The Monster

by Shen, L. J.

  “Since when did I sign up for Mother pimping me like I was a low-grade call girl in need of petty cash?” Cillian drawled in his usual, monotone voice, sidestepping away from the crowd surrounding him.

  I turned to look at him, scowling. “You need to take some of the workload off of me. I’m the one she manages twenty-four-seven.”

  “Your choice,” Cillian pointed out dryly.

  “Speaking of fat checks…” a slow grin spread over Hunter’s chiseled face “…the Devil himself just entered the ballroom, and he brought an expensive-looking date.”

  All heads snapped to the entrance, mine included, just in time to see Samuel Brennan waltzing in through the double doors with a tall, leggy brunette. The two doormen bowed to them. Sam wore an impeccably tailored tux, and the woman had a deep green, low-cut satin gown that made her eyes pop from across the room.

  She was obviously a model.

  And I was obviously—desperately jealous.

  “And he brought a replica of our sister, no less,” Hunter muttered, squeezing his water bottle until it sloshed over his hands comically, spilling all over his shoes. Cillian remained silent, his eyes narrowing on Sam.

  A man I didn’t know stepped in between us, gesturing to Sam with his champagne flute.

  “They say he killed his first victim at thirteen. Under the guidance of his adoptive father, Troy Brennan. I worked at the DA’s office at the time. Read the postmortem report. The damage he inflicted was frightening. You know, we never found the bullet he used.”

  That was because Sam kept all of them.

  “He is my brother-in-law,” Hunter said through gritted teeth. “So unless you wish to share a fate with that poor corpse, I suggest you take a hike.”

  “Oh …” The man visibly recoiled, wincing. “I had no idea. My apologies.”

  My eyes didn’t waver from Sam and his date, not even for a second. I clutched my drink to my chest, watching them move together, arms linked, her hand placed on his forearm. As if sensing my gaze, Sam spun and turned in our direction sharply, heading toward us. My heart was in my throat, and something hot stirred inside my stomach.

  In all the times he taunted and provoked me over the years, and especially the last weeks, he’d never thrown other women in my face before.

  This was an escalation. A new step in our screwed-up game.

  He knew I’d be here.

  Knew I’d helped Mother organize this charity event.

  This was a blunt incitement.

  Designed to get a rise out of me.

  To show me how much he didn’t care.

  Sam and the woman stopped in front of us.

  “Saw Congressman Weismann heading out just now…” Sam jerked a thumb behind his shoulder, speaking to my brothers and them alone “…your mother must’ve pulled some strings to get him to show his face here after the undocumented housekeeper scandal.”

  “I understand that you have the manners of a soiled diaper, but in cultured society, it is expected to introduce your date to your friends, which is what you will do now,” Cillian bit out icily, his eyes gliding from Sam to his date. There was no approval in them. My brother only had eyes for his wife, no matter how many beautiful women had thrown themselves at his feet. But I could tell he was unnerved by how alike me and the woman in front of us were.

  Hell, she could sense it, too. We both eyed each other curiously as if looking through a distorted mirror.

  “Getting a little touchy, Kill.” Sam looked mildly entertained. “It’s just a woman. They make over fifty percent of the world’s population, last I checked. Is Persephone failing in her duties to keep you entertained?”

  The woman shifted on her heels awkwardly, obviously not appreciating being spoken about like mystery meat in a dodgy deli sandwich. Despite everything, I felt bad for her. She was a prop, and she deserved more than whatever Sam had in store for her.

  “This is Becca…” Sam gestured toward her, without looking at her, like a salesman exhibiting a flashy car “…Becca, this is Cillian, the CEO of Royal Pipelines, and Hunter, my brother-in-law and the head of the PR department of the company. And this is Aisling …” He jerked his chin in my direction offhandedly, the way you would the family dog. All eyes snapped to me. “She is their younger sibling, of undisclosed occupation. I’m sure it is something interesting, but I never mustered enough interest to find out.”

  “Aisling is a doctor,” Cillian snapped.

