When she finished, Sam put it into the rack. “I understand.”
His mother tossed him a quick glance.
“It’s okay. You can do whatever you think you need to do.”
“What I’d like to do is take a baseball bat to that thug.”
“That would be assault. He’s a minor; you’re an adult.”
“And you’re my son.” She handed him a glass.
Sam pulled out the top rack.
His mother stood there, hands on the edge of the sink, knuckles white. There was only the hush of the running water and the faint sound of boy band music coming from upstairs. After a minute or two, his mom relaxed her shoulders, picked up another dish, and washed it.
“Why did you think Marcel told me?”
“Huh? Oh, uh…” Sam put the dish with the others. “He stopped Karl from hitting me with the bat.”
A tick jumped in his mother’s jaw, but there was some peace in her eyes now. “It’s good of you to help him.” She began putting the dishes into the washer. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”
“Mom?”
“Yeah, honey.” She winced. “Sorry, habit.”
Sam smiled. Secretly, he hoped she never lost the habit. Just as long as she didn’t say it in front of anyone. “I have a hypothetical question for you.”
“Hypothetical, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Can a person do bad things but still be a good person?” Sam placed the remaining glasses over the stakes in the upper rack of the dishwasher.
He finished, and his mother closed the door. “What kind of things?”
“Um…kill people.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Kill people? That’s pretty extreme.”
“Yeah, but can they still be a good person?”
“Soldiers have to kill people in wars. Police sometimes have to kill people in the line of duty. So yeah, I’m pretty sure they can be.”
“What if they weren’t in a war or any kind of cop?”
“So, just anyone.”
“Yeah.”
“People have to kill in self-defense.”
“This isn’t self-defense either.”
“You mean like a serial killer?”
“No, no, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” She propped a hip on the counter.
Sam rubbed the edge of the counter with his thumb. “Let’s just say, a person has to kill people because they don’t follow the rules. That the people they kill are destructive.”
“What do you mean by destructive?”
This was a bad idea. Sam shook his head. “Never mind. It was a stupid question.”
“A hypothetical question.” His mom folded her arms.
“Yeah. It was in a book I was reading.”
She frowned. “How about you not read books like that.”
Sam went back to smiling. “I’ve been reading books like that since middle school.”
“Yeah, where?”
“History class.”
His mom flicked some water on Sam, and he held up the towel. “Hey, no fair, I don’t have ammo.”
“Go ahead and go to bed. I want to get the girls to school a little early tomorrow so I can stop by your school.”
And talk to the principal. This was not gonna be good, but Sam arguing was a lost cause. He shoved himself off the counter. He was almost at the stairs when his mother said, “Tape is in the hall closet. White basket, middle shelf.”
“What do I need tape for?”
She came around the corner. “For that lovely piece of art Katie made you.”
Yvette entered her hotel room, and her cell phone rang. “What do you want now, Patrick?”
“It is time to come home.”
“What?”
“It is over. Pack your things and come home.”
She laughed. “What are you talking about? I’m just getting started.”
“I got a call.”
“From who?”
“Do I really need to say? Who else?”
“About?”
“Ben Corbin is under Sicarii House protection now.”
Yvette laid her keys next to a bouquet of lilies sitting on the cherrywood desk. “This changes nothing.”
“You cannot touch him.”
“Marcel can’t give Ben protection. I read the Laws.” And they were specific; those who belonged to a House could give out no more than two marks in their lifetime. It was a safety net to prevent any chance of a coup. Not that Yvette had ever heard of it happening with the Sicarii. But others, yes. It had happened often.
“Then you did not read all the Law. Two marks in the lifetime of the House member and the natural lifetime of his companion.”
Yvette stopped by the mirror and checked her makeup. A glass of wine. She needed a glass of wine. “Alexander carried Marcel’s mark. And now his new whore wears it too. Any marks given after that—” She took a wine glass from the rack and set it on the black stretch of marble counter going around the bar. “—are inconsequential.”
“And Alexander’s life was cut short.”
“So?”
“Not just cut short. He was murdered. And Marcel did not reclaim his mark despite the affair.”
“And your point?”
“Natural lifetime, Yvette. Alexander did not die a natural death.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I told you. Nothing good comes with making war with a House. Any House. Especially not Sicarii.”
Yvette took a bottle of wine from the wine cabinet. She left it sitting on the bar next to her glass. Natural lifetime. That was absurd. “He cannot give two marks to anyone at the same time.”
“He can, Yvette. And he has.”
“No. You’re wrong.”
“Ben Corbin’s name was added to the list. He is untouchable by any of us. And if you do anything that’s seen as an attempt to antagonize him, you will face the Justices.”
“Goddamn it. No. No.” She spat the words from behind clenched teeth. “I read those laws, I know the rules.”
“You read what you wanted to read.”
“No. They just do what they want. They slither and slide and bend the Laws whenever it suits them.” She clenched her fists so tight her nails threatened to cut her palm. They were wrong, they had to be wrong. Otherwise she couldn’t even kill the people around Ben. Make him suffer for refusing to kill Marcel.
