Page 4 of Tormented Heir

She whimpers, and I’m not sure if it’s me playing with her or the money I’ve just given her getting her so hot.

“What the fuck? Are you insane? She was part of it. She helped me steal from you. She’s a liar. A femme fatale who has you trapped in her spell,” her husband shouts from behind us.

He’s so wrong. Lizzie is a sexy enough woman, but she’s no femme fatale. I haven’t lost my mind. I’m utterly in control and fucking up this man’s head is so much fun.

“I want you to focus on me.” I look at Lizzie. “Think about your huge new home and starting over with all that money. Think about how much that piece of shit who ruined your life is going to hate it when you come like a fucking train. I want you to scream it out when it hits.”

Her gaze never leaves mine. “That’s a good girl. Just you and me. Christ, you’re gorgeous. So hot.”

She slams her eyes closed and wails. She grips my fingers in wave after wave before her head falls back in spent delight. Let her pathetic husband see that.

He is shouting and crying behind me. He’s wailing almost as much as she did.

I grab some paper towels and gently wipe her, before I put her panties back in place and help her down from the bar.

“You’re dead,” he seethes. He is speaking to her, not me. “You’re a dead bitch. I’ll have someone come and find you and fuck every orifice before cutting you up and putting you in the ground.”

“Wait here,” I instruct Lizzie.

I walk over to her husband and yank his head back, my fingers gripping his hair so tight it will make his scalp bleed. “I don’t like your threats. Lizzie is under my protection now. You have anyone touch her and that person and their entire family is dead; you get me? Anyway, how the fuck will you be issuing orders? You won’t see your phone again before you die.”

I let go of his hair and backhand him hard enough to give him whiplash.

Then I lead Lizzie out of the room by her hand. We pass the two guards who are staring at me bug-eyed. They obviously heard it all. Good. Let them know what happens to people who cross me. I won’t stand for betrayal. I loathe liars. I end those who dare take from us.

“Put an end to him and drag it out,” I tell them, jerking my head in the direction of the room behind me. “Make it look like a street attack. A robbery gone wrong.”

They nod.

“Lizzie and me have some unfinished business.”

“Yes, boss,” they chorus in unison.

As they head into the room, I hear one of them say softly to the other, “Fuck me, did he just screw that guy’s wife in front of him?”

I smirk to myself and lead Lizzie down a long corridor until we hit the bank of elevators. We ride from basement to penthouse, bypassing the club. Once up there, I take Lizzie into my study and write her a check as promised.

She takes it with tears in her shell-shocked, glassy eyes. “Do you want another drink?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“Need me to call anyone? He might be a bastard, but he was still your husband.” I use the past tense because best she gets used to it.

She shakes her head again.

“Do you want me to give you a driver to take you to your sister’s?”

Her eyes widen. “Y-y-you’d do that?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’d like to have a little time before I go there. I need to pretend that I didn’t know this was going to happen to him. W-w-will your men definitely make it look like an accident?”

I nod. “I’ll make sure he’s found somewhere, and the police will think he was robbed.”

Her shivering is getting worse. She’s reaching the shock stage now. The reality of it hitting her. I don’t fancy being the babysitter for some traumatized widow who hated her husband. It’s a tricky fucker, grief. It can hit even when you loathed the person, and it can sometimes feel strangely absent when you loved them more than anything.

“If you go home, pretend you’re waiting for him to come home after work. Is there someone who can be with you?”

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