  “And I’m Marie Antoinette.” Sam bowed theatrically. “Fancy some cake?”

  “The first time you acknowledge my sister, and you talk to her like she is trash.” Hunter frowned, getting heated. “Now I remember why none of us wanted you anywhere near her.”

  “Hello. I’m right here!” I waved my hand in the air, trying to seem unfazed. “No need to fight my battles for me. Also, I think it’s time to use your right to remain silent, Brennan.” I bared my teeth, rage humming beneath my skin. “Nothing that comes out of your mouth is worth listening to anyway.”

  He directed his gray eyes at me, and they sparkled with open delight. The first time I’d seen him happy since Halloween. Since we shared a sordid night together.

  “Is it shark week for the entire Fitzpatrick clan? I hear women who live together get their period at the same time.”

  “I suspect you lost all rights to make blood jokes with your track record, Sam.” I arched an eyebrow in his direction.

  He threw his head back, full-blown laughing now.

  “Touché, Nix.”

  Hunter dropped his water bottle. Cillian choked on his whiskey. Everything stopped, my heart included.

  “Nix?” both my brothers asked in unison.

  For the first time since Sam walked in, I forced myself to cool my jets, interested to see how he was going to get out of it. Becca octopused her arms around Sam possessively, the realization that she stepped into something bigger than her trickling into her system.

  I smiled coolly.

  “Oh, do tell them the story of how I got my nickname, Sam. It’s a good one.”

  The carnival.

  The kiss.

  The confessions.

  You’re a monster and I’m a monster. We’re both demons, looking for our next pound of flesh.

  A platinum bullet could kill a Nix, but no, you gave me gold. You want me alive, Brennan. Well and capable of fighting back.

  Becca clutched tighter onto Sam’s arm, treating him as a human life preserver, not knowing his job was to make people drown. She had not spoken a word since she entered the ballroom, and I knew it wasn’t accidental. He must’ve told her to keep her mouth shut.

  Sam’s silver eyes flashed with malice. “You sure you want me to tell them?”

  “Now’s not the time to act chivalrous,” Cillian snapped. “Aisling and you have never exchanged as much as a sentence, yet you have a nickname for her? You’re going to have to give me an explanation, seeing as I pay you extra not to touch my sister.”

  A ball formed in my throat, and I knew if I opened my mouth, I would scream.

  How dare my brothers interfere with my love life?

  How dare they dictate who I could and couldn’t see?

  And how pathetic was I that Cillian had no trouble at all saying this right in front of me?

  I was Aisling. Sweet, angelic Aisling. The doctor. The nurturer. The good one.

  Becca looked agonizingly embarrassed as the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. She took a step sideways, away from Sam. He didn’t even notice.

  Sam turned to look at Hunter and Cillian, his expression grave.

  “It was the first time I saw your sister. At dinner when Sailor and Hunter started living together.” Uh-huh. Already, he was lying. That wasn’t the first time we’d met. “I excused myself to go to the bathroom just as she got out of it. Her dress was stuffed inside her underwear from behind, her ass and legs on full display. I told her that she needed to untuck her dress. She cried in horror and said, ‘
Oh, no, my knickers!’ She explained to me that underwear are called knickers in British English. Since then, I call her Nix, because she is a goofball who can’t dress properly. Isn’t that right, Nix?” He winked, flicking my nose like some protective big brother.

  I felt close to nuclear explosion.

  Frustrated.

  Humiliated.

  Fuming.

  Sam stared at me, waiting for me to call him out on his bullshit.

  “Since when do you date?” Hunter changed the topic, obviously unamused by Sam’s story.

  “Since I changed my mind about marriage.”

  “You changed your mind about marriage?” Cillian sneered at him, skepticism all but leaking from his cold gaze. My older brother played with the golden band of his wedding ring as he spoke. “Riveting. I clearly remember you giving me a one-hour speech about the merits of staying single shortly before I married Persephone. Should I bill you for my lost time?”

