Page 126 of Vicious Butterfly
Personally, I think my brother wanted to come here. Why? Who the fuck knows, and I don’t care enough to talk about it. He wouldn’t have wanted to come alone, though, so what a perfect excuse to drag me here.
“So, tell me about this Ryan that’s captured your heart,” Clarence says. This fucker. Trying to be casual, but I can feel the needles through the air. The only one between the three of usthat hoped I’d married for love is Luke. Clarence knows better, but Luke doesn’t know that he does.
I give my patented fake smile while promising him death with my eyes. “My heart has nothing to do with the will, Clarence.”
“That’s true,” he says. “I guess I just hoped for a love story.”
Is that how he thinks he’ll bait me? He was there the whole time Jasper tortured me. He knows I was taught better than that.
“I looked him up,” Clarence says. Goosebumps wave over my skin, making the hairs on my arms stand up. Fuck me. That was Clarence’s warm-up. There is a way to bait me, and that’s where he’s going. I work to pull my mask to the surface, attempting to affect a ray of sunshine. How does McKinnon do it? “He’s handsome.”
Sucking in a slow breath, I smile harder, so hard my face might break. “Yes.”
Clarence gets up, pouring himself a scotch, in no hurry to settle the will. Luke crosses his arms, looking from me to Clarence, trying to sus out what’s going on.
“Is it a marriage of convenience then?” he asks, taking a sip.
Luke clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Clarence. What does this have to do with anything? Love wasn’t a requirement … was it?”
Clarence doesn’t answer for a heartbeat or two. Then he shoves a hand in his pocket, taking another sip. My throat burns as if I’m the one drinking the scotch. Finally, he shakes his head. “No, but I couldn’t help thinking that he’s attractive.”
A little seed, burning with possessiveness, breaks open inside me, sprouting the thinnest tendrils of rage. I don’t want anyone saying shit like that about Ryan, to my face. Especially not Clarence.
“He is,” I agree.
“You’re going to have to keep them away from your husband with a stick. Unless … do you have an open arrangement, since it’s not real?”
My fingers flex and extend. I know what he’s doing. Trying to pull a reaction from me. I hate that it’s fucking working. Gritting my teeth, setting my jaw tight, I take another slow inhale to prevent my face from giving anything away, but the energy in the room has shifted. The cool drift of danger creeps over everything, a silent war.
And unfortunately, he can sense that I’m one carefully placed word away from snapping. If he says one more thing that implies Ryan is anything other than mine, I’ll drag him out of here by his mouth, snapping his jaw in the process, then rip his leg off and beat him to death with it.
Luke laughs, breaking the tension. If anyone looks closely enough, they’ll see the danger fog rolling out of here. “Tate let his husband see other people? That’s fucking hilarious, Clarence. Don’t you remember that doll he had? One time I touched it by accident. Almost lost my hand. He was six.”
Fucking, well-meaning Luke. Giving me away. But I guess it’s not really a secret that I’m possessive of my things. Clarence is the last person I want to know just how possessive I am of my husband.
“Is Ryan your new doll, Tate?” Clarence says.
My mask falls, muscles tightening and coiling with unspent fury. My jaw ticks involuntarily. Well, that’s just great. I’m losing control of my damn body. My fucking favorite.
“No.”
Yes.
Luke frowns. He might not know what’s going on, but he can sense that he’s fucked up. “I don’t mean to be rude, Clarence, but could we move away from this topic? Preferably to finish with the legal business. I have a man of my own to get back to.”
Clarence downs the rest of his scotch. “Certainly, Luke. And apologies. My manners seem to have gotten away from me. Tate was always a little different.”
He sets his glass down, moving on, but I don’t. I come up with all the best ways to make him scream, so that my hands don’t wrap around his throat.
The box lies open on the desk, each of the contents out and lined up on Uncle Jasper’s desk. I stare at them, waiting for Luke to return with whatever old-timey thing he found for McKinnon. God, McKinnon’s weird. Ryan would never. Or would he? Does he want a souvenir?
Maybe if he knew where you were, but he doesn’t.
Right, I didn’t tell him. I don’t speak to him.
Unless he’s showing his dick off in the locker room.
Fuck. I slam my fist down. The items jump. One of them almost rattles off the desk.
