Your Loss by Layla Simon

CHAPTER FOUR

LOCK

I’m standing,staring into my drink and trying to ignore the vocal barbs from my cousin Patrick, ten years my senior, when George reappears at my elbow. Half her makeup appears to be missing, but it’s not disastrous. Her complexion is so smooth and clear, she doesn’t need it, but I miss the smeared lipstick.

On the other hand, it made her look so fuckable it might have proved too great a temptation to sweep her upstairs and introduce her to my bedroom, and there are hours of torture to go before I can get away with doing that.

As I push the thought away, I sling an arm around her shoulder, position my head next to hers, and take a selfie.

Her phone might have been confiscated at the door, but I’ve still got mine. She’s here tonight to remind Kari that there are options in the world, even if our parents seem hellbent on denying them.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Patrick asks, eyes sweeping her from head to toe, licking his lips like she’s about to be served as the feast.

“No.”

“Don’t worry,” Patrick says, taking George’s hand and kissing it while his gaze rests on me, checking to see how annoyed I get. I try to shield any emotion but the amount I’ve had to drink works against me as I scowl.

A scowl that grows as he teases her about the fumble with her name. “My preferred name is Montgomery Archibald Wallace the third, but Menzies insists everyone call me Patrick.”

“Only the third is accurate and your preferred name is arsehole,” I growl, taking her hand and tugging her away. “Come on. There’s people to meet.”

“Doesn’t Patrick count as people?”

I pause us in front of a display cabinet to take another selfie, not yet posting. As always, I’ll need to scour the images before uploading them, ensuring no details relevant to the family business are in sight. “He’s family, and he’s further down the line of succession than me, so no. The only family you need to concern yourself with are my parents and you’ve already met the more important half of them.”

Patrick sends her an amused glance as I whirl her away so fast that if she didn’t follow, she’d fall, tugged off her feet by my firm grip.

“You said someone would drive me home, afterward,” she says when we draw to a stop.

Despite my intentions to introduce her, I realise there’s no one in this room I care enough about to do that. At least not before I get another scotch into me. “Yeah. You’re not leaving for a while yet.”

“No, I didn’t… I just…”

George bites the inside of her cheek, dimpling it in until it could serve as the illustration for uncertainty. “When you said about how you evaluated…”

I wait for her to finish but the sentence just hangs there as she runs out of steam. As I watch, the tips of her ears turn bright red and I want to flip open her head to see what she’s thinking.

Maybe I can tell. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, then get wrenched away. Then again. Again. All the while her colour deepens, showcasing the dark pink against the shining green of her dress.

Beautiful. She’s not just fuckable, she’s beautiful.

Either that or my new set of beer goggles have arrived. Wine and whiskey goggles to be more accurate.

“You’ll get home in time for school. That was our agreement, yeah? Don’t worry.” I signal to a passing waiter for a refill, who in turn gestures towards a bartender in the corner. “What d’you want to drink?”

“Nothing if I’m driving again later.”

“They know how to mix non-alcoholic beverages, too. Just ask them for a virgin, whatever.”

A new flash of colour hits her cheekbones and I chuckle, wondering if the label applies to her as well.

“Does everyone in your family drink this much?” she asks, a question that might have sounded innocent in her head but leaves her mouth dressed as the Spanish inquisition.

If I took my lead from other people, I might even interpret it as a signal to slow down.

“Could you get my date an orange juice?” I ask the waiter in a saccharine tone. “Or… would you like to splash out and have water?”

“Water, please,” she tells the man. “With bubbles if you have it.”

“Good lord. You think we’re rich enough to have fizzy water?”

“Lock!”

I jump at the excited squeal and spin us both to face my mother. Her crimson dress is far too formfitting for the occasion—no surprises there—and her sun-kissed brown hair is tied back in a ridiculously complicated style that must have cost her hours in a hairdresser’s chair.

“No need to act surprised, mother. Who else were you expecting?”