“Yvette, even if that is how they interpret the Laws, then that is their right. A Justice from each House made those laws. There’s no arguing it.”
Patrick was right. Yvette knew, and she hated it. She’d been so careful, so very, very careful. Sending a man who was the offspring of two Houses to kill a man from one meant Marcel would die one way or another. Killing Ben would sentence him to death. Not killing him would give Ben a chance to pull the trigger. But Yvette had wagered on Marcel. There was no way the man would not slit Ben’s throat. Gun or no gun. He would have done what he was made to do. The only thing he could do. But for some reason, he didn’t and instead put his mark on Ben’s hand.
It made no sense.
“There is a way,” Yvette said. “And I will find it.”
“Please, sister, please leave this alone.”
“I will not!” Her voice echoed through the room and against the high ceilings. “I will not just let him win. He cannot win.”
“There is nothing to win.”
“There is our pride, our family’s honor.”
“And those mean nothing if you are dead. Even if you kill Marcel, little sister, his House will rain blood down on all of us.”
A few families had tried in the past. Their extinction made it clear it would not be tolerated. “If this goes wrong, you will be disowned.” Not cast out, but excommunicated by her own flesh and blood. It was almost enough to make her agree to come home. Family was everything. They were meant to take care of each other.
Wh
at about Ivan? He’d killed the man who dishonored his wife and his House, and his blood turned their backs. He didn’t deserve that. If they’d stood up for him, Marcel would have at least been punished for his crimes.
The hotel room, with its beautiful white sofa, floor to ceiling windows, bear rug in front of the fireplace, was a lot like home. But no amount of pretty things, expensive art, or fine foods could erase the fact the halls were empty of Ivan’s presence.
“Goodbye, Patrick.”
“Yvette! Yvette do—”
She hung up.
How did Marcel stand to even look at Ben? He would be a constant reminder of Alexander’s betrayal and, ultimately, his death. Where was the hate, the anger? Any other member of any House would have cut Ben down on sight.
There had to be a way to force Marcel’s hand. If she could force him to make the first move, to attack outside the Laws or without permission from his House, she would have him. He had a weakness. She just had to find it. Find it, exploit it, and use it to destroy him.
The more Yvette thought, the surer she became. She would have Marcel’s head. One way or another, she would see that worthless dog dead.
Ben couldn’t sleep.
The thoughts churning in his mind, the fears of what was to come, ate at him. Worse were the thoughts about having sex with a man and how the idea left his cheeks hot, his muscles tight, and his dick hard.
A man who’d had sex with Ben’s father. Something Ben hadn’t given much thought until Marcel confirmed what Yvette said.
If anything should have killed the heat in Ben’s blood it was that. But it didn’t.
Ben attributed it to the fact he’d never known Alexander. He’d never even seen a photo of him. He was as much a stranger to Ben as Marcel.
Still, the way Ben reacted to Marcel made no sense. Not only was Marcel a mangled old man, he’d humiliated Ben. Yet Ben had been aroused, aching, and the need to come could not be denied. Only his anger, his shame, kept his hand off his cock. Too bad it wasn’t as easy to stop his body from reacting to the memory.
Even though Ben couldn’t sleep, it was nine before he rolled out of bed and dressed, with the intent of going to the liquor store. He didn’t normally drink. But he had a feeling he’d need a few if Marcel called him.
He was on his way to his car when someone said his name.
Two men walked in his direction. One with more gray hair than black, the other with the beginning of crow’s feet around his eyes. The older man barely came to Ben’s shoulder, the other was taller than Jacob.
They didn’t carry themselves like well-paid bodyguards, so they weren’t Yvette’s men. Ben was sure of it. But the instinct to run clawed at his chest.
“You’re Ben Corbin, right?”
“Yeah.”
The older of the two took out his wallet and flashed a badge. “I’m Detective Stacy, and this is Detective Oppenheimer. We’re with the Daltonville Sheriff department and would like to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“You know a girl named Shelly Clemons?”
Ben’s hand shook. He clenched his keys. “Yeah, she used to be my girlfriend.”
“Used to be.” Detective Stacy smirked.
“We broke up.”
“You aware she was on her way to see you?”
“She called me.”
“You two meet up for lunch, argue, maybe?”
Ben fumbled with his keys. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“Don’t know. Is there a reason you think you might need one?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Oppenheimer rested a hand on his hip. The movement pushed back his jacket and flashed the holster under his arm.
Ben opened the car door.
Oppenheimer shoved it closed. “I’d like you to come down to the station with us. Have some coffee. Talk.”
Yeah, his tone said anything but “talk.”
“I don’t have time right now.” Ben pulled at the door handle. Stacey put a hand on Ben’s arm, and he jerked away. It was an automatic reaction, but both cops descended on Ben, and he was shoved into the side of the car. His keys hit the ground.
“I’m sorry. You just startled me.”
