Chapter Twenty
Killian
Since Silas Cornell thought it acceptable to invade my space, I do the same to him. His apartment’s a bit trickier to break into than Lyra’s, but I already have a mole in his security team who disables all cameras, so I manage to sneak into his fifth-avenue penthouse unnoticed and unencumbered.
I sit on the ridiculous, uncomfortable sofa in his living room, hands clasped on my lap, awaiting him to come home. The sooner I can get him off Lyra’s case, the sooner I can get on with my life.
I don’t pause to examine why I’m becoming so protective of her. She’s done nothing but bitch at me and resist me—though I don’t mind either quality as much as she might hope—so her death shouldn’t bother me.
But it does, so I’ll ensure it doesn’t occur under my watch.
I get a text message on my phone while I wait, from Locke.
I’ve put him on Lyra-duty indefinitely; his sole job now is to keep an eye on her, observe her movements, and report back to me.
She’s proven that she can’t be trusted on her own, and I don’t intend to give her the benefit of the doubt twice.
Until I’m done with her, she’ll have round-the-clock security—and spying—though she won’t know about it.
My eyes scan the text message, and something unpleasant stirs in my chest.
Lyra stopped by a pharmacy. Picked up Plan B, refilled an old birth control prescription.
Lyra’s pride often gets one over on her sense.
Were she sensible, she’d allow me to continue having insanely risky sex with her and pray to whatever god she believes in that she got pregnant.
Having my heir inside her would vastly improve her life, and ensure I provide a lavish lifestyle for her until the heir comes of age.
It might even prompt me into marrying her.
Previously, the concept of marriage was a disgusting itch on my skin. I know I need to marry and reproduce eventually, but I’ve yet to meet a woman who I want to keep around for more than a single fuck.
The idea of marrying Lyra is decidedly less objectionable than the idea of marrying anyone else—possibly because she’s made it abundantly clear on multiple occasions that she wants nothing from me. Not my money, not my connections, not the prestige of my name.
I pocket my personal phone when I hear the front door opening, and raise my gaze, watching as Silas steps inside. He’s dressed in an absurdly expensive Brioni suit—which is just a statement he’s trying to make to the world. One among many.
He wants the public to think that he has no financial struggles, that he’s still richer than God.
I happen to know better. My chokehold on our industry means I hold his purse strings. If I want to destroy him, I will, and destroying him would be as simple as tanking all of his investments and shutting down his company.
I’ve been instructed by multiple seniors in The Eyes to refrain from doing so, but if Silas fucks around with Lyra just one more time, I’ll ignore their advice and ruin his life.
Silas flicks on the lights to his ostentatious living room, then nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of me.
“Fuck,” he hisses. He stumbles back, eyes narrowing on me, assessing my level of threat. Attempting to discern whether I’m here to kill him or not.
He should be so lucky. If and when our time comes, I won’t be killing him before I’ve destroyed all he holds dear. I only end my prey when they’re on their knees, begging for mercy.
Silas makes the mistake of assuming he’s the same caliber of predator as me.
“What the fuck—” his nostrils flare furiously, “—are you doing here?” he roars.
“I’m here as a courtesy,” I reply mildly. “You’ve taken an unusual interest in my current plaything—one that led you to believe she’s dangerous to us. I’m here to assure you that any danger she presents has been subdued.”
Silas doesn’t relax at all. Smart man. “I didn’t see anything on the news about her—”
“That’s because I haven’t killed her. Instead, I now have a chokehold on her.” I allow a smirk to play out across my lips. “Not unlike the chokehold I have on your business.”
His jaw clenches. “Explain.”
I lift a shoulder. “I made a sex tape with her. If she keeps digging, I’ll destroy her life.
If she pisses me off too much, I’ll destroy her life.
Basically, if she does anything that even mildly displeases me, I’ll destroy her life.
” My smirk widens. “The two of you now have a great deal in common.”
