A Gorgeous Villain (St. Mary's Rebels 2)

Right.

So I work for my dad. The thing I never wanted to do. I have been working with him at his company, