Chapter 23 – Aster
ASTER
She thinks I haven’t noticed her yet. The way her long legs disappear under her dress.
How it hugs her curves just right. That I’m not painfully aware of the idiot she’s shamelessly flirting with.
I clocked Lily the second I entered Hell’s Bar.
One frequency of her laugh, and my body was instantly attuned to her.
Although I’m well aware the laugh was fake as fuck.
I’ve watched her enough to be sure she doesn’t know this guy from jack shit, and that greasy drunk idiot isn’t her type.
She’s up to something.
That’s the reason I’m still sitting on the opposite end of the bar, waiting for my own contact to arrive. I’ll deal with her after.
“Aster,” the familiar gruff voice says, and I turn to find Roger Lecher. One of the only contacts from my previous life that I still trust.
“Roger.” I gesture to the seat beside me. Holding up two fingers, I mouth, Two beers, to the bartender at the other end. “How’s Martha?” I ask, referring to his wife.
“She’s good.” He smiles warmly. “But I don’t think you called me for small talk.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not interested in how the world’s best cobbler cook is doing.”
“I’d ask how you are, but you look like shit.”
“I’m wounded.” I place a hand on my chest, fully aware I’ve gotten about six hours of sleep in the past three days.
Between the murder at the mansion, casing the place, and the child predator I took out last night, sleeping has been all but a distant memory.
He cocks a salt and pepper brow, and I concede.
“It’s been a rough few days.” Years. Decade.
Two beers are slid before us, and we clink them.
Taking a swig, I search for Lily in my periphery.
She and her little project have moved on to a makeshift dance floor between tables, and I fight to roll my eyes.
Whatever game she’s playing, she’s doing a good job at it.
I might not be convinced, but the guy sure is by that shit-eating grin he had when he caught me staring.
The guy dances like he’s hula hooping. Who does he think he’s kidding?
Roger’s beer clinks against the bar, snapping me out of my fantasy to permanently carve the smile off her “date’s” face. “What do you need, Aster?”
Lowering my volume, I ask, “Do you know anything about the Westerfords?”
His brow shoots up in an instant, eyes turning serious. “Boy, please tell me you’re not tangled in anything with that family.”
My interest is immediately piqued. “Can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t be?”
He scratches at the label on the amber bottle. “How much time you got?”
My eyes find Lily, gaze homing in on the guy’s hands that are falling far too low for my liking. “Five minutes.” On the sixth I’ll be removing an appendage.
“So, the CliffsNotes version?” He scoots his stool closer, bringing his mouth near my ear. “The Westerfords are that rich family everyone knows, but no one wants to be in bed with.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say, anyone who’s ever told them no didn’t say much of anything ever again.”
“How have they not gotten caught?”
He huffs a laugh. “Money. Power. Connections.” It seems to always boil down to those three words, doesn’t it? “What do you know about them?”
“That Jude’s dad, William, was the mayor of Cleosville years ago. After that he was governor. On track to take the White House before he died.”
“That’s all accurate,” Roger says. “Except he was murdered.”
“Murdered?” I repeat in surprise. “The article said—”
“I know what the article said. He died of old age. The casket was closed for privacy, and he would be missed. Blah, blah, blah.”
“And the real story?”
“He went missing and the body was discovered in the river a week later, sans head.” He raises a brow. “Now I may just be an old paranoid son of a bitch, but pretty sure you can’t chop off your own head.”
I lean back in my seat. “Who did it?”
“No one knows for sure.” He pauses. “Working theory is baby Westerford was ready to take over the family estate and didn’t like Daddy telling him no one too many times. But it’s never been proven.”
“I don’t particularly like Jude, but I can’t imagine he has what it takes to decapitate his own father.”
“People can surprise you.” Isn’t that the truth.
“Anything else you can give me?” I ask, and he glances at the bar, hesitation in his expression. “Roger?” My tone is firm, a stone in my throat. “Spit it out.”
His eyes meet mine. “If you go off and do something stupid like get yourself killed, Martha will have my head.”
“I’m not a little kid anymore.”
His smile softens. “It’s hard for me not to picture you as the fifteen-year-old who took the heat for the dent in your dad’s Maybach, even though you knew how much trouble you’d be in.”
A smile graces my lips at the memory of protecting my younger sister. The same way I still try to. “I could handle myself then and I still can. More so.” And he’s well aware just how much I can handle myself.
