24. TATE
TATE
“Do you know what it’s doing?” Uncle Jasper said. Its body was still, feet burrowed into the seeping wound, the paper-thin wings opened and closed a few times.
“Drinking,” I said, realizing it as I said it. “I didn’t know they drank blood.”
“And turtle tears. They’ll sip from mud puddles and human sweat—though that’s usually just the males.”
What does he mean? What’s he really trying to say? He always had a cryptic fucking message buried in nonsense.
“Savage, bloodthirsty,” he said, never taking his eyes from the unusual creature. “Stunning.”
“Isn’t it just doing what it needs to survive?”
A useless arm tried to shift, jostling the butterfly. There was a moan. The arm stilled again, the butterfly returned to its macabre feast.
“There’s nectar aplenty on every square inch of this field. It chose this man’s blood.”
“It’s a butterfly. It didn’t choose anything. It’s driven by instinct.”
“Butterflies remember being caterpillars. They turn to fucking goo in the chrysalis, and yet when they emerge, they remember smells they learned when they were caterpillars.”
Ah. The whole a-monster-is-a-monster speech with a new and grotesque twist. How dare he ruin butterflies for me. I yanked my knife from the man’s leg. He cried out, but that was all he had the energy for. Wrenching my arm back, I drove the knife through his eye, ending his pointless life.
“If you wanted me to finish him off, all you had to do was say so.”
He smiled, gaze brightening in a way I didn’t see often.
His eyes slid to the butterfly—yes, that fucking stupid creature was still there—and back to me.
He seemed to be taking in the scene, the side-by-side vision.
The world’s prettiest insect gorging on a warm corpse.
A quick glance down, and I saw what he saw of me: a wide spray pattern of blood across my white shirt, the stained blade still in my hand.
Messy. Ruthless.
Vicious.
March
Unlike my hockey team, I don’t believe in signs and superstitions.
I am the sign and superstition. But when I woke up to a video of Ryan stroking his beautiful dick to completion just for me?
Even I was willing to call that the sign of a good fucking day.
Everything’s in motion. On track. And my personal favorite, ahead of schedule.
Maybe I could convince James to retire early and take over for him now.
It’s all green lights on my drive to the board meeting, and I even turn up the music, ignoring the static crackling from the broken speakers of my shitty car.
I still won’t be able to drive the Lambo to work once I’m commissioner.
Maybe it’s time to turn her in, get something more appropriate for a family man.
I doubt Ryan and I will raise kids; that would be a bad idea, but we’re … well, we’re family now.
The meeting goes better than expected. I give a mini presentation on my findings from the safety audits I mostly had Ethan do.
James reiterates his plans to retire and puts forth the verbal recommendation that I take his place.
The cherry on top is Henry’s disgusted sneer.
Guess I won’t be getting his vote, but even still, I give this meeting a ten out of ten. Would attend again.
People file out of the boardroom, and I plan on my usual chit-chat with James before I head back to Shadowridge, but Henry approaches me.
“I wonder if you’ll have a word with me, VanCourt?”
I’m a predator. The frightened shivers I’ve seen from others don’t happen for me. Instead, it’s more of an intuitive tingle. A warning. It spreads like cold rain over my skin, letting me know it’s about to be a kill-or-be-killed situation.
“Sorry, friend-o. I’ve got somewhere to be. Perhaps we can schedule a meeting?”
He turns his head toward the exit. Fucking Clarence, in the shadows, leaning against the bookshelf like the annoying poltergeist he is.
“I insist,” Henry says.
We use an empty conference room down the hall. I’ve been waiting to get my hands on Clarence, though. As soon as we’re through the door, I grab him by the throat and throw him onto the hard wooden table.
Crack. “Oof!”
I wouldn’t want to be his back later. Or his face when I’m done with it.
He scrambles to get up, my arm’s already cranked back.
Crack! My knuckles meet his cheekbone. Again.
Again. Then his nose and spray … Fucking goddammit.
Blood all over my favorite fucking suit jacket.
A hand lands on my shoulder. It makes a sorry attempt to pull me back.
Henry wants a turn? Fine. Spin. Swing. Crack.
More blood. They can both have black eyes and bloody faces.
