Page 46 of Vicious Heir

“The car!” the man shrieks. “He sent the car!”

I step back, frowning. Blood’s welling up down his midsection now, and he’s very, very pale. “How do you know?”

“I stole it for him. I saw it on the news later. Definitely the one I took. They have explosives—in a warehouse—please, no more. No more!”

I cut off his pinky finger. He sobs as I kick the severed flesh toward the drain. “Give me names. As many as you can think of.”

He starts rattling off Turkish men. I write them down the best I can. His head begins to loll, and I have to slap him to keep him going. But he’s obviously at his limit. I get six names before he fades, his breath coming fast and shallow. Blood’s dripping to the floor, more red stain gathering around the drain.

I step back and consider. Confirmation that Demir sent the car bomb is good, and more names mean a clearer idea of his network. But these men aren’t going to know the important information.

Like was Demir lying about what he said? Did Helena really cut him some deal that involved Lucille?

The car bomb suggests this is about much more than just money.

I toss the bloody knife onto the table, wipe my hands on a towel, and head upstairs. That bastard will die shortly. I’ll have Luca get rid of the body while I work on the other man, but I doubt he’ll give me much more than names.

I wash my hands upstairs. More blood runs from the water. I scrub until it’s all clean and make my way toward my room. I’m running on fumes, exhausted and working through a dozen different problems at once.

And I stop in my tracks when I find my wife unpacking her things.

I watch her silently. She doesn’t notice me at first. Lucy is so graceful and calm as she folds some sweaters and puts them into a set of drawers I left out for her. Each motion is contained and controlled. She hums to herself softly, and my heart stutters.

I could stand right here watching her unpack for the rest of my days, and that would be a life well spent.

“You’re a creep, you know that?” She glances over, frowning a bit. “Are you going to just stare at me?”

“That was the plan.” And all at once, I’m reminded that I can’t let myself get too wrapped up in her. Not when my time is limited. I’ll end up like my father soon enough. When that time comes, I won’t drag anyone down with me.

“How about you come help instead?”

“I can do that.” I join her at the suitcase. “This is a lot of stuff.”

“Believe it or not, I left more back home.”

“Get the rest if you want.”

“You’re so generous.”

“I’m aware.” I lift up a pair of her underwear, black and lacy. My lips press together. “Bring more of these.”

“Stop it,” she says, snatching them away and pulling the bag out of my reach. “Focus on the pants.”

We fold and put things away in silence for a little while. She keeps glancing at me. I feel the weight of her attention like moth wings on my skin. I try to focus on what I’m doing, but it’s hard. She’s always there, a pressure in the back of my mind. I haven’t been able to shake thinking about her since that night we first met.

“Now you’re the one staring,” I say absently.

“You smell.”

“Not bad, I hope.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Like blood.”

I look down at my hands. “Maybe I should shower.”

“Why do you smell like blood?”

I give her a hard look. Her face pales slightly. “Do you really want to know?”

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