Page 160 of House of Payne

“You’d better.”

I’ve spent an hour standing here, listening to him call me every name under the sun. And then another hour listening to him detail a plan for damage control to salvage our alliance with the Everetts and Fitzpatricks.

Why do I care? My father didn’t call me to put our heads together and come up with a plan. He just wants someone to hurl obscenities at.

For now, I’ll do.

You’ve already tried getting him to listen to your plan, and he won’t have it. What else can you do?

My father’s plan won’t work. Bending to their will won’t get them to back off in the long term. Taking London is the first step in a much larger scheme, and even though I’ve spent the past few days turning over every stone and calling in every favor, I’m no closer to putting together what they’re doing.

I hate surprises.

Are they staging a coup?

Muscling in on our territory?

Looking to expand without cutting us in on the deal?

Removing us from the equation altogether?

There are too many scenarios and far too many unknowns for me to narrow it down.

Each night for the past few days, I’ve lain in bed, inhaling the sweet smell of London’s perfume and wondering how I let it get this far. In my dreams, when she visits me, I see her calling out to me in a green field, thesun high over her head. But when I get to her, she’s lying in a pool of blood. Each time, I wake up thrashing and covered in sweat because I keep seeing her face staring up at me as the light in her eyes dies, and when I look even closer, her features change into my mother’s.

You couldn’t save her, either. How does it feel to know you’re a colossal fuckup, just like Mathew thinks you are?

Shit.

I keep reminding myself that London isn’t my mom, and the situations are vastly different, but no matter how many times I reiterate it, I can’t bring myself to accept it.

I hate that London dredges up these feelings.

I don’t want to care about her, much less spend every waking moment coming up with a plan to save her.

You were supposed to corrupt her. She wasn’t supposed to rub off on you.

I have no idea how she did it, or how I let her get close enough to succeed.

It shouldn’t have taken her life being in danger for me to realize the truth.

That she’s been letting the light in, coaxing parts of me I thought were long dead, and I let her.

Hell, a part of me was even starting to see myself through her eyes.

Goddamn it all to hell.

Being away from her shouldn’t be this unbearable, but it is.

It feels like I can’t breathe.

At least you’re no longer wasting precious time or energy pretending she doesn’t mean something to you.

As soon as the phone call ends, I offer Mathew a brusque nod and wave him off. He scowls and storms out of the study, passing Katia on her way in. She waits for a long moment before shutting the door behind her, then takes a phone from her pocket and sets it on the desk.

“What did you find out?”

Katia clears her throat. “I found her,” she says. “And London isn’t working with them.”