“Fuck. Okay. Stop you fucking psychopath,” Clarence pleads from behind me.
He needs to lose some of his teeth and have his tongue shoved down his throat. I turn in his direction. Clarence holds his hands over his face. “No, please. Would you just fucking listen to us?”
“You’re lucky I came to this event unarmed, or you’d both be dead right now.”
“If you’d shoot us in the middle of a conference meeting, you’re stupider than I thought,” Henry says.
I wouldn’t shoot them now, but only because of all the witnesses in the building.
But I would shoot them both without losing sleep over it, and that’s my point.
I wish it could be now, because while I don’t know the specifics they’ve chosen, it’s obvious they’ve teamed up—a couple of wannabe villains with complementary goals.
Clarence wants revenge.
Henry wants his heir back.
I’m not negotiating with either of them.
“I have nothing but violence on offer, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“You’re not getting that commissioner position, VanCourt,” Henry says. “Once I tell James about your wedding to my son, he’ll never recommend you. Without his recommendation, you’re sunk.”
That only delays things. Ryan will be devastated, but I’m sure I can come up with another solution in the meantime. I do an exaggerated, fake yawn.
“Great, anything else?”
“You don’t think I’ll do it, do you, Tate?” Clarence says, voice thick and nasal from the blood clogging his sinuses.
The tingle of intuition happens again, but this time, well, maybe there is just the tiniest bit of dread.
“Jasper always said your arrogance would be your downfall; maybe this will be that moment.”
I turn, glaring at the little dick weasel. I could crush his windpipe with my bare hands. I should have done that a long time ago. The will was the only thing protecting him. With that done, he’s fair game.
Clarence reaches for his pocket. I move, but Henry grabs me from behind. I snap my head back. It connects with his nose. I just need to break one more for the hat-trick. If I snap Clarence’s in two places, does that count?
But Clarence has already done what he intended, pulled his phone out, and placed a call. “Hello, Luke.”
Motherfucker. I don’t say that out loud. Luke is about the only button other than Ryan they could push. I can’t let them see that they got it right. It’s not the first time anyone’s found one of my pressure points, it just doesn’t happen often.
He puts Luke on speaker. “Clarence? Everything okay? Something wrong with the will?”
“Nothing you need to worry about for now. I’ve been trying to get in touch with Tate. You wouldn’t happen to know about his affiliation with White Fox Brewery, would you?”
My heart races.
Well, that’s not my fucking usual.
All my muscles lock at the same time.
No.
Fuck.
God fucking dammit.
A violent rip of terror—actual fucking terror—seizes my chest, burrowing bone deep as cold panic floods my veins.
Is this how Pinocchio became a real boy?
I pull air into my lungs slowly, before the room tilts on its axis. All this time keeping my real life away from Luke for him to find out from fucking Clarence? No fucking way.
“No,” Luke says. “Is there a problem?”
Is there? Clarence mouths, his weasel gaze on me.
If I tell him to go fuck himself, which is on the tip of my tongue, he’ll delight in telling Luke everything I don’t want him to know.
Everything that will break his heart. If I shake my head, I confirm that he’s got something on me, and it’s over.
Nothing matters after that; it’s a car rolling down a hill.
Jumping in front of it only gets you run over.
Never reveal weakness. That’s an unbreakable rule. That’s how you lose the game.
That’s how Uncle Jasper died.
Chess pieces moved over and fucking over again until your opponent reveals their weakness. Then you strike. Use it against them.
With my lips tensed into a straight line, I shake my head, because just like every other fool when he’s in a trap, I hold on to the sliver of possibility that I might find another way out of this.
Clarence smiles. “No problem, Luke. Oh, look. That’s him calling on another line, what a coincidence.”
Ipull out a chair and sit, attempting to salvage whatever bit of command I have left. “Alright, tell me what you want in exchange for your silence,” I say, even though I know that’s an endless noose. Once someone has you on the hook, they see how far they can stretch your compliance.
Clarence already did that, implying he would tell Henry about the marriage to spur me into action with the inheritance. A test. It worked, so he moved on to bigger fish.
“Release Kline and divorce Ryan. Those are my two demands. I’ll sweeten the deal with my vote for you as next commissioner,” Henry says.
