Page 102 of His Pretty Little Duet

I spin and stride away from Lee as his words follow me. Burn within my skull. I curse outwardly, fighting with my doubt, with my faithless mind. Drawing Clay’s deep, smooth timbre front and centre, I try to find the strength to ignore what was just uttered so convincingly. Forget it, even. Harmful lies from a scorned employee should hold no weight when our connection is so strong.

You are scared. I need you to trust me, little deer. I will do the worrying for you.

Iamscared.

I’m scared Lee is telling the truth.

I ball my fingers in tight, digging my nails into my palms, feeling the sharp object inside, hoping I crack it by accident.

Hoping I render it defective.

Clay

I leave the council building,heading towards my Chrysler idling by the curb. Even now, amid a busy weekday, my soldiers are stationed in the vicinity. Across the road at a coffee shop. On the rooftop. I’m a target, but that has always been the case, and it barely concerns me... usually.

But now I have Fawn.

A wave of blunt pain spindles through my chest.

Now, my concern is for the sweet girl who I have taken as my own. If something were to happen to me, an occupational hazard I was somewhat at peace with, who would take care of her? Who will teach her about her worth? Hold her accountable for her actions? Touch that smooth skin that prickles with soft blonde hairs? Play with her body? Shower her with attention? And the way she looked at Kelly and Stone.Madonna Mia.It is like a screwdriver to my guts as she is mourning her baby, quietly yearning to be a mother again—someday at least. I never wanted to be a father, but I won’t deny her a damn thing. So, who will put that baby in her stomach? No one else will, because even in death, she’ll be mine. Maybe I should visit a sperm bank... What a fucking absurd thought, given where my focus should be.Death has never been a fear. Now, I fear losing her, which can only happen in death.

My little deer.

My sweet girl.

She has worn down a part of this stone façade, inserting herself through the formations of my armour. It wasn't another stone that wore me down. It was the persistence of a little flower that wormed its way through the gaps.

Que opens the passenger door seconds before I reach the vehicle. I duck under the roofline and slide along the leather upholstery to the opposite window. Staring at the city, beating with life, I prepare myself to switch roles, prepare for another dark inquisition.

We head towards the docks, and the closer we roll, the denser a dark-grey haze from the bushfires gathers around the vehicle. I pull out my handset, and my eyes sail to the app for my home security system before I ignore the impulse to check on her, opening the text message from Vinny instead. It says:

We have the arsonist at the warehouse.

We park outside the warehouse, and as I step from the car, two black vehicles file into the parking lot—my soldiers.

This part of the dock glows in an orange hue, being so close to the flames that ash falls onto my black suit like a dusty downpour. I peer out across an angry black ocean that would usually be littered with residents, boats, and fishermen but is now ominous as the shadowy clouds gather along the surface.

Vinny appears in the doorway to the warehouse, so I smooth down my tie and stride to meet him.

“What does our arsonist have to say for himself?" I ask, passing him, absently noting a strange grin on his lips. I head towards the back room where I know our guest will be waiting.

Vinny falls into step beside me. “Herself, Boss.”

I abruptly still, understanding his ridiculous boyish grin. “What?”

“She’s a girl, alright,” he states, smiling wider, which can only mean—“Attractive, too. I have got nothing out of her yet. We were waiting for you. I don’t feel comfortable hitting her, which left me a little fucked with what to do.”

“I see.” My forehead tightens as I continue at a steady pace to the end of the cavernous warehouse. The rap of shoes hitting the decades-old, creaky floorboards echo behind me as my employees join us inside.

Entering the room, I nod polite acknowledgements to Vinny’s team and somewhat ignore the young girl sitting on a foldout chair with a wet gag in her mouth. Her fingers are entwined, the pink-tipped nails folding over her knuckles like delicate claws. Her wrists are bound with a three-stitch rope and fastened to a rail beneath the seat. She mumbles something around the white cloth between her lips.

I come to a stop a few metres from her and clasp my hands in front of me. Contemplating this situation.

Pretty blue eyes widen with my towering presence. I drag my gaze over her, measuring this girl up. Brand new white converse sneakers. Faded designer jeans. I tilt my head, observing the facets in her studded earrings as they flash a kaleidoscope of colours beneath the industrial warehouse lighting.Diamonds.Not my product, but good quality.

A thin film of perspiration collects on her forehead. I frown at a small chaffing burn on her knee peeking out from between ripped denim, where she has obviously tripped, but she is otherwise unharmed.

As I stare at this misguided rich girl, Vinny leans into my ear, offering the rundown on her. “Her name is Kaya Lovit.” My brows pinch with recollection. That explains the diamonds,the styled, long brown hair, and the healthy physique. “Yes, Boss, as in Lovit Industries. She’s the youngest of the offspring. Nineteen. We got reports from witnesses that saw her in the area before the blaze, and Constable Jarvis gave us everything the police had. She did it alright, Boss.”

---