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four

Damien

Bruno hauls her into the office of my penthouse and throws her down on the dark green, velvet chaise next to the black, floating coffee table.

It is fairly dark here, except for the bright light of downtown Manhattan that shines through the abundant windows. We’re standing twenty stories above the city, and I bought this place for both the view and the fact that the walls are made of windows that can easily be covered if I felt like anyone was watching from twenty stories to begin with.

I bought out the entire top floor and had it renovated into my own living space equipped with five bedrooms, one office, a gym, a study and even a sunroom with access to the pool on the balcony. The one luxury I’ve allowed myself while I gave practically everything else away to the sister of the girl that’s passed out on my chaise right now. Megan can keep the house. The loft. The cars. But I get this safe haven. I get the businesses that I bought once she filed the papers. And now, I get the sister that she never wanted.

“How long has she been out?” I ask Bruno as I lean on the marble, black bar across from my desk.

“About twenty minutes. I got her pretty good, but I’d say she’ll probably be waking up here soon,” he says as he removes his sunglasses and cleans them with the bottom of his black tee shirt.

“Lovely. You can keep watch in the lobby. I’ll call if I need you,” I say, and he nods as he slides the shades back on and taps on his earpiece.

“Stand guard by the elevator in the penthouse and lobby,” he says to my men before he turns on his heel and leaves the room.

I lock the tall, black door and walk back to the bar where I pour myself a stiff glass before making my way back to my desk that’s several feet away from where sleeping beauty lays.

When I approach her on the way, I get a clear view of Lucille Fairchild and I realize that she is no sleeping beauty whatsoever. In fact, right now, she looks more like a cheap hooker. Her tank top is cut low and reveals part of her black, lacy bra that covers her ample breasts. Her shorts nearly kiss the tops of her thighs and her scuffed boots wrap around her delicate, pale ankles. Her light brown, long hair is thrown over her face and her abundant, cheap bracelets dangle as her arm falls limply to her side, fingers skimming the floor.

I smooth her wavy trusses away to reveal her face. I don’t know why, but I am pleased to see that she’s not wearing a cheap, heavy amount of make up to match this horrid look. Her face is nearly bare, showcasing both her youthfulness and abundance of freckles that trail from her cheeks to her button nose. Her lips are full and parted, those nearly exposed breasts rising and falling as small puffs of air leave her delicate lips.

She’s never looked like this before. I remember her as an awkward girl. A meek little thing that would often hide in her room or be found smiling in the library or garden. She always preferred the pretty, mundane things in life. Nothing at all like her sister.

And she’s definitely nothing like her sister now. The girl that I barely knew has now aged into a beautiful young woman. A beautiful young woman that apparently only owns stained dresses and cheap, revealing clothes.

I walk away from her and sit at my desk, staring at her files as I sip my scotch and listen to the ticking clock and dark wind that blows against the windows of my office.

Lucille Rosyln Fairchild

25 years, born in Hartford, CT

Father Michael Fairchild, Senator of New York

Mother Ann Fairchild, CEO of Trust Bank

The file is both plain and simple, much like her. Michael Fairchild had kept his youngest daughter away from the world for the majority of her life mostly because of her inability to morph into a cold ice queen like her sister and mother, but also because she was born out of an affair, something not many people know, including her.

I don’t know why Michael told me this. Maybe it was the copious amounts of Johnny Walker or the endless amounts of women covered in diamonds that would parade around him in nothing but thongs in the basement of his office in the upper west side. Maybe it was because he wanted to brag that he not only fucked his intern, but also got her pregnant and paid her a large amount of hush money to keep her quiet. Shitty for him, her bargain was that he would keep the child and raise her, since she wasn’t even a college graduate yet. Ann never said a word, then again, I’m sure it was something she was used to.

Politicians are known for both scandals and affairs, as are wealthy businessmen like my father. The wives either bow their heads and keep quiet, or they have their own, or they’re sent away and are unable to be found like my own mother. Rich assholes like Lucille’s father and my own father can get away with whatever they want, because money and power allow them to.

