32
“You did somethin’, didn't you?” Zain shakes his head as he sits across from me in the Ops building.
I shoot him a guilt-ridden expression. What can I say, lying isn't my fashion, at least with Zain.
The guy can see right through me. I lean back in the chair, propping my muddy boots on the tabletop with a non-committal shrug.
“Your pathological fixation has gotten the best of you, Kieran,” Zain warns, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along the arch of his nose. I flip him off. My patience is running thin with his dissection into my life and choices.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn't,” I shrug, picking at my nailbed.
Val and Grey spot me from the lunch line.
I shake my head, letting them know I'm not sitting with them today.
I haven't been as social as usual. They're definitely picking up on it.
Zain wants nothing to do with the Elites and their bullshit, either.
I don't blame the guy. He's always preferred solitude, though Vesper is getting him to slowly open up in minor social settings.
“Vesper is pissed. She hasn't been able to get ahold of Clara in a fuckin' day and a half. Whatever the fuck you're doin’, wrap it up. I can't keep lyin’ to her. She's worried Clara will agree to their Void bullshit,” he spouts.
He has no clue she already has. And I stole her for myself. Then locked her away. I raise a brow. “Can’t you? You lied to all of us for weeks about shit,” I glower, sitting up straight in my seat. I’m still sore at him for not trusting me enough with his secrets.
Shit, he even used my gun to commit a crime. Still sore about that.
He bares his teeth, grunting at me. He leans back in his seat crossing his arms. “So did you,” he counters casually.
“Lying and withholding information are two very different things,” I point out with a head tilt. Skirting around the truth is more like it. My boots fall to the floor, and I reach for my plate to start devouring my lunch. Bread, beef stew and butter with a protein drink for later.
Zain massages his temples. I snigger. Getting under his skin is something I relish. “Kieran!’ a shout echoed through the Ops hall, quieting the subtle mindless babble and kitchen bustle. I let out a breathy sigh, drop my spoon, and glance over my shoulder. And who do I see?
Fucking hell.
Zain smirks, picking up his spoon. “Feel her wrath, Kieran. She's grown a backbone now, courtesy of yours truly.” The fucker is smug as shit in his seat as he sips his soup. I want to punch the dickhead.
Vesper's shoes slap against the flagstone floor in quick movements as she rushes across the room, and I grunt internally.
Normally Vesper doesn't bother me. Hell, she's quiet and shy.
At least she used to be a docile little thing before Zain got his claws in her.
Dealing with women is my least favorite.
I prefer fucking them and not dealing with their needy bullshit.
In this case, that isn't an option. Instead, I'm stuck on the receiving end of her fury.
Clara means the world to her. If she had an inkling I was hiding her in a damn mausoleum with a handful of clothes, a dirty old mattress and limited snacks as my fuck slave, she'd go mental.
She materializes beside me into a ball of choler. Her temper rises with each passing second as I ignore her. Zain keeps quiet, watching his wife radiate rage.
“Don't you dare ignore me! What happened to her! You have to know something!” She taps her Docs impatiently.
I take a bite of my bread. “She's a bit . . . tied up right now.”
I shrug with a mouthful of food, holding back my snicker.
Tied up, chained up, shackled? All the same to me.
She blinks a few times before rounding the table to plop down next to Zain.
She looks back and forth between us. “One of you two better start talking. You don't understand, she suffers from . . .”
She chews the loose skin on her lip, trailing off.
That piques my interest. Another layer to polish away in hopes of revealing the real Clara.
I push my tray back and recline in my seat, intrigued.
“Such as?” She clings to Zain like a lifeline.
He kisses the top of her head in a tender display of affection that is just weird as fuck, even for him.
“Well, I don't know exactly. She's never opened up. I suspect some type of abuse and mental health episodes.”
She glares at me as if I'm the root cause.
If she thinks I did anything to Clara she didn't want, she couldn't be more wrong.
My eyes narrow and I tilt my head. “I never did anything she didn't already want,” I hiss sharply. It's half true, I just withhold the full truth. I drugged her for my own selfish gain; it just so happens she enjoys being comatose, too.
She purses her lips and looks at Zain before glaring back at me. For assurance? The truth? Fuck if I know, but Zain doesn't get involved in my bedroom activities, despite being offered numerous times.