She comes in for a hug and I hold up my phone to ward her off, taking another set of selfies, this time on burst mode. While my mother clears her throat and pretends I didn’t just reject her, I scroll through the half-dozen results. George looks up at me adoringly in the last two. They’ll be perfect to annoy Kari.

Strange too, because when I glance at my date now, her expression is accusatory, not a trace of adoration to be seen. It’s only when I put my phone away that she softens.

Mum ignores my behaviour as usual, nodding excitedly at George. “Nice to meet you, darling. Lockie never brings any of his friends home.”

“She’s not a friend. She’s my date.”

“But surely you were friends first. And you must know Kari, too. Yes?”

I snigger into my almost-empty tumbler. “Real subtle, Mum.”

“We know each other from school,” George says with a wide smile, just as I instructed. Good girl. “You have a lovely home. Is that a real painting I saw earlier? The one with the—”

“You must sit next to me at dinner,” my mother interrupts, though she mightn’t have been paying close enough attention to know that’s what she’s doing. “I’m always interested in meeting more of Lock’s friends.”

“Date,” I correct again.

“Oh, hush. And what number drink is that? Your father won’t be happy you’re slurring your words this early in the evening.”

In response, I tip the rest of the glass down my throat and signal for another. The waiter brings it along with George’s water.

“Such a sensible girl,” Mum says in an approving tone. “You should follow her lead.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Her eyes turn brittle. “Tonight is work, Lockie. Not fun. Try to remember that.” She turns to the waiter. “Water only from here on out,” she instructs while he looks less than happy to be caught in a tug-of-war between us. “Anyone disobeying can hand back their uniform and see themselves out.”

She stalks off, turning heads as she does so. My mother’s never had a problem drawing the male gaze. More’s the pity.

We continue to circulate around the party, occasionally getting trapped by some blowhard keen to share their life story in all its boring detail. George handles it a lot better than I do. When we’re on our second circuit, I pay more attention to her than the other attendees.

A low gong sounds for dinner and I hold back as the guests flock through to the dining room, waiting until most everyone’s seated before I escort George through to our table. We’re with my parents, Patrick, a grey-haired man whose name isn’t supplied but who Dad must be trying to impress, and Kari’s parents, Soren and Imelda Abercrombie.

My mother holds out a chair and I switch positions with George to take it, amused when Mum’s lips twist in annoyance. Serves her right for cutting me off. I realise my mistake a moment too late as I turn to see Patrick sitting at the foot of the table, opposite my father at the head. Not only is that the position I should take but now he’s got free rein to talk to George.

I nod to the Abercrombies, seated opposite. Soren’s eyes are stony as they turn my way. His wife isn’t quite so upset, or at least isn’t so obvious, but neither of them acknowledge George.

Dad’s special guest is seated on his right, my mother on his left. The only welcoming face for my date to talk to is Patrick, and that’s not going to happen.

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper to her when she smiles at him. “You can talk to me, or you can talk to yourself. No one else.”

She turns those wide eyes to me again and I reach out to grab her chin, tilting her head towards the light, memorising their colour. There are flashes of lime, darkest green, and playful flecks of teal.

There’s also an overdose of anxiety until I release her, watching her expression turn grateful as the servers dish up the meal.

The worry makes a reappearance as she stares at the small plate of food. Can’t blame her. I don’t know what it’s meant to be either. The cook must have been reading up on molecular gastronomy again.

After a few bites and a visible effort to swallow, she pretty much leaves it alone, turning to me instead. “What subjects are you studying in school?”

I lean a possessive arm along the back of her chair, raising my lip at Patrick when he looks far too entertained for my liking. “English, general science, art—”

“You like art?”

Her voice is as eager as a puppy. As eager as when she exclaimed over the decorative pieces I don’t notice any longer. “I like how easy it is.” I sit back, abandoning my attempt at the meal, too. “Anything subjective can be influenced. It’s far simpler to buy a passing grade in art than achieve one myself in maths.”

Not that I achieve anything in any of my classes. My weeks are a mess of students sending me completed essays and handing off notes. Anything to get the passing grades I need to stay right where I am. My father’s unbearable as it is; he’d become truly insufferable if I couldn’t keep my place in Kingswood.