He curses under his breath. “Most people have no clue how the Westerfords get their money.”
“I thought they had their hands in the oil business?”
“They did when William was around, but not so much anymore.”
“So where are they getting it now?”
His jaw ticks. “You ever wonder who is supplying the local criminals with their endless weaponry?”
My skin burns. “They’re arms dealers?”
White-hot anger and flickers of memories crash into me. No matter how far I try to get from my old life, it follows me around like a shadow I can’t escape. I fear the only way I’ll ever truly be rid of it is if I join it in the dark.
I hate my father for a lot of reasons. But forever holding spot number one is he owns Hephaestus Weapons, the largest weapons manufacturer in the country.
But it’s not just the weapons, it’s the fact that his largest clientele are foreign terrorist groups and domestic arms dealers.
He literally doesn’t give a single shit who has his product if they pay, and black-market weapons tend to get at least triple what everyone else gives.
And no matter how close I ever thought I was to taking him down, it was never enough.
That’s why I left. That’s why I’m here. That’s why Oliver is dead.
And now I find out that Cleosville has its own bullshit weapons ties.
“Aster,” he warns, pulling me from my spiral. “You need to be careful. This is bigger than you think. Bigger than Cleosville.”
A fire burns inside me. “There’s an arms dealer posed as an artsy philanthropist poisoning the city, and you expect me to do nothing?” I ran and I ran and I ran, and I’m still in the middle of this bullshit.
“No, I know you better than that… I just don’t want you getting yourself killed in the process. And your dad—”
“I don’t want to talk about him,” I say, cutting Roger off and glancing towards the dance floor.
Lily’s nowhere to be seen, and I curse under my breath.
Where did they go? “I appreciate the info.” Standing, suddenly more concerned with Lily’s safety than a walk down memory lane, I reach out a hand and Roger shakes it.
“If you think of anything else, you know where to find me.” After pulling out my wallet, I toss a twenty on the counter.
He rests a hand on my arm and pauses me in place. “These people aren’t as they seem.”
His warning sends a chill along my spine. “Yeah, well, if I don’t do something about it, who will?” I ask as the weight of the world presses on my shoulders.
He nods, understanding flickering over his worn features. “Be careful, kid.”
“I always am.”
Leaving Roger at the bar, I make my way through the crowded room.
Where is she? My eyes dart to the hallway leading to the restrooms, deep grunting drawing me further.
I follow the sound, pausing just outside the ladies’ room.
The smash of glass and Lily’s voice has my adrenaline skyrocketing. Is she seriously fucking this guy?
My body reacts, blocking my brain’s receptors to leave her be, and my hand finds the door handle. It’s locked. Damn it.
I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off her.
Jiggling it a bit more to no avail, I glance down the hall toward the loud, crowded bar.
No one can hear us. There’s not a goddamn chance that prick is screwing her in this bathroom.
Turning back to the door, I lift my foot and slam the sole of my boot against it.
It budges slightly, and it takes two more heavy kicks before it busts open and off its hinges, the wood frame splitting.
Rushing in, I’m fully prepared to murder the sleazebag if he has his hands on Lily. Or in Lily. Instead, I freeze at the sight of them both on the ground, her straddling his torso, and he’s… unconscious? She glances up at me, brow cocked, a plastic baggie of pills dangling from her fingertips.
“I thought—”
“I couldn’t handle myself?” she interrupts, standing and walking to the toilet, then flushes the pills. She readjusts the hem of her dress and turns to face me. Her perfectly styled hair is now disheveled, and the sight of fresh blood dripping on her arm has heat surging in my veins.
She steps on his stomach with her full weight, and he elicits a groan as she crosses over to get closer to the mirror.
My jaw remains slack while she washes her hands thoroughly, then uses a damp paper towel to clean a few spots of blood off her, as if this is just another Tuesday. Maybe I have underestimated her.
“Care to share what he did?” I ask, glancing at the incapacitated idiot on the floor. “I’d like to avoid a similar fate.”
“Unless you plan to drug me,” she says, tossing the paper towel in the trash, “you should be fine.”
“He did what?” I step forward, and she waves me off, retrieving something out of her purse.
“He was a Karma request target. I baited him, and he took it.”
“What are you doing with the body?”
She freezes, a tube of lipstick inches from her lips. “Jesus, Aster. He’s not dead.” She glares at me through the mirror’s reflection. “We leave him here.”
A beat passes between us. “We… leave him?”