11. Jamison
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAMISON
Usually, violence settled something in me.
I spent three days tearing through Harlan’s underbelly the city owed me blood personally.
Harrington routes collapsed. Parkington board started resigning for “health reasons” with the convenient timing of people who had been shown exactly how fragile health could become.
The hotel fire stopped looking like a wound and started looking like a warning I had answered.
Handled.
Still, the mood stayed.
Sienna.
I didn’t give a fuck.
That was what I told myself when I woke up after two hours of sleep and reached for a cigarette before my eyes adjusted to the dark.
I didn’t give a fuck when Harrison sent a message saying, Sunshine looked like she wanted to vanish last night. Good work.
I threw the phone across the office.
That wasn’t giving a fuck.
That was irritation.
I had a low tolerance for commentary from idiots.
Unfortunately, my brothers were the only idiots alive I tolerated commentary from.
They showed up on the fourth night, uninvited, at my private casino office.
Marcel came first, Harrison followed him with a drink in hand, and the expression of a man hoping the room might become entertaining enough to justify leaving his own problems.
Emmie wasn’t with them.
Good.
I liked Emmie, which meant I didn’t want her looking at me with those disappointed eyes that made me feel like I had kicked something small.
I stood behind my desk, reviewing a list of Harrington assets marked for seizure.
“Get out,” I said.
Harrison dropped into the chair opposite me. “Warm as ever.”
Marcel shut the door. “You look worse.”
“I said get out.”
“We heard you.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” Harrison said, lifting his glass toward me, “here we are, ignoring your emotional range of murder and mild murder.”
I looked at Marcel. “Collect your brother.”
“He is your brother too.”
“Regrettably.”
Harrison grinned. “Love you, Jase.”
I stared at him until his grin turned sharp with the knowledge that he was pushing because he could.
Marcel moved to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “Damius called.”
Every muscle in my back locked.
Harrison’s grin faded.
I lowered the tablet onto the desk. “Did he?”
“Yes.”
“What does the old corpse want now?”
Marcel gave me a look. “You know what.”
No.
I did not know what.
Damius never wanted one thing. He always enjoyed when people remembered he could still reach them from Villain, Harlan, or a grave if science ever stopped bending for him.
Harrison watched me over the rim of his glass. “This about Sienna?”
“No,” I said.
Both of them stared at me.
I hated them.
“It’s about the Bellemere debt,” I corrected.
Harrison snorted. “Right. And Romeo was concerned about Verona property law.”
“Another word.”
“Gladly.”
“Enough.” Marcel cut in. He rarely raised his voice. He was the brother who could make silence behave.
“What are you doing?” Marcel asked.,
“Working.”
“No. With her.”
My jaw clenched.
I was doing nothing with her. That was the whole fucking problem, apparently.
“I’m not discussing Sienna with you.”
“You’re going to have to discuss her with someone,” Marcel said. “Because Damius is done waiting.”
A cold line moved through my chest.
I picked up my cigarette, lit it, and took one drag before answering. “Damius has been done waiting since the day he learned patience didn’t make people bleed faster.”
“He means it this time.”
Harrison leaned forward slightly. “Jase.”
I hated when he used that voice. The one that remembered we were brothers before we were monsters.
“What?” I snapped.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to lose her?”
I laughed. It came out harsh enough that both of them went still.
“Lose her?” I took another drag. “I don’t have her.”
“Because you’ve made sure of that,” Marcel said.
The words hit too close.
I smiled coldly. “Did Emmie write that down for you?”
“My wife doesn’t need to explain decency to me.”
“Lucky you.”
Harrison stood. “You know what your problem is?”
“I have several. Pick one quickly.”
“You act like Sienna wanting anything from you was an insult, and now she’s stopped wanting things where you can see it, you’re losing your mind.”
The cigarette burned between my fingers.
I said nothing.
Harrison’s face sharpened. “She stopped asking for your hand, and suddenly you look ready to kill anyone she talks to. That isn’t indifference.”
“It’s possession.”
“No,” Marcel said. “It’s panic.”
I looked at him slowly. He was the only one in the room calm enough to survive what came next, and he knew it.
“Say that again.”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t panic.”
“You do,” he said. “You just make it everyone else’s emergency.”
I threw the cigarette into the ashtray hard enough to scatter ash over the desk.
“I don’t give a fuck about Sienna Bellemere.”
The sentence landed badly. I knew it before either brother reacted. Because it was too loud.
Harrison leaned back a little, studying me with the sort of infuriating pity that made me want to break expensive furniture.
“Sure,” he said.
Marcel set his drink down. “Then you won’t mind when Damius moves the merger.”
“What did you say?”
