20. To own is to… Idolize
Chapter twenty
To own is to… Idolize
W arrick Age 31
The blood dripping from my knuckles chills before it leaves my skin, my mind numb to the chaos around me. This situation isn’t new, not by a long shot. I’ve been here before, staring at the bloody and gored bodies of fallen men. Only, I can’t stop seeing her , how angry she’d be, how she’d cry. I always hated it when my mother cried, I think because she simply did so much of it. The man’s collar I was gripping finally slumps to the ground, sounds of fighting echoing in the hanger.
And my father…
His face is a muddled mess of bits and bone. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but the very first time on an infallible man. I haven’t reached anger yet, but I can feel it somewhere there. It took a few days after my mother killed herself for me to find the anger too, but only brief moments for my ignorant seventeen-year-old brain to realize it was her when I pulled her out of the cold bath, her head having sank under the bloody water. She was nude; I had no reason to think she wasn’t just another of Dad’s whores he played too hard with. She was in their wing, anyway. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her like this, naked. And like those other times, the burn of vomit rises in my throat.
I saw her limp form and recognized the wrongness of it. What I hadn’t expected was the relief . No more would she sneak into my bed, sobbing while she kissed my neck. Her vile whispering. Her declarations of devotion and love. The way she’d fondle my cock in the dark then cry and run when it got hard. When my father decided the best way to deal with her instability was to ignore it, I became the surrogate husband, the rock she leaned on in all manners. I think that’s when I started hating them, the whores. It's when they stopped being people and devolved into objects, pets I could play with, mutilate, fuck, and ignore.
My eyes slide to the lifeless bodies of the FBI and ATF agents scattered around my father, my ears ringing from the sudden burst of gunfire. It was a simple weapons trade. Tyet confirmed everything was moving forward as it should this morning. It was all fucking vetted. Everything was fine.
I jolt, my eyes leaving the empty ones of my father when stomping boots approach me, jerking back the action on my handgun despite the screaming ache in my knuckles, broken against anyone I could grab quick enough. I shove the barrel into the man stupid enough to run up on me. My finger is already on the trigger before I recognize him. Stuart slaps the gun out of his face, his eyes wild. “We need to get you out of here!”
His inky black hair is peppered with gray; I’d never noticed it before. Growing up, this man always seemed just as infallible as his best friend, the one who lies blasted on the pavement.
I shake my head. “We need to get him.”
“No! He’s done. There are more on the way, and this time, they’re going to win. Get in the car, sir.”
I shove off him, only to fist his body armor. “We aren’t fucking leaving him!” I bellow, daring him to do shit. Anything. Any reason to finally get to the anger part.
The pain registers first, blood bursting from my nose before the realization that Stuart slapped me registers. I stagger back. “You fuck!”
“I will not allow you to die beside your father! We can make this right, Warrick, but you have to fucking think. It’s only us left. We have no ammo, no men. We have no fucking chance, not like this.”
The blades of the helicopter finally cut through the ringing in my ears as he jerks me toward the open hatch, all but shoving me inside. The red and blue lights reflect off the black exterior as he slides into the pilot seat, pulling us into the night right before all hell breaks loose.
Again.
Stuart barges into the study, my reading glasses slipping down my nose as I lift my eyes from the book I was struggling to pay attention to.
“You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
Pup halts at the venom in the man’s voice as she walks past the archway, her long blonde hair yanked up in a messy bun, an orange ice cream bar gripped in her palm. I narrow my eyes at it, wondering where the fuck she got it and why I’m just seeing it for the first time. Her eyes snap down to the offending frozen treat before she scampers away, her bare feet padding on the runner.
I sigh, giving up on the book. It’s not that I have anything against her having sweets; I do, however, not appreciate her asking the staff to get her the ones she likes and not me. The thought of others caring for her—
“Are you even paying attention to me?” Stuart demands. “How is this a fucking priority?”
He waves the phone in his hand like I’ll be able to see what he’s showing me from here. Even at seventy-seven, he’s a force to be reckoned with, built like a tank, with still more pepper than salt in his hair. He aged well for someone who seems to be in a constant state of stress. I know what he’s referring to, but it’s more entertaining this way. “If I sent it to you, I’m sure it's worthy of your time.”
“Yeah, you’ve gone off. That can be the only reason you ordered me away from my job running this,” he gestures around the room violently, “to run a background check on one of your little pets.”
“ Pup , you mean. I directed you to leave the other one somewhere else.”
“Yes, I left her in the woods on my way home.”
Fair enough.