  “People change.” Sam’s eyes turned into slits. “You should know that better than anyone.”

  “People, yes. Monsters, no.”

  “So is Becca the one?” Hunter goaded, and I wanted to throw up all of a sudden. Because Sam was exactly the kind of psychopath to marry someone else just to spite me. I wouldn’t put it past him. Buy into the idea that he could be happy with a replica of me and forget about the real thing.

  Sam looked down at Becca, tugging her close.

  “I hope so,” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss to her mouth. “She has everything I look for in a woman. Beautiful, well-educated, and honest. Bonus points: her family is not a complete mess.”

  Jealousy made way to anger, and I groaned, turning my back to Sam and Becca, looking directly at Hunter and Cillian.

  “Anyway, I delivered the message Mother sent me here for. Do with it what you will. Enjoy your evening.”

  With that, I stormed off. I could faintly hear my brothers calling Sam a jackass behind my back, which only served to make me feel worse. Like a charity case. A silly, naïve girl incapable of standing up for herself in front of the big bad wolf.

  I never felt a part of them anyway. Cillian, Hunter, and Sam had their own friendship going, and Persephone and Sailor were a part of it because they were a part of my brothers. Emmabelle and I were always pushed aside, associated but not initiated into their pseudo-secret society.

  I spent the rest of the night being the perfect daughter to my mother. I listened to stale jokes, laughed, clutched my pearls whenever was appropriate during longwinded, boring stories, took pictures with donors, and even introduced my mother onstage when it was time for her to deliver her speech.

  No one dared to ask where Gerald Fitzpatrick was. Not even one soul. The unspoken assumption was that my parents were going through something, as they always did, and most guests thought nothing of it. This was simply the way Jane and Gerald Fitzpatrick were.

  One piece of expensive jewelry and a vacation away from reconciliation.

  Throughout the night, I refused to steal glances at Sam and Becca, no matter how hot the temptation burned in me.

  It was unlike him to stick around for more than ten minutes at a charity event.

  It was even more unlike him to show up with a date.

  It was obvious this was designed to torture me, and I refused to give him the pleasure of agreeing to be tortured.

  Finally, when the clock hit midnight, I told my mother I was heading home.

  “I have an early shift tomorrow. I’ll catch up with you in the morning. It was a lovely event.” I kissed her cold cheek, heading to the cloakroom to grab my coat, clutching the wrinkled ticket to hand the clerk in exchange for my Armani jacket. When I reached the elaborate oak counter, it was empty.

  The door behind was closed.

  Merde.

  I looked around, trying to find an available staff member to help me out. When none were found, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I wasn’t going to stick around, waiting to be cornered by Sam and Becca, like a sitting duck. I rounded the counter and flung the door to the cloakroom open, taking a step inside.

  I came to a halt immediately.

  “Oh my gosh!” I heard a screech. It came from Becca’s mouth. The first time I’d heard her voice. Shrill and nasally. I blinked away my shock, letting the scene in front of me register.

  Becca was splayed across a mountain of coats and blazers, her dress pushed up her thighs—much like mine was that cursed Halloween night—with Sam standing a few feet from her, a hand on his zipper. The heat around my eyes signaled tears were on their way, and I forced myself to swallow the bile rising in my throat.

  You are twenty-seven years old. Don’t you dare cry.

  “My, my. You give tacky a whole new meaning, don’t you, Mr. Brennan.” I pinched my lips, fixing my eyes on Sam, careful to keep Becca’s name out of my mouth. No matter how much I despised her by association, it wasn’t her fault. “You know, Samuel, that’s what separates the nouveau riche from true aristocrats. Your impartialness to knockoffs. Couldn’t get your hands on the real thing, so you decided to settle for a replica.” I smiled sweetly.

  I was angry and sad and feverish with the emotions crawling inside me.

  I opened my purse and took a condom out of it—I always kept one handy for when Belle ran out and decided to end the night with someone when we went out—and flung it on the floor in Sam’s general direction.