“Right.” She stares at the plate of food in front of her, picking up her fork to poke at it again with no enthusiasm. I take it out of her hand so she’ll realise it’s okay not to eat it. Our staff don’t care whether we’re polite. “I didn’t realise it was a transaction.”

That startles me into an amused snort. “It isn’t for you.”

“And which university will you buy your way into?”

The words might be a dig, but her tone is light, so I respond more to that. “Why? Do you think I should have a preference?”

“For you?” She wrinkles her nose. “A performing arts college? You look good enough to be an actor.”

The compliment takes me by surprise. “Oh, I agree. There’s nothing quite like a drama degree to set you up for success in life.”

“It sure does.”

We pause as the servers change over the food. The main course isn’t met with any more enthusiasm than the last, at least from our table. At the four others dotted about the room, people are far more complimentary. They have to be. Half of them are trusted lieutenants employed by my dad and the other half are on the way into his favour or sliding out of it.

Once you get past the immediate family level, the pecking order gets fairly aggressive. Last year, after my father hosted a similar party, three of the guests later killed each other in a round robin of desperation, trying to upgrade their place.

George spears a piece of food that colour suggests will be a carrot and texture suggests will be jelly. One bite and she struggles to get it down, so I guess it tastes like neither.

Her attention returns to me. “Your performance tonight has been quite entertaining.”

“This isn’t the performance.” I drop my voice lower and move until my lips are almost pressed against her ear. “I’m saving that for the afterparty.” When she shivers, I take an aggressive sip of my water, taking delight in her sudden discomfort. “Want to put in some requests?”

Servers gather around the table, switching out the mains for tiny plates of some meringue-based dessert.

My date is suddenly tongue-tied, adjusting her bra.

“You’re going to uni?” When she nods, I tease, “And what fabulously useful degree are you going to study?”

“Accounting.”

I blink in surprise. If I’d had to guess it would have been art or music or photography or something equally creative. “You have a burning desire to type numbers into boxes?”

“And reconcile invoices. You forgot the best part.” She adjusts her bra again without thinking, her attention still focused on our conversation.

The repeated gesture makes me frown. “Did Tandi pick out the wrong size?”

George shakes her head, wariness lurking behind a strained smile.

“If you want someone to feel you up, I’m willing. You don’t have to resort to self-satisfaction.”

She jerks her hand down to her side again, fingers curling into fists. “I was just…”

“What do you have tucked in there? Another phone?” I lean across, slipping my fingers into the deep neckline of her dress, then sliding them inside the bra cup farthest from me. She closes her eyes, jaw clenching. Her nipple hardens against my wandering fingers. “Everything feels okay to me,” I say with a grin as I withdraw. “But if you ever want a free breast check, I’m game.”

“Can you keep your hands off your date’s tits?” my father snarls, clearly losing whatever small pinch of patience he has left with me. “It’s bad enough you bring a complete stranger along to a family event, now you’re going to grope her in front of us, too?”

My gaze lazily travels to meet his and I incline my head a fraction, hearing the ice crack beneath my feet. “I’m not sure we’re taking requests just yet, but I’ll think about it.”

He stands, leaning forward and glaring at me. “The study. Now.” He throws his napkin on the table and storms away, not checking to see if I follow.

“Lockie, be care—”

I shove my chair back, ignoring my mother’s plea. The same old anger that’s been bubbling beneath the surface since he made me take my place here sends up a geyser of fiery rage.

This stupid dinner is nothing but a showcase of the ins versus the outs, designed to impress the stranger to his right. The man he didn’t bother to introduce to me even though I’m meant to be second in line.

Another spurt of fury erupts as I think of Kari. Sure, we’re not in love, sometimes I don’t think we even like each other. But I’ve been playing the game as hard I can, not making waves, pretending that we’re a genuine couple.

Where the fuck does she get off cancelling on me?