“Perhaps that’s part of your problem. You’ve missed meetings, deals, ignored calls from Dydicon, yet seem fit enough to follow that girl around the estate, washing and doting on her like she’s a beloved companion.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t recall you being this dramatic when I was a kid.”
“Warrick, Andres LaMonica called days ago with a lead, yet you’ve refused to meet him. Why? Since when has bringing down Tyet not consumed your every thought?”
Since her, it seems.
“He refuses to speak over the phone, thanks to his wife. I have no intention of extending them an invitation to any of my homes. Eventually, he will want his seat and forgo the annoying requests that accompany it.”
Stuart drags a hand through his hair. “Why do you want a background check on the girl, and why send it to me instead of just doing it yourself? Huh? Because you want me to fucking knock some sense into you!”
“I merely want to sate my curiosity before she loses her shiny new toy appeal, Stuart, relax. My focus has not wavered.”
“I would hope so, sir. You aren’t the only one who wants to see this through.”
His words land their intended mark as he leaves the room. My hands flex as I open and close them, the ache there reminding me of knuckles that never healed right after that night. Of the fucking idiot son of Tyet who took his first task, his first job as the acting head of his family, and decided to fuck over mine. He dismisses himself as I reach to the wall behind me, hitting the intercom button for the staff wing. “Henrietta, see me in the study, please. ”
My jaw aches from how hard it's clenched by the time the woman makes it to me, her white, pressed shirt smelling of whatever strong fabric softener she uses. Even from across the room, the pungent, artificial florals make my head throb. “When did Pup request ice cream?”
“Oh, uhm, it’s been a week or two, sir. You instructed us to see to any of her needs the month she arrived. As this was a new protocol for your… guests, I assumed it included shopping. I apologize if I overstepped.”
“No, that’s fine. Thank you, but from now on, I want a list of everything she asks for run by me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You can go.”
I jerk a deep breath into my lungs, knowing it will do little to tamp down on my anger, the constant burning throb in my chest. It’s a hollow breed of rage that seems to be the only genuine thing sustaining my life these past twenty years.
Perhaps longer.
Before I was forced into a position I never gave a fuck about. Before I cemented the name Basilisk in the history books only read and recited by the other vile entities of my world. I can’t fault her for asking the staff for things. I haven’t been in a good or even slightly reasonable mood lately, but I know I’m fucked. Something is happening to me. My mind is muddy, my thoughts constantly dedicated to a blonde woman with scarred hands and big brown eyes. I have everything I need in motion for the first time since I watched that buckshot eat my father’s neck, a lead dangling in front of me. I simply need to reach out and take it.
But…
Fucking hell, there shouldn’t even be a but.
I shut my eyes, breathing through whatever nasty, murderous ideas infiltrate my brain.
I don’t want that woman anywhere near her.
I don’t want to see how excited Pup will get when she’s fucking coddled.
Held .
Adored.
But anyone who isn’t me .
She’s eroding everything, and it’s not even her fault.
Her sweet smell hits me first, like the first sip of alcohol after going too long without drinking. “Master?”
“Yes, Pup?” I answer, not bothering to open my eyes.
“Y-you’ve been in a bad mood today.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
She hesitates, the tickle of air hitting me as she drops to her knees, resting her chin on my thigh. My body reacts viscerally to the gesture, my cock jumping to life while my arms move to wrap around her, to pull her so close, neither of us can breathe. “Why?”
My eyes open as I tilt my head, staring down at her. Fucking hell, she’s beautiful. Her blonde hair falls over slender shoulders, the milky blue streak like a lightning bolt above her teardrop-shaped pupils. Out of the hundreds of collars she now owns—because I can’t get enough of how excited she gets each time—this one is her favorite: a wide, black leather base with a small loophole in the shape of a heart. I sigh, feeling the action deep in my bones. “It seems I cannot fight the impulse to spoil you rotten, and it's gone to your head.”
She smirks.
She fucking smirks .
Fuck.
Me.
To.
Hell.
My head cants back, allowing me to glare up at the ceiling, trying to remember every reason I should put a bullet in her skull and be done with this.
“Master?”
“Yes?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Hard to believe, seeing as you just had ice cream an hour before dinner. ”
Her nose tickles my thigh, and my cock is already pressing against my zipper. “I was thinking maybe I could have you too?”
“Speak clearly. My head is throbbing,” I warn, pretending not to enjoy this, like I wouldn’t commit war crimes to have her hot mouth wrapped around my cock.
“I want your cum, Sir. Please .”
What was the fifth reason I should kill her again?