Page 44 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

‘You were clear, sir.’

‘What would help?’ Penhalyx wonders aloud.

Lachlan downs his drink in one.

It numbs his insides, but the tension doesn’t diminish even slightly.

‘I’ll exercise better control, sir. I promise.’

‘I wonder if control is even the issue. Your friend,’ the old man murmurs, deceptively casual, ‘Yashin. He’s attractive, is he not?’

Lachlan blinks hard, instantly confused. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘My son requires a dose of reality. You will give him one.’

Bad things are twisting around Lachlan’s heart.

Vines and thorns and nettles and hands.

‘Sir?’

‘I think it would be wise to remind you both that sex is simply that. Your management of my son’s needs has been satisfactory and is, therefore, no longer required.’

‘Sir, please. I’ll do better. I’ll be more careful.’

‘Break his heart, Lachlan, and do it in a way he won’t forgive.’

‘Please, sir—’

‘Bring Yashin to my chambers tonight,’ he directs. ‘Ten PM.’

‘I…’

Lachlan’s world is imploding when someone knocks.

Penhalyx calls out, ‘Come.’

Troy Harker walks inside wearing that distressed leather jacket. He looks good; sharper haircut, still built around the upper arms.

‘Black Site,’ Harker greets Lachlan with easy swagger.

Lachlan’s natural animosity remains untouched, though he can barely feel it in the present moment.

‘Harker.’

‘Thank you for coming in on such short notice,’ Penhalyx croons, rising to stand. ‘May I offer you a drink?’

‘Sure.’

Penhalyx pours him one.

Harker takes it while looking around the office.

‘Much obliged.’

‘How is your son?’

‘Fucking crazier than ever,’ Troy chuckles, wholly unfazed. ‘He’s a killer if ever I saw one.’