“Yeah, well, I’m about to startle you more. Ben Corbin, you’re under arrest for assaulting an officer. And when the judge gets done signing the warrant, Shelly Clemons’s murder.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Ben’s arms were forced to his back. Cold metal closed over his wrists. He tried to turn, and Oppenheimer took Ben by the collar of his shirt and threw him against the car. Just as fast, he was yanked around. His hip caught the front of a truck as he was shoved forward. Then Oppenheimer had Ben again and steered him toward a black car. It was just an Impala, but the sight of it tossed up memories of Yvette and the sleek black Lexus she’d ridden in. Ben dug his heels into the asphalt. He was promptly dragged forward and slammed into the hood. His breath escaped, and a bell tolled in his ears. He didn’t remember hitting his head, but a dull ache rose up near his hairline.
“You do that again, and I’ll knock your teeth out.” Oppenheimer yanked Ben to his feet and manhandled him into the back of the car.
“I didn’t…” Ben tried to sit up. Everything spun. “I didn’t kill her.”
Stacy flicked him a cold look in the rearview.
“I didn’t. I swear.” He slumped. There would be no convincing them or anyone. One way or another, Yvette had already won.
Dead now or later in prison, it didn’t matter.
Ben clenched his eyes shut, willing back the tears.
The worst of it all, part of him thought he deserved the blame. That spending the rest of his life in a concrete box would be a sliver of justice for his stupidity and cowardice.
Ben didn’t open his eyes until the car stopped, and the engine cut off. Doors opened. A draft ran over him. Then Oppenheimer’s vice grip had Ben by the arm, dragging him out.
In this area of town, the buildings were close together, divided into clusters by narrow streets. Neat grass squares cut into the wide brick walkway gave refuge to large oak trees. A few newer buildings backed up against a few of the older ones.
It seemed impossible five miles down the road were modern shopping malls and subdivisions. As if two time periods had somehow collided in the middle of nowhere.
Oppenheimer steered Ben toward a two-story ugly red brick building. A few uniforms milled in and out of the double doors with men and women in suits. The quality, a direct reflection of the kind of pay a court-appointed attorney received.
Ben climbed the steps hoping he didn’t stumble and give Oppenheimer a reason to make good on his threat. Stacy opened the door, and Ben was guided through an ocean of desks to a hall in the back.
Detective Stacy indicated a steel door with a wave of his hand. “This way.” He opened the door. A hard shove to Ben’s shoulder sent him stumbling inside. Two chairs, a table, and enough room to walk around it without hitting the wall, but barely.
“Go ahead, have a seat,” Stacy said.
Ben lowered himself into the metal chair.
“Oppenheimer, take off his cuffs; we’re just here to talk. I don’t think Mr. Corbin is stupid enough to try anything.”
Not stupid enough and too scared too. Oppenheimer undid the cuffs. Ben rubbed his wrists and left his hands in his lap.
“Why don’t you go get us something to drink. I don’t want Mr. Corbin’s throat to get dry while he visits with us.”
Oppenheimer left, and Detective Stacy sat on the end of the table. His short legs barely got his ass over the edge.
“So how long have you and Shelly Clemmons been together?”
“Four, five months, maybe.”
“You two serious?”
According to Shelly, they’d been. “We dated, that’s all.”
Stacy sat straighter. “You know, most people don’t talk about the recently deceased in the past tense.”
“We quit dating over two weeks ago. So it’s past tense.”
“Oh. Shame. She say why she wanted to break up?”
“I broke up with her.” Ben didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh.
“Oh? How come? I saw her picture; she was a real pretty lady.”
“Looks aren’t everything.” And sometimes you had no idea what you really thought was attractive until it was in front of you. Like Jacob. All male, and yet Ben couldn’t get him out of his head.
“And how did she take that, you know the breakup?”
“She wasn’t happy, but…she just wasn’t happy.”
“Is that why she came to see you?”
Ben almost looked up.
“Maybe you two got in an argument? Things got out of hand. I know what it can be like to break up with a girl who doesn’t wanna break up. They can fight mean. Like to throw things.”
“I broke up with her over the phone. There was no fight.”
“I see.”
Ben scrubbed his hands on his thighs. They were sweaty before he could fold them back in his lap.
“What made you change your mind about the breakup?”
“Huh?”
“Or did you just want another roll in the sheets? Is that why you asked her to meet with you?”
“I didn’t…I didn’t ask her to meet with me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Your cell phone records disagree with you.”
Shivers ran down Ben’s spine.
“You know, I’ve been married three times. After a woman gets to know you, she can read you. Push your buttons. Piss you off with a look. So, I get it. I’d be lying if I said I’d never fantasized about pushing one of my exes into traffic when things got rough.” Stacy leaned closer. “You want to talk about it? Tell me what happened with your girlfriend.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Well, something obviously did. She’s dead.”
Ben winced.
“You got any input on that?”
“No.”
“Well, maybe you should think a little harder.”
“I told you. I didn’t kill her. What else do you want me to say?”
“Okay, then you know of anyone else who’d have a reason to?” He tilted his head in an obvious attempt to make Ben look at him.
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