One Dirty Night - Page 141

I should’ve just killed myself when I had the chance.

The world would be a better place if I’d put myself down like the feral dog I was.

I should’ve just done myself a favour instead of being weak and reaching out to my half-brother. A sibling I hadn’t even known existed until my mother told me on her deathbed four months ago. I’d thought my father was a deadbeat who’d knocked her up then left her with nothing and no one.

Turned out, my origins were far, far worse.

“Looks deep, man.” Rolland grabbed my wrist and inspected my wound. My skin crawled where he touched me, but I kept a perfectly schooled grimace on my face. It would not help my case if he learned how many murdering fantasies I’d had since entering this nightclub with him.

He was lucky I hadn’t grabbed the velvet rope stands of the queue outside and bludgeoned him around the head. Incredibly lucky I hadn’t shoved a microphone down his throat from the awful DJ singing or smashed a bottle of expensive Johnnie Walker and stabbed his jugular with the remains.

My nostrils flared as his fingers tightened around me then fell away.

Keep it together, asshole.

I only had one chance at this.

One.

If I succeeded in doing what my half-brother demanded of me, I would have a family for the first time in my godforsaken life. But if I failed…that family I wanted so desperately would slit me from ear to ear and bury me in an unmarked grave. Probably with my heart torn out and cock ripped off, just like he’d promised.

“Ah, merde, he’s here. Mop up that massacre.” Rolland chuckled nervously, sending his baguette and chocolate éclair-loving guts jiggling. “Then again, he might like it. Perhaps the Master Jeweler swings both ways and will make you bleed tonight instead of some poor girl.”

I kept my lips plastered into a grin instead of reaching for the glass shards on the ground and driving them into his eyes. For a man who indulged in sexual appetites as much as he, I wasn’t sure how Rolland hadn’t burned off the layer of fat he carried.

He’d be such easy prey.

If everything went well, I would eventually have the pleasure of killing him.

Unless my half-brother killed me first.

Pressing the serviette a little harder against the still oozing cut, I looked up to where his watery blue eyes had focused. I’d befriended Rolland Olivan the Third thanks to my half-brother informing me he was one of the last remaining bastards who dared dabble in forced pleasure in France.

My older bro had done a particularly good job of exterminating most of them but there was the odd one that kept sprouting up like weeds, infected with the same curse I had. The same plague that was passed on by my father.

“Don’t make me regret this, Henri.” Rolland hastily smoothed down his custom-made navy suit. The expensive material shimmered under the crystal ball twinkling above, painting him with wealth, even if his eyes remained that of a thief. A thief who stole lives for his own pleasure.

“How would I make you regret this?” I growled, stuffing the bloody serviette into my black suit pocket and ensuring my dull bronze tie was perfectly smooth. My gold cufflinks sparkled, making my heart thud.

The simple birdcage emblems seemed to shout who I truly was. That I was descended from the Mercer line and in cahoots with the infamous Q.

The cufflinks had been his idea.

Not because he’d wanted to welcome me to his family but because he didn’t trust me.

The tracking device no doubt told him exactly where I was right now and where I’d end up if tonight was a success.

Supposed I should be grateful.

If tonight went well, I doubted I’d be in France much longer. If it all went to shit, perhaps Q could use the cufflinks to find and save me. Then again, he’d probably conclude I’d lost myself in the cesspit of sin and come to kill me instead.

“Remember what we talked about?” Rolland asked, looking me up and down with a critical sneer. “You like gemstones. You enjoy taking raw stones and breaking them apart to show the priceless rock within. Tell him how much you enjoy smashing those jewels and—”

“You expect me to speak in code all night?” I turned to face him, balling my hands and wincing at the fresh pain on my palm. The pain was good. Helped me focus. The pain was bad. Made me lose control. “Pretty sure he won’t care if I speak plainly.” I swallowed the sour taint on my tongue and let the beast within me wake. “I think he’d appreciate my honesty if I say how much I crave their screams. How I can’t sleep at night, picturing how skin bruises and bleeds. How I have dreams of helpless conquests all begging me to stop. And I bet he’d welcome me with open arms if I confess that the moment they start to struggle, I get hard as a fucking rock and—”

“It sounds as if you’re listing my own fetishes, which is rather shocking, seeing as I’ve never met you before.”

I froze.