Blaire shakes her head.‘It’s too late.’
‘No, you can bring her back around.’
‘I’ll try, but I don’t believe I can.’She holds his gaze.‘How’s the healing?’
She was the one applying antiseptic last week, carefully cleaning the wounds, ensuring no trace of infection set in once he was released from the medical suite.
‘It’s fine,’ he says, efficiently dismissive.‘I need Carrigan to—’
‘You should teach me how to throw a punch,’ Blaire cuts across, rising to stand.She scoops up her devices, grassy green eyes sparkling with challenge.‘Whenever you’re free.’
Oh, it’s… a little flirty.It catches him off-guard.
Truth be told, Lachlan had sort of forgotten he has a dick.The last few months have been so catastrophically stressful that sex was the very last thing on his mind, purposefully so at times.Therefore it’s strange to realise hewouldlike to fuck Blaire and that he’d probably enjoy it more than he has in years because they’ve become close without noticing.They share meals, she buys his clothes, they are often the last people they see before one of them sleeps.He knows her parents’ names, he knows about the tattoo on her chest, the sister she’s estranged from.He knows about the time she went to Muzo, Colombia and found something beautiful but lost it.He knows her favourite foods.He knows how she takes her tea.
She cleaned his wounds.She sends Margot money.She handles everything.
She’s beautiful too, Blaire is.
‘After the party,’ he tells her, surprised by how much he wants it, just not right now with all this worry and chaos.‘Definitely.’
?
The day before the party, he and Fenwick go over everything together.
‘If it’s more than three hours, I can’t guarantee—’
‘It’ll be however long he wants,’ Fenwick counters when Lachlan points out that he can’t keep Mimi up that late.Kids fall asleep when they choose.‘Give her some sugar or something.’
‘Why not amphetamines?’Lachlan suggests, sharply sarcastic.
Fenwick smacks his hand down on the table atop briefing papers, vet lists, catering staff checks.‘Enough of your sanctimonious shit!This is a job.You’re a professional, or you used to be, so sack up, do what you need to and get over it.They’re spoiled brats who I’m not even sure need your protection in the first place and you… you’re amelt,’he sneers, going cold again as he recovers from his outburst, only he can’t quite get there.He’s riled and shaken.‘I wish I’d hit harder till I sawbone.’
Lachlan grins, edged with something dark thatitchesunder the skin.‘You’d only have seen steel ‘cause I’m a fucking machine,bitch.’
It’s unexpected that they end up on the table.
It’s even more unexpected that Fenwick bottoms so easily.
It’ssuperfucking unexpected how good it feels to hate fuck someone he genuinely wishes were dead.Lachlan might be a good man when it comes to those kids, but he’s a killer, always has been just like his mom said, and the crows always knew it.
He chokes Fenwick while he fucks him, brutally harsh, they don’t kiss, but Lachlan does spit in his mouth and slap his face, and Fenwick drags clawed fingers down his back and opens up newly-healing stitches while Lachlan fucks him so deep it’s hurting his balls until he comes inside, moaning, ‘Fuckyeah, fucking take it, you slut, you fucking whore,so dead inside nothing could ever grow,’and Fenwick comes so hard it hits Lachlan’s chin, goes everywhere, on the plans, the paperwork, their skin.The release is like pain cresting so high it triggers death euphoria.
Notgood, but amazing.
Then it’s over.And it’sawkward.
And Lachlan feels distinctly like he just made everything ten times more complicated.
CHAPTER NINE
The party goesreasonablywell.
Lachlan has made good on his promise to Jules.Mimi goes outside daily now.She gets to run around and play.Therefore, Jules is compliant.
The ballroom in the West Wing comes alive by degrees until the entire place gleams with enough wealth to feel vaguely unreal.Crystal chandeliers blaze beneath the vast glass dome while live music shifts effortlessly between orchestra, jazz ensemble and singers.Staff weave endlessly through the crowd with trays of champagne, diamonds resting at the bottom of every glass.
There’s enough food to feed a small town.Towers of oysters on ice, imported fruit, entire tables smothered with intricate desserts.Everywhere Lachlan looks there’s another obscene display of wealth.White butterflies drift beneath the glass dome in slow, aimless clouds, imported things delicate enough that Lachlan keeps spotting dead ones on the floor, crushed.Every hour on the hour, staff quietly replace the floral arrangements with fresh ones flown in that morning, kept on ice.