“Who knows what the hell you did at the party. She clearly doesn't want you around, Kieran. You're lucky Zain came and removed me or else I would have—”
I snicker. Lucky? She's maybe 140 pounds and 5'1, she isn't capable of shit. “—Or what? You would have sicced Zain on me? Please. As much as the fucker and I spar, I'm bigger than he is muscle wise,” I chuff.
Zain shoots me a sullen glare. He knows it's true. Though it never stops him. The guy is fearless, and very territorial over his girl. He would fight someone twice his size just to prove a point.
The loud speaker crackles overhead before she can fire off a
retort. “Kieran Grimshaw, please report to the dean's office.”
I scoot my chair back and get up without a word.
I wish Mortensen would fuck off. I zip through the hallway with anger radiating in my veins.
What the hell does he want now? I weave through the crowded hallways toward his office.
Before I can knock on his double French doors, it snicks open.
My father’s eyes laser into me from the other side.
I hate how much alike we look. The same green eyes. The same sharp facial features.
“Ah, son. Come in. We have some things to discuss.” he motions me inside, far too happily. Ahh, back to niceties, I guess. Just being near him makes my insides churn with bile. What motive does he have today? He has a glimmer of hope in his eye as if he imagines I've finally come around. Nah.
I brush past him and clop toward the chairs. I sink into the leather, letting my legs dangle over the armrest just because I know it ticks him off.
“What?” I cut to the chase hoping to bypass the fake bullshit. No reason to act like we give a fuck about each other. I do, however, gotta keep my cool for shit to play out in my favor.
He will use anyone and any means necessary to achieve complete and total power. He's vile and corrupt.
He smiles. Fake. Controlling. Condescending.
“I’m proud of you, Kieran. You did what needed to be done,” he starts.
He laps the doors closed then spins on his heels.
“I did you a favor. Sometimes we all need a little push to do what needs done. For your efforts, I will exonerate Zain of any wrongdoing. I have given limited information to the police. But understand, if you step a toe out of line, I will make sure you are the one who pays the price.”
His voice holds a cold visceral edge.
My fingers slide along the cool leather seat. I click my tongue, processing his threat. He wouldn't implicate me. I'm his only heir. Even if he hates me with every fiber of his being, he wouldn't risk his empire and name being tainted.
He would delay Jax's parents; the Andersons', suffering at the expense of his own image and family name.
He has all the answers, or at least most of them.
He could concoct any bullshit story just to give the case a rest.
No, instead he endures the countless articles written about Grimshaw just to use it as leverage against me.
He thinks I give a fuck about this school or the Void. I don't.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Try it,” I shrug, calling his bluff. I should calculate and reassess. That's never been my strong suit. “You need me, otherwise you wouldn't be blackmailing me into this shit. So really, you're at my mercy.” I swing my legs around and rest my elbows on my knees.
So much for playing my cards right. Problematic indeed. Good job, Kieran. Impulsive fuck.
His expression hardens. He crosses around behind his desk and takes a seat in his Chesterfield. The wheels roll along the cherry floors. “That, my son, is where you are wrong.” He folds his hands neatly on his desk. He is about to unleash the power hungry, rapacious Machiavellian.
“Out of the kindness of my heart, I offered you another chance to earn the Grimshaw name that you will never measure up to!” Spittle flies from his lips. He slams his fist against the desk. A few stray pens spill from their etui.
I snort. “The kindness of your heart?” I mock. “Please, I'm your only heir.”
He scowls. “If you throw this opportunity away, I will redact my statement on Jax's death. As of now, it is being investigated as an accident. He drunkenly stumbled into that crypt. I do not need more negative press on Grimshaw, but so help me, Kieran, if you force my hand, I will destroy you.”
My insides boil. I've never been violent like Zain but have always craved the insatiable need to dominate.
I want to watch the world burn. Right now I could strangle him, until the air leaves his lungs, until his eyes pop from their sockets.
Mortensen demands sacrifice, and that sacrifice is Clara.
She's caught in the middle of this bullshit.
He knew what he was doing. He would never have let Vesper fill that role.
He was watching me, honing in on my weakness to find me exposed long before Zain ever offed Jax.
Unknowingly, Zain handed Mortensen the ammunition to put a rein on me.
Or at least try to. Keeping her for myself is no longer an option.
She's a liability. One that needs to be eradicated. Damn the consequences.