And yes, I could be the same way. With the wealth I’ve obtained over the last year, I have earned just as much power as these men, if not more, because of the line of work I am in. Because of the leader I have become.

So, maybe that’s why Michael Fairchild confided in me all those years ago about the child that he created from infidelity. Because he knows I could be just like him. Or that I’m worse.

Which, in truth, I am. I am much, much worse than Michael Fairchild. But I do it for a reason, not for political gain.

I do it to establish a hierarchy, to maintain law and order within the world I have found.

I do it because a leader like myself has no choice but to be powerful and cutthroat in this game. It’s either kill or be killed in my line of work. And from being Chief of Special Operations in the Marine Corps and being the leader I am now, I’ve killed many people in my thirty-eight years of life. I’ve seen so much blood, so much loss, so much grief. I’ve lived through my own grief. And that’s exactly why I’m in the position I am in today. Because of men like Michael Fairchild and my father. Because not only did my father have an affair and keep the child, but he also sent my mother away to a place filled with nothing but war and famine.

And that’s why I joined the military. That’s why I asked to be deployed to Mexico. Because I found a file much like Lucille’s in my father’s drawer. Except this file belonged to my banished mother. Who not only lives in Mexico, but in the most dangerous part.

I climbed the ranks quickly as a Marine and I had but one mission, to be head of special operations that oversaw illegal criminal activity, drug trafficking and border patrol. You see, my birth mother not only lived in a dangerous place, but she worked for dangerous people.

People like Eduardo Aguilar. The most powerful, dangerous, head leader of the most notorious group in the world, The AG Cartel.

I didn’t expect to meet this man. Hell, my only goal was to infiltrate his group and shut down all operations in hopes of rescuing my mother, but when I met her while on a brief leave, she was happy where she was. She was fed, clothed, with a roof over her head and enough protection to keep her out of harm’s way as long as she did her job and pledged her loyalty, something my father not only failed to do, but refused to do.

So, I not only met Eduardo, I befriended him. I was ashamed of my government and did not agree with the heinous things that were done or handled at the border. And with The AG, I at least understood why they did what they did. They were businessmen, plain and simple. And if anyone got in the way of their business, if anyone threatened their business or the safety of their family, they would take care of it. It was justified. And that’s exactly why I went undercover and started working with them whilst staying in the Marines.

I gave them every bit of warning, every bit of information that I could give in order to let their people cross safely and also get their product by. Did the drugs bother me? No, not really. Did the guns? No, not really. Because as justified as some of their actions were, I’m still a piece of shit. I still thrive on chaos and brutality. It’s exactly why I joined the military in the first place. My rage that I’ve had since childhood needed some place to go.

And now, my rage is amplified. Because just this year, my dear friend Eduardo was brutally murdered in front of his family by the CIA. Something I had absolutely no idea about, because I had left the military nearly three years ago to work for him.

And because we were good friends, because I proved and pledged my loyalty to him, he left his throne to me. He left his business for me to run and with that, he left me all of his mess and all of his bullshit.

Because the CIA doesn’t quit. People like Michael Fairchild do not quit. People like my own father do not quit. They sniff around and stick their noses in places they don’t belong. And right now, I’ve got many noses sniffing in places they don’t need to fucking be.

Which is exactly why I need to be in good graces not only with a trusted, all-American family, but a particularly strong one at that.

I couldn’t stay married to Megan, it was too dangerous because she became a narc herself. And though her father owes me an obscene amount of money and I know all of his secrets, he’s also a danger, because he’s a nosy bastard.

So, now, I have the next best thing, slowly waking from my dark green chaise in my office. I have the outcast of the family, the girl no one wanted that still bears the blood of a trusted, all-American family. One with many secrets that would tarnish their reputation.

One that I can marry and maintain a very clean, rich image with to keep the feds out of my ass and her father humbled.

I have found the greatest merger of all.

“Good evening, Lucille,” I say as she rises from the chaise and looks around in confusion, her eyes widening in horror when she finally spots me.