This motherfucker. But he’s predictable.
I scoff. “I’m disappointed. Teaming up with him? You couldn’t find anything else to use against me?” Henry glares, refusing to speak. “One star for creativity.”
I place an elbow on the table, leaning forward, resting my chin on my knuckles. If Clarence wants to intimidate me, he can do it under the full force of my gaze. “And you?”
His lip trembles. “A-All I’m promising is not to tell Luke. In exchange, I want to see your life in flames—no more brewery for you, every cent you have transferred to me, you penniless. Stripped. Humiliated.”
Good old-fashioned revenge for crimes he assumes I’ve committed.
“But that’s not even the best part. You’re going to break Ryan’s heart, and it’s going to break yours at the same time.” He laughs. “You thought love couldn’t do the same thing to you that it does to the rest of us.”
Can’t really argue with him there. I did think that.
“But if I divorce Ryan, the will is null and void anyway.”
“Not if I overlook this blip. You’ll have to find a new partner, but you’ve got time. Luke’s inheritance won’t be affected, so long as you comply. Only this time, maybe I’ll pick someone for you. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that the first time.”
Not flexing my hands into fists, not giving away what just the thought of giving up Ryan does to my insides takes every ounce of control I’ve ever conjured.
My hand slides into my pants pocket, almost of its own accord, searching until fingers hit the glassy surface.
I twist the doll’s eye, smoothing over the convex shape.
It’s not Ryan’s heartbeat, but it’ll have to do.
“I divorce Ryan, and he’s either your or Kline’s prisoner. You know I wouldn’t leave him to that fate.”
“Wouldn’t you? You’d pick him over your brother? Flesh and blood? He can’t mean that much to you?” Clarence says.
“Arrrrgh!” It’s a fucking war cry. I grip the edge of the boardroom table and flip it. Henry and Clarence jump back, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the table. I pull in heaving breaths, teeth bared, looking for blood.
“Easy, VanCourt,” Henry says.
“I can’t wait to murder you.”
“Okay, I miscalculated a tad,” Clarence says, which is an understatement, but it means he didn’t know how much I was invested.
But now he does.
“I’ll make sure Ryan’s protected, and that he’s returned to professional hockey. That’s his dream.”
“And if he’s not? Is the deal over? Will he be returned to me?” Where he fucking belongs, I don’t say out loud. But I want to hear how they think they’re going to convince me to give up Ryan. As if I ever would. As if I’d ever trust them.
“Ryan doesn’t get returned to you. Not in any universe. But I’ll sign a blood pact.”
“I choose who goes in the blood pact,” I say, testing him. I want to know where he breaks. “Rosaline.”
He pauses. Almost gives himself away. I already know Rosaline’s his pride and joy, but how much does he need Ryan for that pact with Kline? Is he willing to put her name on a blood pact as collateral?
Henry nods. “Rosaline.”
“Good. And I want to be the one who kills her if you go back on your word.” I wouldn’t, but he doesn’t know that. I would have to keep her as my prisoner, which could be a problem, but there’s no point worrying about bridges I’ll never cross.
“Absolutely fucking not,” he says.
“I guess you don’t need Ryan after all.”
Henry turns to Clarence. “You said he’d fold over the Luke thing.”
Thank fuck. I’m gaining some ground back. Them turning against each other would work in my favor.
“He will. You don’t know him like I do. Just because he pretends not to give a fuck, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t. I’ve watched him. His uncle told me all his pressure points.”
That’s a lie. Has to be. Uncle Jasper hated people too ignorant to figure things out for themselves. He’d never give information about me away. Unless he needed Clarence to know how to make me bend … Maybe this was all a fail-safe in the event of his death. Hard to say.
“If you keep your promise, you have nothing to worry about, Savage. I’ll only gut her like a pig if you don’t keep him safe and unharmed. Hmmm, is she pretty like Ryan? Bet she’d want me as much as your son does. Maybe I’ll fuck her first. Film her moaning while I slide my fat cock—”
“Shut up, shut up, just shut the fuck up,” he snaps, just on this side of having a breakdown. I do that to people. “It will be as you request. Enough negotiating. Do we have a deal?”