Silas’s fists flex and unflex by his sides. He can’t do anything—not anymore. I told him I would handle the issue, and I have. I never specified that my handling it would include Lyra’s untimely death; that’s an assumption he made on his own.
A fair assumption given my history, but an incorrect one.
“That’s not enough,” Silas says. “She could still talk—”
“You could technically still talk. Despite my burning urge to, I haven’t relieved you of your tongue, even if moments like this one make me wish I had a million times over.
” I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees.
“But you don’t, because you know I can destroy you.
The same logic has been applied to Lyra, and I expect to have the same success rate. ”
Silas’s brows furrow. “You actually care about this woman.”
I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t like getting my hands dirty unless absolutely necessary.
” My time of giving serious thought to killing Lyra has passed.
I see a great deal of myself in that young woman.
She’s an overachiever. She’s the smartest person in the ridiculous newspaper she works for, and the most creative.
She’s one of the most high-potential individuals I’ve ever met. She deserves to live, and live well.
“The Eyes won’t be happy about this—”
“There is absolutely no reason for them to know about this,” I say darkly, my tone steeped in warning.
“She poses no genuine threat, and I’ve ensured that’s how she’ll remain.
Now, should you get any bright ideas regarding her, I’d strongly suggest you consider the effect I can have on your life if I become angry.
” I pause to let that sink in. “For now, the reporter is mine. I plan on fucking her out of my system and discarding her shortly. She’s no longer your concern, or anyone’s concern. ”
“You care about her,” Silas insists. “Admit it.”
“I won’t admit to anything but the truth.
And the truth is that I couldn’t possibly give less of a shit about the reporter.
I’m interested in her body—she has a golden pussy—and that’s about all.
I’ll get bored of her like I always do and toss her aside.
And, when I toss her aside, she still won’t do anything, because I’ll continue holding the detonator to her life. ”
Silas takes a few steps forward. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I have a go at her once you’re done, would you?
” he asks offhandedly. My blood begins to simmer at the mere thought.
“I mean, she really is a hot piece of ass. And if you say it’s a golden pussy, I believe you.
Your standards always were hard to reach. ”
He’s testing me. If I show any reaction to the thought of him having a go at her, he’ll know he can leverage her against me.
Which he can’t, of course. She’s completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. And yet, the idea of Silas’s filthy hands on her makes me want to skewer and roast him over an open flame.
“If you want my sloppy seconds, that’s your prerogative,” I force myself to say, tone bored. “That is, if there’s anything left of her once I’m through.”
Silas folds his arms over his chest. “Fine. I want a copy of that sex tape—”
“Absolutely not.” I’ve rewatched the tape dozens of times since making it, and each time, it brings me to an explosive orgasm.
The only thing better than watching myself turning Lyra’s ass red and forcing her to come is doing it in person.
I cannot stand the thought of anyone else seeing her in that state—bound, naked, and vulnerable—least of all Silas.
The fucker doesn’t deserve to see her naked. Her body is reserved solely for me.
“If you truly don’t care about her, you wouldn’t have a problem with this,” Silas says, doubling down. “She’s irrelevant, right? Unimportant? Then let me have the leverage I need to keep my mouth closed.”
Fuck. He’s backing me into a corner. If I don’t agree, he’ll assume that I care for her, and use her against me.
“You’re impulsive,” I say flatly. “I don’t trust you not to release the tape just because. I wouldn’t trust you with shining my fucking shoes, Cornell.”
“I’m not impulsive when it comes to my business,” he snaps.
I only credit that statement with a snort of disbelief.
He strides forward. I stand from the couch—he stops in the center of the room. I’m just tall enough to look down at him, and I make full use of my height as I watch him, willing him to feel how much of a nobody he is compared to me.
The Silas Cornells of this world destroyed my youth. I enjoy every chance I can get to make them feel as small as I once felt.
“Either give me the tape or I’ll find my own way to keep her in line.”
