Page 57 of Beautiful, Violent

I shove my drink aside and lean against the table. “That’s not what this is about. King raped and drowned his son. Ben is utterly and contemptuously destroyed by what he did and wants nothing more than to make him pay. I could see it in his eyes. That kind of pain? You can’t fake that shit.”

“You’d be surprised at how many men can fake it.”

“If this were all about getting in my pants don’t you think he would have at least, I don’t know, rage fucked me?”

Rigger drops his head and bellows out a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe. Or else you hurt his pride too much with that disguise and now he can’t get it up.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

“All right, all right,” Rigger relents, holding up his hands in self-defense. “Let’s just suppose you’re right, and he does want King dead. Seems a little soon for him to be letting you in on such a dark part of his past. And admitting that he wants him dead? It’s almost like he trusted you.”

Rigger is right. Either he trusted me, or really liked me and wanted to. “I brought up King’s name, not him. And after, Ben was a whirling dervish of emotions. No joke, Rig. If you’d have seen him, you’d understand. He has a personal vendetta with this guy.” I let out a small laugh. “I mean, to be honest, if I wanted I could just sit back and let Ben do all the work for me.”

“I think you should,” Rigger deadpans. “If he’s serious, that is. Though I’d much rather do it myself. You know that.”

“What’s the fun in letting someone else do it?”

“Your favorite expression.”

“Yeah, yeah …” I roll a napkin between my fingers, thinking back to what Daddy said. I should touch base with him, see if he’s heard anything. And then my mind wanders to Ben and the passion that he has for avenging his son’s death.

I only know of one other person who feels that passionate about making people pay. And I see that person every time I look in the mirror.

“Does this mean we can go home tomorrow?”

“Are you ready to go home?”

Rigger nods, a sullen expression on his face. “I’ve got other business to attend to. And with Mr. Kandler taken care of and you being blacklisted by the person we were trailing, I don’t see a reason to stay.”

“You’re right.” Behind Rigger, several people walk away from a big bullseye hanging on the wall. “What say you and me play a few rounds of darts first.”

“Loser buys breakfast.” He gets up from the table, drink in hand, and I follow him.

“Why do you have to hate on the free Continental breakfasts everywhere we go?” I joke, leaning against his arm.

He laughs and pulls me in a headlock, kissing the top of my head. For a split second, I imagine the gesture as a romantic one and I fight the slump that threatens to overcome me, thinking I probably won’t ever experience that kind of love. Maybe I’m incapable of giving it, or receiving it. I don’t know.

At least I have Rigger. And we have the kind of trust that runs deeper than anyone could ever see.

Chapter 14

Ritz is mad at me.

When I get home he’s lying on the couch and his head shoots up the second I slide my bag across the floor.

“Hey, buddy.” He stands up and stretches. But when I go to pet him he hops down and prances to the kitchen, tail shaking with attitude. “Good to see you too.”

I sort through my mail—it’s mostly junk—and read through the note that Kathy left saying what a little prince he was. Yeah, I bet. When I throw the note away, the smell of old tuna wafts up from the trash. I pull a face and twist my gaze to Ritz, sitting in front of the fridge.

“The stink I put up with and you can’t even be bothered with an affectionate welcome home.”

He blinks, whips his tail to the side.

I curl my nose and pull the bag from the can, tying it closed. Might as well walk this to the trash chute before getting cleaned up. I make my way to the hall, leaving the door open a few inches. As much as I hate taking the elevator up to the 7thfloor every day, at least the building has a convenient way of getting rid of garbage on each floor. Would be nice if we could do the same with people.

I shove the bag inside the opening and start walking back to my condo. When I turn the corner, I catch the backside of someone walking through my door. I freeze for a moment. Whoever’s decided to make themselves at home in my place is short, so it’s not Rigger. Or Ben.

I pick up the pace and make my way inside, catching someone leaning over and petting Ritz. Someone with short hair who has left a trail of patchouli in their wake.

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