Page 28 of Necessary Cruelty

Ten

Fate is a sadistic bitch.

Or maybe this is karma finally giving me exactly what I deserve.

Either way, I’m not dealing with this shit lying down. I’d be lying if I said that Zaya Milbourne hadn’t spent a considerable amount of time on my mind over the last few years, but not because I secretly hoped we’d get married someday.

Most days, I just want to wring her neck.

Or fuck her until we both cease to exist.

Depends on the day.

Yes, I sometimes find myself staring at her skin and trying to figure out why it looks so smooth. Or I study the bent curls in her hair, wondering how it’s possible that every strand seems to follow a different pattern. She has always reminded me of those old school magic puzzles where you have to stare straight at them for several minutes before a picture finally emerges.

That’s only because there isn’t anyone else in Deception quite like her. She might as well be the only exotic animal at the local zoo.

None of that makes her a candidate for the next Mrs. Cortland.

The idea of getting married before I’m old enough to legally buy liquor is about as appealing as pulling off all my toenails and then dipping my feet in rubbing alcohol. And not having a choice about when or who is enough to send me completely over the edge.

This isn’t fucking fair.

This isn’t right.

And I really want to somehow blame this all on her, even though I know that’s crazy.

But if I didn’t find her so infuriatingly fascinating, if she didn’t always manage to crawl under my skin and then claw her way back out again, the universe wouldn’t have chosen her to punish me.

She has to take some of the blame.

I stride into the county courthouse like I own the building, displaying way more confidence than I actually feel like I always do. That is what it means to be a Cortland. If the mask slips for even a moment, everything falls apart.

On the outside, I maintain the facade. No one has ever cared what might be happening on the inside.

The overweight security guard operating the metal detector waves me through without even looking up from the screen in front of him. The state of California likes to hire five people for every one job, but his apparent inattentiveness isn’t really my problem. It isn’t as if I’m sneaking a bomb or a gun in here.

Although I might wish I were, depending on how this next conversation goes.

I mount the wooden staircase and take the steps two at a time, ignoring the loud slap of my shoes echoing off the high ceiling. Courthouses are in the same category as cathedrals or libraries. Silence reigns as an unspoken rule that most people innately follow without bothering to question. Even the lawyers who walk these halls every day communicate in hushed voices and respectful whispers, as if the wrath of God will strike them down if they raise their tone above the barely audible.

Personally, I couldn’t give less of a shit.

A purse-lipped secretary glares at me as I stride past the entrance to the circuit court and toward the offices of the district attorney at the far end of the hall. Usually, I’d try to be a little less obnoxious, but I’m not in the mood for anyone’s crap but my own at this point. I wink at her as I pass, making a point of pushing my hand through my messily styled hair. The austere look on her face immediately softens.

Women always love me until they get to know me.

Uncle West’s office is in the far back, past several desks for assistants and paralegals, but no one says a word to stop me. Regardless of the metal detectors and the Night’s Watch cosplay downstairs, it’s a good thing I’m not here for anything more sinister than a tense conversation. If I was some bitter victim of the criminal justice system out for revenge, there wouldn’t be much standing in my way.

West doesn’t seem surprised when I burst into his office and slam the door shut hard enough behind me that it rattles in its frame.

“Did you know about this?” I growl as I toss a stack of photocopied papers onto the desk in front of him.

“Let me call you back,” he says into the phone receiver in his hand before hanging up. My favorite uncle leans back in his chair, not bothering to look down at the papers on the desk. His voice is faintly chastising. “It’s always nice to see you, nephew.”

Without waiting to be invited, I yank a chair back from the desk and sink down into it as I glare at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

With a sigh, he picks up the top page and glances at it before tossing it back down. “I already know why you’re here, and there is absolutely nothing I can do.”

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