  “Did you tell her you hate women? That you don’t want children? How much you loathe yourself? Did she see your apartment? Your inside? All your dirty secrets?” I was still smiling, but my heart felt like it was soaked in my own blood. I had only a few more precious seconds before they started falling. Becca’s mouth hung open in fascination and horror.

  I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess not. A word to the wise…” I turned in her direction “…run, don’t walk. He is trouble and not the tamable kind. He will use you, play you, and discard you. That’s the only thing he knows how to do. Because that’s what was done to him.”

  I spun on my heels and ran back to the ballroom, trying to find a place where I could cry alone. Break down and let it all out. I headed straight to one of the balconies. I could see from behind the glass doors they were all empty. No one was crazy enough to sit outside on the cusp of Christmas in Boston. Not willingly, anyway. I flung open the door and ran to the stone bannister, clutching it as I gasped, the fresh, cold air rushing into my lungs like ice water.

  I heaved, letting out a feral growl that echoed inside my body.

  I loved him and I hated him and I loathed him and I craved him.

  One thing was for sure—I was close to quitting him.

  He wanted me to let go, to turn my back on him, to forget, to leave him just like every other woman in his life. Every woman other than Sparrow. And I was close to giving him exactly what he was after.

  I collapsed against the wide bannister, pressing my forehead against its coolness, trying to regulate my breath as I closed my eyes.

  Breathe, mon cheri. He is just a man. A bad one at that, I heard her voice.

  I didn’t know how much time I’d stayed there, but when I finally turned around to leave, I saw him.

  He blocked the doorway, standing there alone, his broad shoulders shielding the party’s view from me and vice versa.

  “Are you done?” He sounded bored.

  I didn’t answer. I had to remind myself this man was about to have sex with another woman only moments ago. Maybe he went ahead and did it anyway.

  “Step aside,” I said quietly. “I want to leave.”

  “You’re very prone to dramatics, know that, Nix?” He ignored my words completely, ambling toward me. He stopped when we were close, too close, and gently tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I am used to women who are rougher around the edges. Sparrow. Sailor. Even Cat. They have masculine strength about them. They refuse to be pushed around and never shed a tear.”

  “Crying doesn’t make you weak,” I said
, sniffing and turning away from him. “It just means you’re in touch with your emotions.”

  He cocked a brow.

  “I didn’t say you were weak. But you are a complex little thing, and I never know if I get the ball-busting version of you or the docile one who trails behind her mother like a toddler.”

  “Thank you for the psychological assessment. Did you enjoy your rendezvous with your date?”

  He tilted his head sideways, studying me intently. “What’s with the French words? Why not say hookup like the rest of modern civilization?”

  I shrugged. “My governess was French. It stuck with me.”

  “You had a governess,” he said, not as a question. Rather, he mulled the information over, filing it somewhere in his head. “Well, as it happens, I didn’t enjoy Becca at all because you scared the living shit out of her. This is now the second fuck you’ve cost me, Nix.”

  “Nix like knickers, right?” I rolled my eyes, fresh anger coursing through my veins.

  He grinned, looking like he was in a fantastic mood, which made me hate him even more.

  He pushed another wisp of my hair behind my ear. “I had to think on my feet.”

  “I think I should go.” I turned to make a beeline back into the ballroom, but he stepped in the same direction, blocking my path.

  “No.”

  “Sam, you have a date waiting inside.”

  “She left. I called her an Uber.”

  “You still brought her here. That’s the point.” I took a step back, avoiding his touch at all costs. “You still paraded her. Flaunted her. Kissed her in the cloakroom.”

  “I didn’t kiss her,” he growled, his mouth twisting in annoyance.

  “But when I came in you were—”

  “I skipped that part,” he quipped. “The kissing part. I wanted you to get the general picture.”

  “Well…” I smiled sadly “…I got it, all right. Mission accomplished. I now know you will go to extreme lengths to push me away. We have such a frightening ability to get under each other’s skin in the worst, most terrible way. I think I’m finally done with you.”