Chapter 10 #2
Being around her, just like it was with Nell, brings back what it felt like to want something other than blood and revenge.
And the thought of her falling, of her dying before I’m done with her, made something primal and possessive come to life inside me.
Desperate to taste her fear again and have her make that delicious moan.
I don’t need that.
Not now, I’m so close.
Ben tenses, spotting deer in the clearing—a doe and her fawn.
Both easy kills, the kind of target I’m supposed to be hunting out here.
Ben strains against my grip, every muscle coiled to chase.
The doe’s eyes meet mine for a split second, wide and terrified, protective of the fawn stumbling beside her on too-long legs.
I know that look. I’ve seen it on Sage’s face.
Just like when I caged her in that chair.
The deer bound into the trees, white tails flashing. I yank Ben back. He whines, confused why we’re not hunting.
“Down, boy. Not this one.”
What’s wrong with me? I should be able to kill a goddam deer without seeing her face. Without remembering how she looked up at me, shaking but refusing to run. How she’s still there, taunting me, when she should be gone by now.
“We’re not hunting today,” I grit out.
Because I can’t think straight. It’s been days, but I can’t focus.
I drag Ben away back toward the cabin. He keeps whining, but I give a sharp command, so he settles at my feet.
In my pocket, my phone buzzes. The sound is surprisingly loud in the silence of the forest, so that any animals bound out of the clearing anyway.
I glare at the phone as I take it out. I really don’t want to speak to whoever is calling me, but it could be important.
Mundel knows not to call me when I’m off-grid, and only he and a few others I trust have this number.
“What?”
“Dante Black’s offer just landed. He wants to buy our disposal company.” It’s Mundel.
“My company,” I correct. “And no, that’s not happening. But I wouldn’t mind Harper Black Industries instead. Those government contracts are worth more than he’s offering.”
“He won’t sell Harper Black.”
“He will. Everyone has a price.”
“Even if he agrees, the government has to approve the ownership change. They’re already asking questions about your background after that Executive Review piece.”
“Which is why we need Ragg’s article yesterday. Has he responded to the invitation for a high-profile exclusive?”
“Tobias Ragg has. He’s very interested. But he prefers to interview you over dinner, not at your office, and has suggested The Dorset.” He pauses. “Smart. A public place. Do you think he suspects who you are?”
“He hasn’t got a damn clue.” I snort. “He just wants to eat at the most exclusive restaurant in town.”
Tobias Ragg, who turned my family’s tragedy into a media circus, painted my parents as monsters, ruined my name and reputation, and is next on my list. I would have preferred to meet him at one of my businesses, but I let him come to me instead.
I want him to sit in my chair, sip from my glass…
And look me in the eye when I carve the truth from his throat.
“He wants the exclusive; he can come to me. Tell him we will host him at Grayfleet.”
“Is that wise? Grayfleet is—”
“The ideal place to meet that son of a bitch. Now arrange it and leave me to hunt.”
“He wants to meet this week, but you’ll still be out hunting then.”
I pause. My plan was to be out for the next two weeks. Stalking, planning, and laying the groundwork for my next kill takes time.
“Too soon, right?” Mundel asks. “I can tell him another time—”
“Send the helicopter for him on Thursday afternoon, before the storm blows in. And make sure he signs an NDA. If he tells anyone he’s coming here, the deal’s off.”
“Tomorrow? You’re coming back?”
“Yes, I’m coming back.”
“Won’t you need more time?”
“I’ve already set the groundwork. I only came to get my damn dog before the storm.” The lie rolls off my tongue like a smooth whiskey. Storm Pirelli is about to hit, and the last place I want to be stranded is Grayfleet.
“And the girl?”
My grip tightens on the phone. “What about her? Didn’t I make myself clear earlier?”
“She didn’t get on the boat.”
I run my teeth over my lower lip. Why am I not surprised?
“Just keep her in her room until I get back. We don’t need Ragg getting distracted by a different story altogether.”
I hang up before Mundel can question my decision. The lie I told him (and myself) about retrieving Ben prickles under my skin. The thought of Sage alone at Grayfleet with Mundel and now Ragg makes my blood run cold.
It was a mistake to leave.
But I shove the reason why away and focus on what I’m going to do about Mundel. He’s been poking at the wrong things lately, testing the walls. He’s forgotten who I was at Port Penn. That I didn’t just survive that hellhole, I thrived in it. I didn’t have money or connections then.
Just absolute fear.
But now all he sees are custom cars, silk sheets, and a corner office with a view of the city.
He thinks the empire softened me, but I’ve evolved, taught myself how to make cruelty appear civilized.
Prison rules don’t work out here. No one deals with the devil unless he’s in a sharp suit and owns half the damn city.
I need him to listen. Or at least come crawling when I crook my finger.
“Tar!” I bark out the old Gaelic command for come, and then give a short, low whistle at Ben, who is sniffing the other end of the clearing. He looks up, eyes on me, and then he bounds toward me. For once, some goddam obedience.
It doesn’t take long to trek back to the cabin. Then I pack, lock up, and make my way toward the moored boat. Ben jumps into the vessel, settling on one of the seats.
“Síos.”
He lies down, watching, unmoving, while I load the boat with my gear and untie it. I don’t bother to clip him. He won’t jump out unless I tell him to. Usually, Ben stays in the cabin. Mundel feeds him, takes him on his rounds.
But I want him close.
Because that stubborn little songbird won’t leave her cage, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else have her now she’s decided to stay.