Page 17 of Breakdown
“If you actually showed up for work sometimes, you might know,” she teased, falling back into their old rhythm.
She could see the slight furrow in his brow, but he laughed like she had told a particularly good joke. “I know, I know. But I’m coming back. That’s what I came here to tell you.”
Liv tried hard not to be cynical, but she felt like Peter’s decision to return had more to do with him fucking up the Giannopoulos job and needing to lay low until things cooled off than any innate loyalty to the Bauers.
“Well, that and I heard a congratulations are in order,” he segued smoothly. “Rumor is, you’re taking care of the family money now.”
Liv frowned; she didn’t like where the conversation was going. “Sort of. Dad’s still micromanaging the shit out of me.”
“Still, a fucking toast to the heir apparent.” Peter raised the empty martini glass. “You should be proud; that’s a big step.”
It was, and it was also the stage in her plan to cut Erik off at the fucking knees and take the business out from under him. Her father had spent her whole life honing her to a sharp edge and it was nearly time for him to taste the bite of the blade he’d made. When Liv was at the top, nobody would be able to touch her or Peter ever again. Not even their father. Especially not their father. She’d make sure of that.
It had been Peter’s overdose that had spurred her to action. When Dad had gotten the call from the hospital, it had become harshly apparent that their father wasn’t going to do anything about it.
It was Liv who had gone there at nineteen, signed the forms, and gotten Peter help. She’d love to say it was purely altruistic, but it was partially guilt. Peter had begged Liv all through high-school to run away with him and she had begged him to stick around. He’d stayed on as Dad’s personal punching bag and she’d reaped all the benefits.
What Liv knew and Peter didn’t seem to grasp was that Dad didn’t just let people walk away from him, not ever. You could’ve asked their mom about it, if Erik hadn’t “disappeared” her the moment she started fantasizing about escape. Even if he didn’t want them, Dad would find them wherever they went, and then they were dead. The closer they were the better. Erik Bauer was the kind of man you needed to keep your eyes on at all times. Liv was going to make damn sure, when she finally made their move, she was going to be ready.
Part of her wondered if she would have to kill their father. She certainly wasn’t going to put that on Peter. They’d long ago learned that he didn’t have it in him.
To this day, she didn’t know what that informant had done to Erik, if anything. Just that Dad was getting angrier and angrier at an eleven-year-old Peter—frozen, tears streaming down his face, eyes wide, hands shaking so hard Liv was sure he was going to drop the pistol. And the man, helpless, tied to a chair, pleading with a sobbing child for his life in the back room of the shop. She had to do something to make it stop.
So Liv had done what Peter couldn’t. She would keep doing it for as long as she had to.
After Dad was gone, Peter would be able to live a good fucking life away from all of this. Get him clean. Two more years, that was all she needed to make that happen for him. She hoped it was enough to make up for asking him to stay. She hoped he lived that long.
“You think I could maybe get a bit of an advance from you? My funds are kind of low.” Peter rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and all Liv could see was that nervous, sensitive little kid she could never quite keep out of Dad’s way.
He looked her right in the eye, anticipating her hesitation. “Look, I fucking swear to you it’s not for Oxy, okay? I’m not even using right now.”
The lie was so half-hearted she wasn’t even sure that he expected her to buy it.
“I just haven’t been to my place in weeks and I seriously need to do some grocery shopping. I’m not even sure I have a single square of toilet paper to wipe my ass with.” Peter’s condo and car were paid off by the family, but he had trouble holding onto his liquid assets at the best of times.
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t know what I have in the house.” Olivia had seventy thousand dollars tucked underneath the floorboards of the office. She’d give him a grand. It probably wasn’t enough to kill himself and it would keep him from getting desperate. “A thousand maybe?”
“That’s fucking awesome. Thanks, Liv.”
Maybe it was her imagination, but instead of looking relieved, Liv thought Peter seemed twitchier.
“You get that and I’ll serve these up, alright?” he said, lining up the martini glasses on the counter.
“Wait here,” she said.
Liv was rolling back down the corner of the office throw rug when Peter startled her from the doorway.
“You want a lemon twist or an olive?” he asked innocently.
“Lemon,” she answered. She wondered what he’d seen. Peter was a professional thief and an addict, a combination guaranteed to make you paranoid.
“You bourgeois bitch,” he chastised, grinning.
Liv handed him the small stack of fifties.
“Thanks.” The money disappeared into his pocket. “Lemon, coming right up.”
Her phone buzzed as she followed him back down the hallway. It was a text from Vinnie:Your brother checked out about an hour ago.So, Peter was telling the truth about returning to his condo, at least. Liv felt the same mix of shame and hope she always did, for not trusting him and for desperately wanting to.
