A Legacy of Sorrow (A Violent Agenda)

Lorcan

Istroll in like I own the fucking place.

In a way, I do. One day it will all be mine. Joseph will name me as successor. He has to. That’s the only reason I put up with his bullshit…to an extent. Saskia scowls as soon as she sees me. I know her well enough to see it lurking behind her eyes, hiding her real emotions behind a mask of contempt.

She’s afraid.

Ignoring the shy smile of the new PA, I take the seat next to my sister waiting to see our own adoptive fucking parent in the main sitting room of our ten bedroom ski chalet in St Moritz. I fucking hate these things—our annual family fucking retreat, one of many legal stipulations required for us to earn our inheritance. I flew in a week ago, staying with friends in another part of the valley, so Saskia isn’t doing this alone. This isnt how I want to be spending my Saturday night but needs fucking must.

“Mr Duke is still with his therapist. He apologises for the delay,” says Joseph’s PA. She’s young, fresh out of school. Just how Joseph likes them.

“Thank you”—I glance at her name tag on her jacket—“Beth.” Then I meet her gaze. Her eyes brighten, cheeks reddening at my sudden attention. I lick my lips and she turns practically crimson, squirming in her tight gray pencil skirt.

Yep. He’s already fucked her.

Dirty bastard.

Next to me, Saskia snorts.

I turn away, letting Beth see the disinterest show in my face. I’m not interested in Joseph’s sloppy seconds. After a few moments she leaves, face awash with embarrassment.

“You’re just as bad as he is.” Saskia huffs.

“I’m nothing like he is,” I say, keeping my tone languid.

Her comment pisses me off more than I care to admit. Maybe if we were blood, I could accept that some part of my DNA would one day turn me into a Joseph clone. But we are in no way related and that fucking suits me fine.

My phone buzzes. It’s a message from Jude.

She’s gone.

How? I planted the fucking tracker myself. I immediately send him a message back.

What do you mean, gone? Find her.

His reply comes seconds later.

I mean, she’s fucking disappeared. Nah, mate. I’m going home.

I don’t get time to reply. Through the open archway, the door to Joseph’s office opens, and his therapist walks out—a girl as old as Saskia dressed in a white clinician’s uniform. Her hair is slightly askew and her white shirt is buttoned up wrong.

My sister hisses under her breath. Beth, eyes no longer shining, cheeks freshly powdered, comes back into the reception room clearing her throat.

“Okay. Mr Duke will see you now,” she says.

Saskia pales but doesn’t move. I reach over and take her hand, giving it a squeeze. Her skin is clammy and she almost jumps out of her seat at my touch.

“Come on, Sassy.” I say. “I’ve got you.”

Saskia nods, barely hearing me as she gets to her feet, smoothing her skirt with the hand that’s not gripping mine so hard the whites of her knuckles show.

I guide my sister into our adoptive fathers office, schooling my face into a blank mask. Saskia stays behind, keeping me between her and Joseph like the physical barrier of having me there will protect her from his evil.

Of course, it will.

The other reason Joseph doesn’t come to the house anymore—I’m old enough to break something if I hit him back and he fucking knows it.

He won’t dare touch her with me there.