Page 51

JAMES

“ J ames, a word?” Oliver steps into my office, announcing himself rather than asking to come in.

He’s been doing it every day for the past two weeks. Ever since Topher banged on the door to my home. Well, almost every day. Over the Thanksgiving holiday, when our offices were closed, he’d been at the auction house. I’d been home all that time, where I was spared of his company.

I’m sure he hadn’t been any less suspicious of me while he was overseeing the operations there. He might have even stopped by the office to go through my things.

He wouldn’t have found a damn thing.

The only secret I have—other than my plans—is Ophelia. The only thing worth keeping.

And she wasn’t here during the Thanksgiving holiday. She was holed up with me over the break. Safe. Thoroughly fucked. Cared for.

When I wasn’t balls deep inside her, eating her out, or making her choke on my dick, she’d been hard at work.

Learning.

Practicing the art of killing a person.

Going over my old cases and other law textbooks.

Listening to me. Telling me about herself. Whether it was late at night or just before sunrise, we’d talk. I couldn’t stop listening to her and drawing out stories about her parents. About the few childhood friends she almost forgot about. The foster parents who showed her kindness.

She’d tell me she loved learning from me.

That she loved me, period.

It was still strange, yet I never rejected the words.

Like I never rejected her attempts to cook for me.

I ate everything that came out of her hands. Praised her for all of it. The cereal and the burned or raw steaks. Salads, she was good at mixing those.

Other times, she let me cook for her.

It was the best holiday of my life.

Even Topher hadn’t been allowed anywhere near the mansion. He reported to me that he was hunting for a woman to breed. I assumed it was a lie. Two investigators had taken turns watching him, proving me right.

He hadn’t been hunting for a new woman. He’d been out there, asking people about Ophelia.

I’ve been keeping that part from her.

He’s my responsibility, and I’ll handle him accordingly. One way or the other.

There’s just one minor bump in the road.

My PI, who regularly checks my phone, found a bug and removed it.

Oliver isn’t as rash and weak as his son. Topher had been monitored the entire time.

It couldn’t be anyone except Oliver.

Who’s here, playing this redundant cat-and-mouse game.

One he’s losing.

“Can it wait?” I rise out of my chair, buttoning up my suit jacket. Charcoal today, Ophelia’s favorite. Oliver wears a similar one in a lighter shade of gray. “We’re headed to court.”

Topher and Camden will be tagging along to observe. Their presence isn’t required. Neither of them will live to become lawyers.

But optics matter.

Optics are everything.

“Right. Right.” Oliver laughs, and it’s fake. He shakes his head. Another warm, phony gesture. “How could I forget about the Irish? Camden won’t shut up about it. He’s been over the moon about his uncle taking him to court.”

Now I know he’s fucking with me.

I’ve never been an uncle figure to Camden. Hardly even been a father to Topher.

Being warm and fluffy, I don’t have that in me.

Or so I thought.

Ophelia says I do. She thanks me for being kind and for tucking her to my side when we go to bed. When I flatten my palm on the place where I branded her. Even though it’s healed, it hurts her a little.

But she likes the pain, always snuggling closer to me when I touch her there. My whimpering and sweet Ophelia.

With her on my mind, I steel myself against my opponent.

The muscles on my face are frozen. My expression is locked firmly in place.

He’s baiting me.

Still unaware that I’m the apex predator.

He’s about to have a rude awakening.

“Why don’t you come over for drinks tonight?” My voice is deceptively kind.

I pull it off by picturing Ophelia’s face first thing in the morning. When the dawn slowly steals away the night. The soft glow of the sun highlighting the color of her cheeks, plump lips, long lashes.

He eyes me warily.

“I’ve been a recluse lately. Watching our kids turn into men. It did a number on me.”

His lifted eyebrow gives him away. My attitude isn’t anything he’s been expecting.

“I’m ready for company.” Smiling would raise his suspicions. I gesture to the two of us instead, giving him a false sense of friendship. “Let’s have drinks together.”

“Fuck. You’re serious.” He runs his hand through his hair and arranges it back in place. “You’re telling me you were being cagey because, what? You’re having some sort of a midlife crisis?”

“Speak for yourself.”

The clouds thicken outside my window. A storm is brewing in the distance. Soon, it’ll rain. The drops will patter on the window of the courtroom and work.

While I plot Oliver’s murder.

And think of Ophelia.

I imagine her at home, talking to Clara after she’s threatened them. In my mind’s eye, I see her staring out into the backyard, or catching up on her learning material.

Wearing my cuff around her ankle.

