Page 51 of Lamb

Mr. Lambert was…

Well, I didn’t know what he was. Only that some days I hated him and others I hated himless. I wasn’t sure what category he fell into today. But I had a feeling I’d figure it out soon enough. Seeing as the crunching of grass announced his presence before he did. Then again, I would have felt him even if it hadn’t. Somehow, the air always increased a few degrees whenever the man was near.

I spun on a heel, grabbing on to Tate’s arm to keep him from toppling over. He smelled like booze and Botox. He overindulged in both.

“My condolences.” Adrian dipped his chin to his brother, then leaned forward to press a kiss to my cheek. Lingering a few seconds before pulling back again.

I quirked a brow. “To you as well, Mr. Lambert.”

“Doctor,” he corrected me, which seemed to be one of his favorite things to do.

“Right. Of course, my mistake,Dr.Lambert,” I replied, my tone sharper than the tips of the long red nails now digging into Tate’s elbow. He was too drunk to feel them. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“For what?” Adrian tilted his head, the light rain splattering against his glasses while he did nothing to stop it. Nothing to wipe the droplets away. Unbothered and so fucking arrogant.

“Briarwood. It was a shame, the atrocities they said went down there. Heard you had a hand in shutting them down.” Another polite dance laced with double meaning we both understood. “You’re lucky to have made it out alive.”

“It was a… team effort.” Adrian shrugged, the gesture more nonchalant and less boyish charm as the years passed between us. The way he carried himself and spoke now, much the same. I wasn’t the only one putting on a show for everyone around me.

“Isn’t it always?” I pressed my mouth into a fine line, neither a smile nor a frown. And tugged a little harder on Tate’s arm. “Well, as usual, it’s been a pleasure, Dr. Lambert. But I think it’s time my husband and I mourn in private. You understand.”

“Of course. I can only imagine what it’s like to bury a parent. Call me if you need anything. Either of you.” Adrian held my glare for another moment before stepping aside, allowing us to brush past him.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. It wouldn’t tell me anything I didn’t know. Because once again, I could feel him watching me.

I kept my spine straight, my gait steady as I guided Tate down the path towards the stretch limousine. Though he was barely conscious by the time I shoved him inside. And it wasn’t because he was heartbroken over the loss of Senior. It was because he was out late celebrating our financial gain.

Tate’s head slumped against the tinted window as he swiped up a bottle from the minibar. This time, I didn’t care to stop him. If I was lucky, maybe he’d drink himself into an early grave.

It wasn’t like it would be a hardship to toss another body in that hole.And wouldn’t you know, I was already dressed for the occasion.

65

ADRIAN

Ididn’t remember what it was like to kill my father. Not in the moment, just the feeling that came after. Like being stuck underwater for so long you were close to accepting death, only to pop up at the last second and take a large gulp of air. The realization that he was gone was that air. Relief and freedom all rolled up in one.

Except I wasn’t really free. Not until Tate joined him and I couldn’t get rid of big brother without risking losing the woman I loved. It wasn’t like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. It was like being spit-roasted over a fire. The farther you moved away from the flames the deeper you drove the stakes, and the closer you got, the more you felt the burn. Either way, you were suspended there. In agony, until one or the other did you in.

Then again, it was hard to remember something that didn’t exactly happen. Because I didn’t actually kill the oldman. The gravediggers did. Or maybe the real culprit was all the dirt they piled on top of him.

I stood at the edge of the eight-by-four hole, the weight of my shoes sending a few loose clumps of dirt toppling inside, and gestured a hand at the two men standing beside the casket. Signaling for them to pry it open wide enough to have the fucker’s dead eyes staring back at me.

He didn’t get the luxury of resting easy. Of dying easy either. Which was why I went to the trouble of having him buried alive. Injecting him with a cocktail of sedatives and paralytics that kept his heart beat slowing but not stopping. Paying the ME and a couple of morticians for their silence.

They were happy to do it too. Happy for all the work I promised them in the future. All the bodies I planned to store in their freezers until I had Briarwood fully operational again. My little lamb had been right when she said I was responsible for getting their doors closed. But she was wrong if she thought that shit was permanent.

Hare and Burke might have been a few spots over from where I was standing. Or at least what was left of them was. But I had plans, and now that the old man was done paying for med school, I had the actions to back 'em up.

I glared at his lifeless face for a few moments longer, rolling the eye caps around the palm of my hand before pocketing them. I’d removed those myself, ensuring the old fuck had nothing to look at but the overpriced satin that lined the underside of his casket. And then I watched them shovel pounds of dirt on top. Digging him back up a fewhours later so I could see it myself. See the way his face had contorted after the cocktail began to wear off and the only thing he could do was scream and claw and cry out for help that wasn’t coming.

And now that I was sure it was over, sure that he’d rot in that hole, I could move on with everything else I had in mind for myself. Everything I had in mind for Briarwood.

You’d think it would get to me. Make me angry or bitter. All the years of seeing them together. Knowing he touched her whenever he felt the urge. Knowing she’d let him because it was her wifely duty. Or the more likely reason:becauseshe knew it irritated me. But I wasn’t bitter. I was intrigued. Obsessed. Inspired.

I pressed send on my latest email, encrypted thanks to the tech genius now under my employ, and pushed back in my office chair. She wouldn’t answer me. But it didn’t matter because she would read it. And I would receive a notification the moment she did.

Are you sleeping well, Marisela? You seemed tired at breakfast today. It’s his snoring again, isn’t it? I know he isn’t keeping you up in other ways. Big brother never did have much stamina.

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