Marry Screw Kill(65)

Chapter Twenty-Six


Sin



I walk down a long corridor toward James’ office. The white sterile walls and gleaming floors speak to the spotless reputation of this hospital—world-renowned. The physicians and staff are the crème de la crème, because they can type “The Clinic” on their resumes.

But behind the shiny fa?ade lurks a cancer—a man who preys on the weak instead of healing them. Who shows sympathy to families while yielding no mercy to those he supposedly loves. Thankfully, his tangled web of deceit ends today.

I pass a few white coats scurrying to their next patient or appointment. A few people nod at me, even though I look out of place in my dark jeans and leather jacket. A couple nurses give me more than a quick glance, but no one asks who I am or what I’m doing here. Maybe it’s the I-dare-you smirk on my face, or the stride of a man on a mission. Both keep me untouchable until I stand before James’ door.

A couple deep breaths and it’s show time. I knock hard and wait for a response. I hear a muffled, “Come in,” and turn the doorknob. I control this meeting—or, more like confrontation.

I called him. I set the time and place. I am in the driver’s seat, and boy, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

The lights are off. After my eyes adjust to the darkness with only a little light coming from a blind-covered window, I see my uncle leaning against his desk. He’s sitting on the edge with one foot still on the ground, like he’s ready to stand at any given second.

“So, let’s get this over with,” James drones, holding an icepack to his jaw where I hit him at the lake. I don’t feel even the slightest twinge of remorse. He deserved that punch and maybe another one or two on top of it.

“Sit down,” he commands, and steam rises from my forehead. How dare he boss me around? The f*cking *.

“I don’t think so. You’re the one who needs to sit down and shut up.” I move to stand in front of him with my arms crossed over my chest. I note his shoulders slumping as he rounds the desk and takes a seat in his chair. He is the exact opposite of the man who sat across from me in his home office where he reigned as King James. Before me sits a man on the edge of defeat.

“Okay.” His voice still has too much bravado in it. He’s not ready to surrender yet. “Tell me what you know.”

“For the second time. Shut. Up.” I want to cuss his damn head off or threaten to clock him again, but anger isn’t going to do anything but make me look weak when I have the strongest hand in the room. From the slight touch of fear I see in his eyes and the worry lines appearing on his face, he knows I do too.

James tosses the icepack on his desk and throws up his hands. The bump on his jaw, already a black bruise, will be hard for him to explain, but it’s not my problem.

“I’m all ears,” he huffs.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way. All ears and no lip.” I pace in front of his desk for a few seconds while he watches and waits. Stews in expectation. Marinates in worry.

I want him nervous. I want complete control. I’m probably taking too much pleasure in this escapade, but he abused someone dear to me and he’s going to pay.

“Let me begin with a little story.” I stop in front of James as he sits at his desk. He pushes his chair back and rolls his eyes. Still the cocky bastard.

“Stories are for children,” James spouts.

“Like you. So button it.” I place my palms flat on the desk and lean over like a dark, menacing towering. His smirk just melts into a frown.

“Once upon a time, I went to boarding school and became best friends with the heir of an American safe empire.” James’ eyes grow slightly wider as he processes what I say. “His family is interconnected throughout this country with locksmiths and retail safe companies.”

James pushes himself to a stand and matches my position. I pull away, stand tall, and stuff my hands in my pocket, preparing for an onslaught as James’ face turns red and the veins on his forehead pop. He’s furious.

“What the f*ck? You broke into my safe? I should call the cops.” He pounds a fist on the desk and I brush what might be some of his spit off my sleeve. How dare he?

I pick up the receiver from his desk phone and try to hand it to him. “Be my guest. I’ll even dial for you.”

Instead of taking the phone, he plops down in his chair, defeat written all over his face.

“I didn’t think so.” I place the receiver back in its cradle with a loud click.

“Okay. I’m listening.” He exhales the words as the fight seems to leave him. Creases and lines on his face that I missed before stand out boldly. He looks years older in mere seconds.

“To continue my story, documents were faxed to an attorney in New York City. They will remain with that attorney if you follow three simple rules. There will be no arguing or negotiating. I have the backing of your mother behind me, too.”

I called Nina on the walk over to The Clinic. We discussed what was in the best interest of Harlow and The Clinic. Not to mention, other women who will cross James’ path in the future. His fate is sealed.

“My mother? You called Nina?” I look directly into his tired blue eyes and nod.

James lowers his head and his shoulders sag. He knows the gig is up. He has been exposed. For some reason, it took the mention of his mother for all of this to sink in. Perhaps he views me as the meddling nephew, but Nina … she’s the hand that rocked his cradle. Maybe deep inside that boy still exists and needs the approval of his mother. Who knows what goes on in his twisted mind.