We’re meant to be in it together. That’s the only thing that makes any of it bearable.

I glance back at the table to see everyone’s gone back to their conversations. Only George stares after us, her forehead wrinkled in concern. Not for herself but for me.

When I read the emotion in her face it warms me, filling me far more than the disastrous meal. She offers a tentative smile and I walk back a few steps, stopping beside the maid tasked with keeping her in her sights.

“Show George to my room when she’s finished with her dessert. Leave her alone in there, you can go off duty after.”

She gives a tight nod and I lengthen my stride, taking three steps at a time up the staircase to catch up with my father. When he opens the study door, I’m right behind him. I walk into the room first while he slams the door, catching me by the shoulder and swinging me flat against the wall.

We’re the same height but we’re not evenly matched. I still have a few vaguely human impulses whereas the man who sired me feels nothing at all.

Except the thrill of the chase, the lust for power, the satisfaction of being top of the heap.

“I’d start with how your behaviour isn’t acceptable, but I guess you know that already, otherwise you wouldn’t subject us to this appalling display.”

“Don’t look at me. You should have a word in Soren’s ear about keeping his daughter in line.”

My father’s hand slams onto the wall next to my head. Palm only but I flinch, giving him even more advantage than he had already.

“If you want pointers on how to keep Kari under your thumb, I’m happy to help.” His eyes glitter like polished onyx, their darkness absorbing everything. “Didn’t our session breaking-in the last girl give you any pointers?”

Bile rushes into my mouth, my soul drowning in the memories I try so hard to keep at bay. The screams, the cries, the pleas. All of it underpinning the fear that one day I won’t even hear them, I won’t care. Just another cookie cutter copy of my father, my humanity stripped away.

It’s a struggle to keep my gaze level with his. I swallow but it does nothing to throttle back my rage, the lingering pulse of despair that this man is in my life. Not only in it, but guiding it, controlling it, hoovering up what should be some of my best days, leaving nothing but worthless scraps.

I joined a powerful family and outside these walls, that means something. Within its confines, I’m nothing. Completely powerless. At the dictate of this man and his whims.

If I’d known eighteen months ago, this was my fate, I would never have done my deal with the devil. I thought the money and power equalled freedom and by the time I understood the truth, it was too late.

My emotion isn’t hidden well enough because he smiles. The only traces of joy he experiences always taken at my expense.

“I’d offer to tame Kari myself, but I think Soren might draw the line.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Really. So, her non-attendance tonight was a mutual decision, was it?”

“I found a better offer.”

He pushes away from the wall, retreating behind a large kauri desk, stained so dark it looks burned. I sag forward, breathing through the rage, trying to keep it pinned back so it won’t explode out in all directions, leaving me vulnerable to his next attack.

“You’ve had a lot of leeway this past year while you settle in but from now on, I think it’s best to keep you on a tighter leash.” He picks up a silver letter opener, the blade dull but the tip sharp, and stabs it into the corner of the desk blotter. “Your judgement seems to be sorely lacking.”

The way he looks at me, it’s like he expects an answer, but my mind must be too dulled by booze to track the question. I stare at him with a blank expression while he stabs the opener into his desk blotter, again and again, until I swear I can feel the pinpricks along my back.

Then he gives a nod, finding whatever answer he sought somewhere in my appearance.

“To put a stop to this nonsense before it can escalate, I’m sending you to a training camp. It’s for guards but I’m sure the lessons will come in handy in other walks of life.”

I frown. “What camp?”

“Over in Europe. I’ll send you details when I confirm your placement.”

My lungs are suddenly far too shallow. “You’re sending me to Europe because my date cancelled last minute?”

“Don’t worry. You can finish out the school year as planned, then you and Kari will marry before you head overseas. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the six months apart as much as you will.”

My head spins from more than the copious amounts of alcohol I’ve poured on it tonight. A camp. It’ll be full of men just like my father. Given the spark in his eye, I guess by the time I emerge at the end, I’ll be like him, too.

More than I am already.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Before I can trust you to take over the business, you need a better head on your shoulders.”

