Page 11 of Lords of Misrule
“But the soft spot part?” I ask, wishing a little that it wasn’t true. I have no business hoping for it. I have a girl even if she is long-distance and mostly absent from my life. I’m still loyal. Being jealous that a woman I just met wants my single friend is an exercise in stupidity.
“If it wasn’t complicated, she’d probably fuck me. We’ve flirted back and forth in class for a while now. But it’s complicated.”
“So uncomplicate it,” Rowan snaps.
“All right. I’ll just get a time machine and make sure you never interact with her. That should solve the problem.”
Rowan gives him the finger and kicks back in his seat, rocking on the back legs. It’s a nervous habit of his.
“You could try to smooth things over with her,” I suggest.
“She would see straight through it, and I like her. If she wants to come around and help us, that’s going to have to be a discussion between her and Rowan. He can give her the facts of the situation and see if working with us seems like it’s worthwhile to her. She’d respond better to that than manipulation.”
“She’d respond better to that than manipulation.” Rowan mocks me. “Jesus. Do you hear yourself?” Rowan shakes his head at Finn. “Don’t you have someone we could work with, Mr. Fancy as Fuck?” Rowan turns his eyes on me.
“Someone we could work with?”
“Yeah. You’ve got lots of rich acquaintances who do rich people shit. I assume they buy paintings and sell them, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So don’t you know someone who moves them?”
“No. Most of them let their people handle it for them. They’re not doing anything illegal, so it’s not really a need of theirs.”
“You sure?” Rowan presses.
“Again… to my knowledge, no.”
“Even with your dad?” He raises a brow, and I feel the pang of shame I always do whenever my father is brought up.
“Even with my dad.” Even though I had zero to do with any of it, I feel like I have to spend the rest of my life trying to fix things he did wrong. Ways my life was irrevocably fucked in a situation I had no say in.
“Let’s just focus on how we can help her and maybe she’ll help us,” Finn interjects and gives me a sympathetic look.
“I’ll focus on getting more information we can use as leverage on her. Hudson better too.Youcan focus on how you can help her.” Rowan gives Finn a look. “And I mean without putting your dick in her.”
Six
Rowan
I’m sitting in the back of the diner Charlotte works at with my burger and drink, being waited on by one of her coworkers after she refused to serve me. Finn mentioned he thought she worked here when he saw a T-shirt with the diner’s name stuffed in her bag, and I confirmed it when I found a paycheck in her room the other night. Now I want to know who she works with, who she talks to, where she goes after work, and how often she and the professor fuck. The more information I have on her, the better.
I have plans to twist and bend this girl until she breaks. Whatever I need to do to make sure that she eventually gets out of our way when it comes to Professor Mitchell. Because I owe a lot of people money. People who bet on our games. People who make final scores in games go the way I want. Cashouts that need to happen and a roster that needs to be paid so that I can continue to throw games in the direction that earns us money. I don’t have time to play these games with her, even if some part of me is enjoying it.
I take another bite, checking my phone when I see an email pop up reminding me tomorrow’s practice is canceled because they’re fixing something in the arena. It’s just as well because we need to lose this weekend. Not by too much, a small enough margin that it looks like it was a close game the whole time.
It’s honestly more difficult to do than just losing or winning, especially when calls I can’t control can swing the game in one direction or another. Paying off the officials has always been a goal of mine, but the initial outreach would be so incredibly risky I haven’t tried it—yet. Although time is running low and Hudson’s attempt to get information we can use as blackmail has been unsuccessful so far.
I glance out the window, one that has a view of more of the parking lot than the surrounding area and that’s when I notice her. The long dark hair that fades into a violet color at the ends. She’s standing against her car, another fact I know thanks to Hudson’s renewed research, and a large bald man who looks like he lives off cigarettes and malt liquor is leaning over her. He’s not quite yelling but it’s obvious from his facial expressions that he’s not amused with her.
Her face is placid, the only movement at all is the occasional wince when he leans in to point a finger in her face. He does it again, caging her in against the car. She holds her hands up, a pleading look on her face, but he doesn’t cede any ground.
I’m trying to read what I can of either of their lips, using any context to try to discern if it’s a boyfriend, another one she has on the line besides Mitch, or someone else to her. Before I can watch any further to get more clues, he closes in on her and she puts her hand out to stop him.
He snatches her wrist and wrenches it, her face twists with the pain, and I’m on my feet and making my way out the door. I don’t know who this fucker is, but I’m about to find out. As fast as I move through the diner around a server and over a kid chasing crayons that fell on the floor, it’s not fast enough. He’s gone when I get out through the doors and into the parking lot. I spin around looking for him, but I don’t see any sign. Not even a car pulling out onto the street.
Her car door is open, and she’s sliding inside, shutting it behind her as I approach. She bends over the steering wheel, and I see her body rack with a sob. It makes my steps stutter to see her like this. She’d held three of us at gunpoint in her pajamas. She barely blinked when I showed up unannounced in the shadows of her bedroom. But now she’s doubled over barely able to catch her breath from crying so hard. Whatever this fucker had on her, it must be bad.
