“We think, if you play nicely, that you’d be the better brother to be in charge of the Levin fortune,” BP says. “We think you’resmarter, and better placed. Of course, the other two will have to be dealt with, but you’ll do that because a true king has no problem removing pretenders to his throne.”
Oh, god, this fucking lump of bullshit thinks he can talk me into overlooking the murder of one family member and get me to kill the rest of them too.
I suppose there is precedent for it. He’s right about kings. They’re known to kill siblings. Slightly less sick than marrying them, I suppose. They did a bit of that as well, from time to time.
He’s looking for a weak, debauched fuckup to take out the rest of my family for him, probably before he removes me as well. And I guess I fit the bill of debauched fuckup. Good for me. I know how to play that role to perfection.
“I just got out of rehab,” I say. “I mean, I broke out, technically.”
“We’re aware,” he says. He looks smug about it.
“I’ve just got one request,” I say.
“What’s that?”
The tension in the room ramps up several notches. They don’t trust this deal yet. Nor should they. They’ve got to be ready for the double cross, or for me to snap and go for them. I’m unpredictable at this point, because I’m unknown.
“I want the girl,” I say. “I want her as part of my fee. She comes with me.”
BP’s smirk becomes condescending as hell. I see so many thoughts unspoken in that expression. He was planning on having her come with me anyway. She, feisty little fuck toy that she is, makes for quite a handler for men like us. We think we arein charge of her, and the whole time she is capable of betraying us one after the other. There is no way I am leaving her behind. She is coming to face justice too.
“Take the girl, go back home. We will be in touch in time. When we are, make sure that you do as you’re told. If there’s even a hint of a double cross, it will go poorly for you.”
I stand up and crook my finger at Ella. She rises miserably from the floor and follows me out of the room. I am escorted out into a cab, with Ella beside me.
“I am sorry,” she keeps repeating. “I am so sorry. I didn’t have a choice. You have to believe me.”
We get into the cab, and I give the driver directions to the house. I have to assume the driver works for BP, so conversation is limited, but Ella just keeps whispering to me about how this wasn’t her fault, and how she couldn’t stop it.
That’s precisely what she’d say if it had been her fault and she could have stopped it, so I do not know if I can believe her, but I decide to hear her out. She did a good job picking the Levin brother most used to being drugged and waking up in strange places with people I do not like. My tolerance is higher than most.
“He didn’t cry,” she whispers to me.
“What?”
“Teddy. He didn’t cry at the end. He fought them, and he almost made it out, but the driver he thought was one of your people was one of theirs, and that’s how he got shot. I’m sorry.”
She bursts into tears.
I feel a grim sense of having finally understood the truth. This is what we have wanted and needed to know from the beginning. It’s also what she could have told us right away, if she’d wanted to. But then, of course, she was hunted by Leo and then by Aiden, and obviously still under the influence of BP. I know how that fucker works. His manipulation, blackmail, and general depravity are legend.
One after the other, this woman has been taken and used by men. And as much as I would love to paint her as the evil seductress who lured my baby brother to his doom, I already know it is more complicated than that.
“Don’t cry,” I tell her. “Teddy didn’t, and you won’t either. Driver, stop the car. We’re going to walk.”
The cab driver stops, I pay the fare, and I take her out onto the street. It is late at night and we are lit by shop windows still displaying their wares to an empty world, but I feel a sense of relative privacy here that we did not have in the car.
I remind myself that I have to understand her better. I have to stop making assumptions, good or bad.
“It’s my fault. This is all my fault,” she sobs. “I thought this was such a good career opportunity. They said it was like being an escort, but I wouldn’t have to sleep with anybody. And then they killed him. And then they said that I was responsible too, and this was all my fault and then they made me come for…”
I grip her by the chin and look into her eyes. There’s something about the crying that strikes me as a little performative. And there’s always been something about her that’s made my brothers particularly monstrous. Is that because she’s beentrained to bring that out in men? Or is it just a function of my twisted family?
“What?” She sniffs.
“I told you not to cry,” I tell her. “If you’re crying, people will want to know why. It draws attention. The last thing you or I are going to do is draw attention.”
“Okay,” she says, drying her eyes.
