Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
But I need to keep this in check.
He’s sinful.
Gorgeous.
Deadly.
Chapter 4
Devereaux
* * *
“You can’t blame yourself,” my sister Greer says. “It’s not your fault.”
It’s hard to take her seriously when she’s whipping around her state-of-the-art kitchen wearing an apron that reads “A woman’s place is in the courtroom.” Her attempt at lawyer humor. But I know it’s a reminder to herself of what she’s accomplished. I may have helped her out with a few of the long-standing student loans, but she’s worked her ass off to make a name for herself.
“How can I not?” The murders are the only thing on my mind. It’s the sole thing on anyone’s mind in this city. But no one has to answer for it like I do.
I pick up a flute of mimosa, staring at the orange liquid in the glass, dumbfounded. “Why do you serve these for brunch?”
She moves around the marble-topped kitchen island and takes the glass from me. “Not everyone who comes here for Sunday brunch is an ogre like you. I’m trying to class it up a bit.” She takes a swallow of the beverage.
I laugh. “Yes, they are.”
Every Sunday, Greer cooks a meal fit for kings, but all she gets is me and the Thorne twins in attendance at her spacious mansion downtown. I know she wishes she had some ladies to invite, but Greer’s been so busy with law school, and then studying for the bar, that she doesn’t have many friends.
And we’re not dating anyone to bring along with us. I don’t date. Ever. Can’t remember the last time I even enjoyed a woman. When I started Club Greed many years ago, I’d get laid every night by different women, and at first, it was every bachelor’s fantasy. But it grew tiresome. An easy lay held no interest anymore. I guess you can say the hunt was no longer adventurous to me. In fact, it kind of became a chore.
I like it better this way; relationships are overrated. I keep my inner circle small. Only Roman, Ledger, and Greer.
As if on cue, they both stroll into the house. Although they’re twins, they’re opposites in personality and looks. Ledger’s calm and quiet, prefers listening to talking. He rarely ventures out of his core circle of friends to meet anyone new. Roman, on the other hand, loves the sound of his own voice. He’s a charmer, and women flock to him in droves. He wants us to call him Romeo, but we stopped calling him that after high school.
Ledger’s never been a playboy, not much of a hunter. He’s a lot like me. Minimalistic. He’s got on blue-jeans and a plain-black t-shirt.
Roman’s dressed up in black slacks and a Robert Graham button-down shirt. The ones that have the loud cuff that he rolls up to show it off. The look fits him. While his shirt is white with thin-blue stripes, the cuffs are loud blue with brown paisley designs.
Roman saunters into the kitchen with a bouquet of yellow daisies in his hand. Kiss ass. I swear he can charm the panties off any lady within a five-mile radius. He still enjoys the hunt. Except he’s not dumb enough to look twice at my little sister. He knows I’d murder him if he ever tried anything.
I guess “murder” isn’t the best word to use right now, considering everything that’s going on.
Once more, my mood turns somber at the thought of losing three employees over the past few weeks.
I watch as Roman and Ledger greet Greer before she hands them each a tall, thin glass of fruity mimosa. They both keep quiet as they turn their noses up at the drink. Ledger stares at the drink like it’s about to sprout two heads and fly away. Greer doesn’t notice, however, because she’s busying herself with putting Roman’s fresh flowers in a vase.
My thoughts are all over the place today, unable to focus on any one thing for more than a few moments. I feel like an outsider looking in, always returning to the fallen girls from the club.
“I figured we’d do alfresco dining. It’s such a lovely day,” Greer says like she’s Martha fucking Stewart. Her long brown hair falls down past her shoulders. She’s very elegant, and she even dresses like how you think a lawyer would dress on her days away from the office. She’s wearing a gray pencil skirt and white blouse, while I’m wearing black jeans and a Henley t-shirt.
I nod, grabbing a glass to pour a heavy hand of bourbon into. It’s never too early in the day for bourbon. And these days, it’s not just a preferred brunch beverage. It’s medicinal.
“Have the cops questioned you yet?” Ledger asks, breaking the silence.
“Barely.”
“Do they have any leads?” Roman asks.
I shake my head, taking a swallow of bourbon.
“Cops are always slow on the take. I bet we could figure out who’s behind this whole thing before they even finish their donuts and coffee,” Ledger says.