.
Lachlan looks out at the water, seeking equilibrium.
It’s harder to find than he expected.