A threat on his life hovers on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t let it loose.
He has me in checkmate. As abhorrent as the idea of his eyes on her naked body is, the idea that he’ll go after her some other way is far more appalling.
Giving him what he wants is the lesser evil, and it’ll save me from having to deal with his bullshit assumptions that I care about her.
“If you let it leak, I’ll kill you,” I say tonelessly.
A small smirk tugs at Silas’s lips. He’s pleased with my confession—too pleased. “If you ever break into my apartment again, I’ll have you killed.”
I smile. “Good luck with that.” My smile drops. “The tape will be in your inbox. If you let it loose, you’ll prove that your impulsivity is too much to handle, and I’ll take care of you the way you wanted me to take care of Lyra.”
“I won’t leak it unless I have to. And if it becomes necessary, you better be the one to do it first.”
My next meeting of the evening is late—well after midnight, pushing into the hours of the night when only unsavory characters come together to talk.
The person I’m meeting is as unsavory as they come, and works for a man who’s far worse than I could ever aspire to be.
Someone who deals with hostile takeovers, and has regular cameos in mafia circles.
I’ve had a connection with one of his foot soldiers for quite some time—Rhys, who’s a jack of all trades. This week, the job I asked of him was insultingly simple and far below his skillset, but I pay well enough to avoid questions.
All six-feet-five of Rhys wait for me on a street corner in Brooklyn, in a neighborhood that few people are brave enough to venture into at night.
He has dark hair and dark blue eyes to match his pitch-black soul.
If Lyra thinks I’m bad, I hope she’ll never brush elbows with Rhys’s circles of people.
“Killian,” Rhys greets. He’s a few years younger than me, but he has the voice of a five-packs-a-day smoker.
“Got what you wanted.” He holds up a black velvet box—the same box I had delivered to Lyra earlier in the week.
A necklace I put quite a bit of thought into picking out, one that suits her appearance and personality perfectly.
I take the box from Rhys and hand over an envelope of cash large enough to make most people’s eyes bulge. Rhys tests the weight in his hands and folds it into his jacket pocket.
He watches in silence as I crack open the box and peer at the necklace. It really is a perfect piece for Lyra—elegant yet whimsical. Timeless yet on-market. A mixture of colors and shapes that’s nontraditional, yet would be accepted on the necks of any high-society heiress.
This necklace cost me half a million—Lyra sold it back to me for just over a hundred grand, and most of the money she made will go to taxes.
Of course, she doesn’t know I’m the buyer, but I monitor her work computer.
And her home laptop, and phone. Nothing she does flies under my radar…
which begs the question of how she managed to meet with Rhea without me finding out.
A riddle for another day.
“Scorned lover?” he asks.
“Uninterested woman,” I murmur in response, closing the box.
If she doesn’t like this necklace, I’ll get her another—just to make a point.
If I want to gift her high fashion jewelry, she’ll accept it and wear it.
She’ll learn to stop behaving like an ungrateful brat who got supremely lucky by catching my eye and more like a woman who deserves to be on my arm.
Rhys lets out a low whistle. “Since when do you chase after women?”
“I don’t.” Or, more accurately, I haven’t in quite some time. The chase with my flighty little journalist is better than all the foreplay in the world, though.
Rhys nods. “Carter sends his hello.”
Carter, Rhys’s boss and one of the most dangerous men in the city—alongside me—is an old friend. Though, friend might be too kind a word; more like reluctant ally. We don’t fuck with each other, because a war between us would be catastrophic on a global scale.
“Please send my hello in return.”
“Please don’t call me for errand-boy shit ever again,” Rhys says. “Work like this is insulting.”
“Spare me the sob story; you’ll be too busy rolling around in the cash I just gave you to muster much regret.”
“And you’ll be too busy fucking in and out of what must be platinum pussy to give a shit about how I feel,” Rhys says. “Enjoy.”
I plan to.