“You told me I’d shadow you once I finished this year.”

“Really? Because a few minutes ago you seemed interested in pursuing a career in the performing arts.”

My teeth clench so hard there’s an ache deep in my gums. “It was some stupid fucking small talk.”

“You need to step up and take some responsibility. From the start, I was clear this wouldn’t be fun and games. I need someone with serious ambition to take over from me, otherwise, everything I’ve worked for will be lost. I won’t allow that to happen.”

“Pity you got rid of the competition then, isn’t it?”

I expect him to explode at the reference to his dead son. We don’t mention Sean any more than we refer to his late wife, Natasha.

But he taps his finger on the handle, plucking the blade from the pad only to stab it in again, expression unchanging. “There’s still Patrick spare. Remember that the next time you think it’s a good idea to invite a total stranger into my home.”

“She’s a pretty girl not an assassin.”

“She’s a desperate girl. Anyone could see that from a mile away. Desperate people do desperate things.”

I give a derisive snort and shake my head, something I probably wouldn’t do if my blood alcohol level was roadworthy. “George is a mouse.”

“A mouse who gave you a false name. What was in her bra?”

“Her left tit.”

“But you still had to go on an exploratory mission to find that out.”

I push away from the wall, striding to the desk and glaring across it at my father. “Tandi got her new underwear. She’s not used to it, that’s all.”

“Right.” His gaze is steady as it meets mine, not betraying the slightest emotion. He could give the Botox ladies a run for their money. “If this was a private date, and you wanted to parade the girl around, fuck her to teach Kari a lesson, I wouldn’t care. Hurt them both as much as you want.”

“Gee, thanks for your permission.”

He slams his palm on the desk then holds his forefinger and thumb a millimetre apart. “Thin fucking ice, Lachlan.”

I continue to glare, then drop my eyes, already exhausted. If I’d known what it would be like living with the man, I never would have accepted his offer. Much as I can’t stand Patrick, he deserves a medal for putting up with Dad’s shit for so much longer than me.

“You were well aware of your obligations before you slotted into this role.”

Just like a caring father to call being his son, ‘a role.’ I give a vague grunt of agreement.

“Nobody hid anything from you and it’s too late to change the arrangements now. Our businesses have been intertwined in the expectation of an alliance between our families. Fuck whoever you want on the side but be discreet for Christ’s sake. If Kari’s dad gets the hump with you, the deal’s off and I think you know what’ll happen if you lose me the multitude of millions it’ll cost to pull out of this arrangement. If you ever, ever, bring a girl besides Kari into this house again, into any event, family or business, Menzies will dispose of her the minute she walks through the door. Are we clear?”

I nod but it’s not enough for him.

“Are we clear?”

“Yes, we’re clear.”

“Have your fun tonight but if you want to be safe, kill her once you’re done.” I stare at him, hatred pulsing through my veins as a wistful smile twists his face. “Or do it during. It’s a rush you can’t get anywhere else.” He stares into space for a second, then snaps his attention back to me. “If you do, text Menzies to clean up. He’ll have a man ready for you.”

“I’m not going to murder my date. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He fists the front of my shirt, dragging me across the desk while he grabs the letter opener with his other hand, pressing the tip against my neck. “Don’t speak to me that way.”

“No, sir,” I mock. “Sorry, sir.”

The blade moves in time with the pulse of my artery. Half of me is drunk enough to wish he’d do it. I tilt my head to the side to increase the pressure against the blade.

Dad lets go of my shirt and slaps me across the cheek, then grabs my chin. “That’s too easy, Lock. I didn’t claim you as my son only to lose an heir again so soon.” He removes the opener, tucking it away in a drawer, only for show after all. “Now, why don’t you go enjoy your new friend for the two of us.”

My teeth grind together as I pull away, tugging at my cuffs and smoothing my hair back. When I have my hand on the doorknob, he clears his throat and I look back to him. “Yes?”

“If you do kill her, don’t fuck it up, okay? Menzies has enough on his plate.”