“He’s coming tonight.” Marcel’s voice stayed even.
Of fucking course he was. Apparently, Damius Crow had decided my life required scheduled haunting now.
“Good. I’ll have the staff put out dust sheets.”
Harrison didn’t laugh. That was how I knew it was worse than I wanted it to be.
The corpse arrived after midnight. He entered my office. His eyes moved over Marcel, Harrison, then me.
“Family gathering,” Damius said.
Harrison lifted his glass. “We were just leaving.”
“No,” Damius replied.
Harrison sat back down.
That was Damius. One word and the room remembered gravity. Marcel remained standing near the sideboard. I stayed behind my desk because I refused to give the old bastard the satisfaction of seeing me move first.
Damius looked at the Harrington files spread across my desk.
“Productive week.”
“Spare me.”
His gaze rose to mine. “No.”
“Oh, lovely. We’re starting there.” Harrison sighed.
Damius ignored him.
“The Bellemere matter ends now,” he said.
My hand tightened on the edge of the desk.
“I told you I’d handle it.”
“No,” Damius said. “You told me nothing of value. Repeatedly.” He moved deeper into the office, his hands clasped behind his back. “Three years have passed since the official announcement. Three years of a girl displayed as Crow-intended without the protection of becoming Crow.”
“She has protection.”
“She has proximity. There is a difference.”
I hated him for using a truth so clean I could not cut it down.
Harrison’s expression had gone serious. Marcel said nothing.
“The Bellemeres are restless.” Damius stopped in front of my desk.
“They are also stupid.”
“They have begun exploring alternatives.”
My blood slowed. Celeste. Her hovering too close. Damius watched my face.
Fucker.
“They presented Celeste Bellemere well,” he said.
“They presented her to die if she keeps looking at me like that.”
Damius’s mouth almost curved. “There is the melodrama.”
“There is the warning.”
“There is also another option.” His voice stayed calm. “Sienna can be transferred to a Crow cousin willing to complete the debt.”
“Which cousin?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
Damius studied me. “Weston has expressed interest.”
My hand flexed.
Fucking Weston. I had thought Damius was baiting me when he mentioned Weston the other night. He had called Sienna lovely once at a winter dinner and watched her walk away like he had already imagined owning the direction of her fear.
“No.”
Damius tilted his head.
“One word,” he said softly. “Again.”
I came around the desk before the thought finished. Harrison stood immediately. Marcel moved too, not to stop me yet, but close enough that he could if I became stupid.
Damius did not step back
“She doesn’t go to Weston,” I said.
“Then you marry her.”
The answer should have been simple.
Yes.
Instead, I stood there with rage in my throat and Sienna’s face in my head. Damius watched every thought cross my face and smiled with his eyes.
“The three years are up,” he said. “Either I replace her with the Bellemere cousin they’re offering you, or Sienna is placed with a Crow who will complete what you keep stalling.”
“End the merger,” the words came out before I knew I was going to say them.
Damius looked at me for a long moment.
“What?”
“Fine. End it.” I shrugged, cruel and careless because cruelty was easier than whatever had just torn through my chest. “Give her to Weston. Send Celeste. Void the whole fucking thing. I don’t give a fuck.”
“You do not give a fuck,” he repeated.
“No.”
“About Sienna Bellemere.”
“No.”
“About where she goes.”
I leaned in slightly. “No.”
Something inside me went tight. Violent. I did not move. Damius saw the blood before I did.
“Very well,” he adjusted one cuff. “If that is your decision, I will begin the formal review.”
“Do that.”
“I will speak to the Bellemeres.”
“Enjoy yourself.”
“I will speak to Weston.”
The desk behind me groaned. My hand had found the edge, fingers clamped so hard the wood protested. Damius glanced at it. Then back at me.
“You are cracking your furniture, Jamison.” Damius turned toward the door. “You lie badly where she is concerned.”
I said nothing.
He looked back.
“For a man who has built an empire on reading others, you are remarkably committed to not reading yourself.”
The doors closed. No one spoke for several seconds.
“You absolute fucking idiot.” Harrison said.
I turned on him.
“Get out,” I said.
“No.”
“Harris,” Marcel warned.
“No.” Harrison’s face was hard now. “He just told Damius to give Sienna to Weston and is standing there pretending his soul didn’t try to leave his body.”
The room narrowed to his fucking mouth that never shut up. I moved toward him.
“Enough.” Marcel stepped between us. “You don’t get to hit us because you hate yourself.”
The words stopped me cleaner than a hand would have. I hit alot of fucking people. Never them. I had punched Marcel once in my life, and I still regretted it.
I turned away.
“I said get out.”
This time, neither of them argued.