Page 38 of Broken Discipline
“I don’t like relying on anyone,” I said quietly. “He’ll leave. Just like Bruce. And my mom. And Hyde. And—”
“Wait. Who the fuck is Bruce?” she asked.
I lowered my shoulders. “My other husband?”
“Yourotherhusband?” she laughed. “Wow, bitch. You get around.”
I laughed it off, but if I told her the truth—that Bruce had sold me to Finn—that she would absolutely lose her mind.
“Girl, you’ve always been like this,” she said.
“Like what, exactly?” I asked.
She bopped my nose then grabbed my magenta cocktail. “A commitment phobe.”
I scowled in playfulness, but my stomach was still hard. Was she right? Or were my fears justified?
“I am not a commitment phobe,” I said.
“Just calling it like I see it,” she said. She took a sip of my drink and her mouth puckered in disgust. “What is that? A raspberry creamsicle? Where’s the vodka?”
“It’s some kind of liqueur, I think,” I said.
“How much did you pay for that?”
“Twenty-five dollars?” I wasn’t sure, exactly. I had just paid the tab.
“Jesus,” she said, rolling her eyes. She shoved the drink back toward the end of the bar. “I couldn’t get anyone from my bar to pay ten dollars for a regular long island. But screw it. Let’s get real about this ‘trust issue’ shit, Kylie.” My stomach clenched; it was always weird to hear my real name. To her, I was still Kylie from Oakmont, not Ramona, the Marked Blooms Syndicate member’s wife. “Do what you gotta do. I’ll never judge you for that. If you need to skip town with your tail between your legs again, then do it. But don’t go blaming it on ‘the untrustworthy Mr. Dreamboat’ when all he ever did was love you and your kids,” she said.
My heart sank. She was referencing how I had left Oakmont as soon as I thought I had nothing, except for the offer from Marked Blooms Syndicate. I didn’t want anyone’s help, not even Bunny’s. It was my problem to fix, and that meant I was going to take a chance on the arranged marriage offer.
But maybe she was right. Maybe I wasn’t giving Finn a chance. He deserved one if he was willing to do this much for me.
But giving him a chance scared the hell out of me.
“Hey,” she said, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Come visit sometime, okay? I know you’ve got everything you need here, but you’ve always got a home in The Raw. In case, you know, this—” she circled her finger around the room, “—Fairview fantasy goes to shit.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand, so grateful that she was still on my side. I walked her to her car, and as she pulled out of the parking lot in her beat-up pickup truck, she waved and put her middle finger up at the bar’s sign. She would be a mother figure to me if it weren’t for the things she did, like that.
The twins loved Finn in a deeper way than I could imagine, and part of meknewFinn cared deeply about them too. But it would be easier to rip the bandagenow,to let the twins forget those young memories about him. It would hurt, and Ihateddoing that to them, but it was necessary. It would be better for them in the end. They wouldn’t have to deal with the confusion about what love meant, or the heartache of losing a parental figure when it truly mattered.
For all I knew, I was another sale away from a new husband. And I wasn’t going to let that happen again.
CHAPTER 9
Finn
The next afternoon, I stared up at the skyscraper stretching toward the sky. Among other businesses, it contained the bank headquarters for Manner, the second to last Marked Blooms Syndicate member I needed to kill. Luckily for me, he had no board member status to protect him.
Manner pretended to work past five, when truthfully, he was fucking his new secretary of the week. The skyscraper had high security, especially the bank’s floor, but when it came to the shared garage, the security was lacking. The building owners didn’t care about their tenants or their imported cars, and that fact benefited me.
I adjusted the collar of my polo shirt, hiding the head of the griffin tattoo. The outfit was similar to the ones tellers wore at the banks, but the bank’s logo was slightly outdated. But Manner’s mind was always on a shiny new pair of tits; he wouldn’t notice my shirt. My men had disabled the security cameras, but a baseball cap hid most of my face. I waited to the side of the elevators, pretending to scroll through my phone. The elevator opened; a petite brunette in a red pencil skirt stepped out. I angled my back to her. Her footsteps pattered away as she found her car.
She was right on time. Manner would soon follow.
Within five minutes, the elevator doors dinged again, sliding to the sides. Manner strode out, a briefcase in his hand. He pulled at his tie, his gait aimed at his car, then pulled the key fob from his pocket, the engine purring to life. I pulled the knife from my back pocket, flicking the blade open. Manner turned around.
“What the—”