I slip my hand into my pants pocket, pretending I’m looking for something.

There it is. I close my fingers around the lock of her hair. The one I cut off her beautiful head.

Soft. Warm.

Mine.

A thin strap of tape binds the hairs together. I take it with me wherever I go.

“Sure feels like it some days.” Oliver’s laugh comes off as more genuine this time.

It’s not like him to be gullible. To be duped.

This can’t happen to Ophelia.

This afternoon, once I’m home, I’ll be cruel again. Right before I tell her we’ll be having a guest over later tonight.

More than cruel. I’ll be downright vicious. Cold.

Her owner.

It’ll be a delicious lesson. She’ll be stronger for it.

Ready for Oliver.

“Dad, are you coming?” Topher’s voice reaches from the hall, coming closer.

“Yes.” I open my palm, release the lock of her hair into my pocket, and grab my bag. “See you at ten,” I tell Oliver.

A clipped nod from my friend , and I’m off to meet Topher, Camden, and Miley, my associate on the case. We walk together to the bank of elevators.

“You going to slay them today, James?” Camden’s amused, as usual. Everything’s a fucking joke to this kid. Unfortunate for him that death is a very, very serious business.

“We don’t slay anyone.”

Topher shoots me a look.

I don’t hold his gaze, affixing it to the elevator doors. He’ll have to take up his Daddy issues with someone who actually gives a damn.

Brett, one of the firm’s drivers, greets us at the company’s SUV, and we climb inside. The three of us in the back of the car. Less than ideal since I don’t want to be anywhere near the two of them.

But giving my back to my enemies is out of the question.

Miley takes the passenger seat. She pulls out her phone and starts talking to our client as soon as Brett puts the car into gear. Part of her responsibilities is to ensure that they’re there an hour before the trial starts.

Neither I nor my clients have ever shown up late to court. I won’t start just because my mind is going in a million directions. I hold a level of respect for the system I’m rigging.

“We had an awesome time away from the office, Dad and I.” Camden directs this at me. Topher already heard all about the Morgans’ holiday. I have my investigators to thank for that information. “We ate, like, a ton. Watched movies together. Slept. Did some…searching.”

As I stare at him from my place near the window, I wonder if I’ll be doing him a favor by killing him. Euthanasia of some sort.

Camden wags his eyebrows at me. I refrain from rolling my eyes in response.

“Topher needs to step up his game.” He slaps my son’s shoulder. “It’ll be so cool if we end up like our dads.”

Miley and Brett would never understand what he’s implying. He’s putting us at risk regardless. “Cut it out.”

A bump in the road throws Topher, who sits between the two of us, in my direction.

It takes him a minute to return to his seat.

A minute in which his pants pocket rubs mine.

Once. That’s all it takes for Ophelia’s lock of hair to be pushed out of my pocket.

I sense it before I see it. I’m as attached to these few strands of her hair as I am to the rest of her.

Completely. Irrevocably. Maddeningly.

And when my fingers flatten on them to put it back in its place…

When my gaze goes there…

So does Topher’s.

I catch him staring at my fingers. At the lock of hair I’m trying to cover. A black lock of hair, the color so deep it’s nearly raven-black.

It could belong to any number of people in the city. In the state.

In the motherfucking country.

But unlike Camden, my son is a bright one.

He puts two and two together, his pale blue eyes darkening. They latch onto mine, doubting. Accusing.

Loathing.

Unflinching, I stare back at him. My son won’t threaten me. No one will.

Only her.

Only ever her.

My heart is about to leap out of my chest. It’s a lot of work to keep my pulse in check. To lock down my possessiveness and jealousy.

He has no claim on Ophelia.

Never has.

She was always meant to be mine.

I don’t so much as blink.

In the front of the SUV, Miley sounds pleased with what our client is telling her. “Sounds great. Nothing to worry about. We’ll be there in thirty and talk some more. Good. Good. Yes. See you there.”

Topher holds my gaze for the rest of her conversation. Murder bleeds from him, tainting the clean air in the car. His left eye twitches.

He’s far less restrained than I am. Hasn’t had practice with it.

When you have an abusive father, you become an expert at playing his sick mind games.

I’ve been too lenient on Topher, I realize. He doesn’t respect me. I assume he never will.

I dare him to say something. Anything.

An excuse for me to end him here and now.

Until Ophelia came along, our connection had been the closest thing I’d had to love in my life. He’s my son. My blood runs in his veins.

In my world, that counts for something.

I should be protecting him. Saving him from his own self.

I had.

He’s all grown up now.