Page 41 of Lamb

Another smirk, followed by another lift of a shoulder. “Fix him. Or don’t. I don’t really care. But at the very least you should use 'em.”

“For what?”

“To scratch your balls, dumbass.” Casper shook his head. “To take over. Think it’s time for new management. And something tells me you’re the guy to do it, Doc.”

I threw my head back on a laugh. It was all I could do, seeing as the kid wasn’t just antisocial. He was delusional too. “First of all, why the fuck would I want to take over…” I gestured around the room. “…this place? Second, even if I wanted to, how is that guy…” I threw a thumb towards the giant-sized ball of fluff one quick blow away from crying out to his mommy. “…supposed to help me do it?”

Casper’s lips unfurled like a spool of yarn accidentally tossed down the stairs. The transformation just as quick too. Until I was staring at nothing. Not a smile. Not a frown. The type of blankness you see on a corpse before you cut into it to look at what’s inside. And then he twisted his neck to the left, calling out, “Hey, Don-Don, that pretty nurse you like is back!”

He’d barely gotten the words out when the pile of muscle and limbs rose from the dead and started yanking against the chains, bending metal and causing the ceiling above to start to cave in. Splintered wood twirling through the air as the rafters creaked and cracked with the force of Donnie’s blows.

I should have been running in the opposite direction or at the very least calling up for help. Instead, I was transfixed. Riveted. And so very fucked the moment the man in front of us broke free of the chains around his hands and ankles. While the kid beside me appeared more amused than fazed.

“Don-Don fucks like a rabbit in heat. Problem is… he’s much larger than any rabbit I’ve ever seen,” Casper mused. “The last girl he got his paws on ain’t doing so good. But that shit sure is a great incentive in the right hands…”

“I bet it is,” I agreed on a hum, glancing to my right when I felt a quick tug on my lab coat, which was now scrunched up in a palm five times the size any human palmshould be. One closed-fist punch to the face, and Donnie wouldn’t be the only one suffering from brain damage. This guy could literally bend my body in half and not break out in a sweat. But for some reason, he seemed to trust me. Or maybe just trust that I was his key to getting some pussy.

“So, Doc, are yours the right hands?” Casper asked.

I didn’t reply, all the possibilities bouncing around in my head, as part of me was settling on the reality that this kid might really be on to something.

Maybe Briarwood was what I needed. A way for me to make a name for myself, without the story of howI came to befollowing me around like the ghost of a woman whose legacy ended shortly after she opened her legs for the last time.

55

MARISELA

Give them all something shiny to look at and they’ll forget to look anywhere else.

It was a lesson I’d taught myself over the last few weeks and the best weapon I had at my disposal when I didn’t have a pocketknife hidden on me. And right now, the only thing shinier than my sparkling personality was the diamond pendant sliding along my collarbone and catching the light as I tipped my head back and laughed. Forced, because nothing these fuckers said was funny.

I raised my arm, mindful of the chilled champagne sloshing around the flute without spilling over, as I offered our guests a polite cheers. Dr. So-and-so and his wife, Such-and-such. Politicians and their backers. I didn’t know most of their names. And it didn’t matter, because tonight I made sure they knew me. I made sure they took notice of me.

They weren’t the only ones, though.His glare wastracking my every movement, each step I took across the room and every smile that was aimed at someone who wasn’t him. Like if he stared long enough, the invisible leash he had wrapped around my neck would tug me in his direction. Like he could strangle me with that stare.

Not all that long ago he probably could too. But not now. Not when I had a hand in the game.

I saw him, felt him, without ever having to look at him as he tipped the whiskey glass towards his lips and downed the contents. I could also smell him or more I could smell the alcohol wafting off his breath as he stalked towards me. His steps just as determined as the annoyance curling his lips into a scowl.

Like I said, I was used to being dissected from afar. Being leered at until my skin crawled. What I wasn’t used to was it coming from my fiancé instead of his brother. The same fiancé who claimed he didn’t care who I fucked, when what he really meant was he cared a whole lot about who wanted to fuck me. He also cared about what it looked like. Especially to everyone else. Which meant I needed to look like the adoring bride at all times.

Tate tugged me to his side, one arm wrapped around my back as he dropped his mouth to that spot just above my ear, his voice low and harsh. His grip on my waist possessive andharsher. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes flicked from the group of investors I’d been chatting up, back to me and the way my chest was nearly popping out of my neckline.

This wasn’t jealousy. This was a kid not wanting to play with a toy anymore but not wanting anyone else to play with it either.

“Getting you another drink now that I see your glass is empty, my love.” I grinned past my disgust, slowly spinning into his hold rather than pulling away from it, as I placed a gentle palm on Tate’s chest.

I could feel his pulse racing, the vein in his forehead throbbing and the bulge in his pants doing much the same.

Tate had a temper, enjoyed drinking almost as much as he loved golfing—he was good at neither, mind you—but he was also pliable. Like a stray dog who was one deep ear scratch from showing you his belly. As long as you weren’t afraid to risk a hand trying.

At this point, the fucker could gnaw my whole damn arm off, and I wouldn’t bat a lash.

I pried the tumbler from his fingertips, pushing up on the tiptoes of my flats because Tate’s dick size somehow grew the more I didn’t, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. It didn’t take his gaze more than a few seconds to wander from my ass to the pair of tits in front of him. A redhead this time. With a forehead so tight it didn’t move. She was someone’s wife and someone else’s mistress. I didn’t care to figure out who was who. Just paid enough attention to the way Tate eyed her.

Another thing about my soon-to-be husband was the fact he didn’t have a type. If it had holes, he’d fuck it. What he did have was a competitive streak. The need to havewhatever it was someone else wanted. A need that was easy to manipulate once you understood it. And I understood it better than anyone else.

It was the one benefit of growing up surrounded by monsters. While most people tried to avoid them, I learned how to blend in and live amongst them. And I wasn’t just living. I was thriving. Navigating this engagement party like I was born to do it. So that everyone was eating out of the palm of my hand.

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