Page 29 of Brutal King

The mare eyed me wearily. She tossed her head up as I approached and began pounding her hooves into the dirt. My step faltered. I’d ridden a horse before, when I was much, much younger. But he was an old gentle steed that had been saddled already.

This girl didn’t have a saddle and there was a wild air about her that made her a completely different animal altogether.

I looked back at my father who was watching expectantly. When I turned back, the mare bucked and began toward me at a run. There was no mistaking the intent in her brown gaze which was locked on me with deadly precision.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

I’ve never moved so fast. I was in the pen one moment, and flying over the fence the next. I landed on my ass in the mud and the mare gave an indignant huff before trotting away.

Father bent over and roared with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” I yelled. The pain on my rear was nothing compared to the humiliation. “Why are you laughing? You knew, didn’t you? That she would do this?”

“Of course I did, son. You don’t know how to ride and… She isn’t yours.”

“But, you just gave her to me.”

He extended his hand to me. “I did not. I put something you wanted within your reach. It’s up to you to make her yours.”

“How?” I took his hand and he easily lifted me to my feet.

“I will teach you.”

“It was a ruse,” Scarlet informs me. “Clive was moved.”

“You’re sure?”

“Unless they were hiding him in some closet we didn’t search. Vicky is looking for any electronic trace, but so far, nothing indicates a transfer. Even the staff is perplexed.”

“Fuck!” I slam a fist against my desk. “How did it happen without us knowing?”

“Arran is smart.”

“Or he’s joined the alliance,” I say.

“If he did, our mission will become more difficult.”

I sit back and stare at my father’s painting. His scowl seems so much more pronounced today.

“It might be time for me to call in my favor with Thomas Cameron.” I tap the desk with a finger as I work through exactly what the corrupt judge can do for me.

Thomas Cameron was Arran Maxton’s prime suspect in the murder of his younger sister, Catherine. Everyone in the underworld heard the rumors that he’d been searching for evidence, but had been unable to find anything that would send the good judge to jail.

Arran might not have had proof, but I did. Not of his involvement in the death of the girl, but in his corrupt dealings with criminals that, even by my gray standards, deserved the death penalty. There were deals made and pockets lined.

I made sure some of those deals went wrong. It was easy, really. All I had to do was leak information to the right people. Then I stepped in and offered Thomas, not only to get rid of those individuals, but to set up his daughters should somethingever happen to him. For a price, of course. A favor to be called in, whenever and wherever I chose.

He wasn’t a wild card, exactly. There would only ever be two uses for him— to gain access to Arran’s finances, places of business, and most importantly, Clive. Or, kill him and use his daughters. Either will work for me.

“Go back to Bella Vista,” I order. “Leave a message for Arran. I want him to know that I’m getting close.”

“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do about Thomas?”

“Request his presence at the office in Philly on Friday. I’ll give him a chance to prove just how crooked he can be.”

By morning time, I have a photo of Clive’s empty bed at Bella Vista. It’s been burned, the metal frame warped, the mattress melted, and the sheets scorched. Two 2009 pennies, the year he participated in my father’s murder, have been placed on the nightstand so that there is no mistaking that it was me that did this. No one else wants to see Clive Maxton pay for his crimes more than I do.

I. Want. Him. Dead.

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