Page 40 of Necessary Cruelty

“I assume things went as well as you hoped they would?” Iain asks from his lounging position on the floor in front of my flat screen, barely sparing a glance from Call of Duty. “Although I don’t see a ring on your finger, so maybe we’ll wait to alert the papers.”

Iain is the only person I let in my space when I’m not around, mostly because I know how much he hates being in his own house. The Hewitts have a sparkly mansion on the Bluffs just like the rest of us, but it’s as dead on the inside as it is pretty on the outside.

Sometimes the prettiest places hide the dirtiest secrets.

But I don’t ask him about shit like that, and he doesn’t volunteer any information. Mutually assured silence is part of why we’ve always gotten along so well.

He is also the only other person, aside from my father and uncle, who knows the full truth about that prenuptial agreement tying up my inheritance. Partly because I need to talk to somebody about it who isn’t going to lecture me, but mostly because I know his moral compass points as true north as mine.

That little needle is just spinning around in circles at this point.

“I just wasted two hours I can’t ever get back.”

Thankfully, my Maserati was still intact when I stomped out of the Gas and Sip. At least it was until I kicked a dent in the front bumper out of sheer frustration, compounded by the fact that I’m nearly positive Jake was still hanging around and saw the whole thing.

If anybody is on the top of my shitlist, it’s that fuck.

Iain pushes to his feet and watches me make a beeline for the bar. “So she said no?”

“In about a dozen different ways.” I reach for a bottle of Jameson’s and pull out the cork with my teeth before filling two tumblers. Sobriety and this conversation do not go hand in hand. “Pretty much any inducement short of pain of death won’t do the trick.”

“Are you planning a kidnapping?” Iain picks up one of the nearly full glasses and takes a swig from it, blowing out a breath of air that smells like pine needles and hard liquor. “Say the word, and I’ll clear out my basement. The parental figures never go down there.”

The fact that I’m not entirely sure whether he is serious stops me from ready agreement. I might be a total asshole, but sometimes I wonder if Iain is diagnosable.

“I’ll let you know. For now, I’m planning a campaign of terror that will turn her into a quivering mess. I can marry whatever pieces are left.”

He shrugs and sets the empty glass back down on the bar. “If you’re sure that’s the best idea.”

His tone is enough to make the words a lie.

“You have a better idea?”

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. The greatest victory is that which requires no battle.” He slumps back down on the couch and picks of the controller, smiling when something to his left explodes and angry yells come from the headset lying on the floor by his feet. “Fuck, I love the graphics on this game. Every headshot is a blood geyser.

This motherfucker is really going to sit here and quote the Art of War. “Did you get into my weed, because that sounds like something a person who is high as hell would say?”

“Or kill her with kindness, if you prefer. Zaya has gotten used to fighting with you, that’s all the two of you have done for years. Giving her something else might provide the advantage you need.”

Encouraging me to be kind is like gently recommending a fish avoid water. It’s just not going to work, no matter how hard you try. “I sincerely doubt a bouquet of flowers and a mariachi band are going to cut it.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something suitably insidious and deceptive.” Iain smashes some buttons, a feral smile on his face. I don’t need to look at the screen to know someone just got sniped. “Find out what she really needs, or wants, and then show her you’re the only who can provide it.”

“That’s manipulative as hell.” I drain my glass and pour myself another. “I like it.”

“Happy to be of service.”

My phone is already in my hand, and I’m scrolling through all my contacts at Cortland Construction until I find the name of one of the foreman. This is the kind of thing that money was designed to do, buy things that can’t be procured in any other way. And for the time being, I still have funds to throw around.

Zaya Milbourne wants to believe she can’t be bought. We’re going to test that little theory right fucking now.

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