This entire month has been gloomy, save for today. Sunlight streams down into the wood-paneled kitchen, ostracizing the shadows, as I scrutinize my butler for any sign that he’s lying.
With brows lifted and looking bewildered, he stammers, “My dear cousin, Martha? Very well, thank you, Sir.”
“Come off it, Burt!” Tingles crawl over my ashen knuckles.
“Well, she waschuffed to bitsabout a new chap, Bartholomew. They met at the opera, Victor. All right?”
“No, I’m not all right.” I let out an explosive breath.Fuck, have I lost it?Luxury Whitson pervades every hour of my day, my night. “Overton has yet to initiate his vow of vengeance against myhome. Are—”
“Security has increased at your Arlington estate. Shall we visit it? Appraise the updates?”
“No. I trust your judgment.” I place my palms onto the countertop and take a seat. “I’m on edge. That old fucker has taken on a tactical approach.”And I’m bloody delighted.
“Ah, Old Overton,” Burt sighs. “I’ve heard of the chap. Saint Nick to the little ones, their mums, and the religious; a devil to everyone else. The brute never himself accountable when we were young. Victor, you may have very well poked a man as,” Burt pauses, “harmoniousas you.”
“That I have.”
“I’ll grab the Scotch.”
While Burt retrieves two glass tumblers, I wriggle my jaw. “He’s appealed to the Queen. Apparently, though, hisstruggleswere futile. Although, our monarch did stroke his wounded ego with an offer of more of my money—irrespective of the businesses’ current worth. I paid for the land, cleared his debt. Why are we calling him Old Overton? Should be Cuckoo Overton. I bloody cannot conjure an “O” synonym.”
“Off with hishead Overton?”
“That’ll do.” My eyes flicker to the glass, only a fourth full. “Do not insult me.”
Burt offers another copious pour then proceeds to grant himself the same.
“The lad refused the money?”
“No, no, no.” I tip the entire drink back. “Overton rebuffed my dear grandmummy,hisQueen. He’s not a greedy man; he’s prideful.Off with his head, heh.”
“Should we exterminate him, sir?”
“No. He will strike, Burt the Butler. I can wait since I have no deviant diversions. He’s mydiversion, a worthy avocation indeed.”
“But if he harms the estate?”
If Overton obliterated any of my other properties, I’d say off with the lad’s head. If he places one fingertip on my Arlington home, he will wish he had never been born.
“You’re mindful of the consequences. Everyone in charge of keeping my home safe dies. Overton, well, he dies a million deaths, Burt the Butler.”
Another round of amber liquid splashes into our glass tumblers. “Shall I find a new organization, another outlet, if you will? Oh, I recall, while it took Monica eons to vet X-Member, I had presented another—”
“No, I cannot take on any missions that require my presence in other locations or remove my focus from—”Luxury.“Overton. Or Bobby George ringing me. Furthermore, the circumstances are different than they were a decade ago,” I say, losing myself in thought.
At age twenty-seven, I was an apathetic bloke.
I consigned myself to the assassination platform as a means to feel something. And I did, in the moment that it took me to kill. The situation was far removed from hunting as a child with my father, Silas. Under that wanka’s charge, either I pull the trigger, or Silas would pull the trigger on me.
Nevertheless, my first X-Member mission, I didn’t go in as the sharpshooter my father taught me to be. No, I craved the adrenaline rushing through my veins—the unadulterated freedom.
The recklessness of it all.
The targeted bastard lived in London. Burt had been outraged when I chose to take the assignment. However, I’d no reason to care.
Incur the wrath of my Queen. I didn’t bloody give a fuck.
Die? If my target got the best of me, that labeled me a dead cunt. Nothing more.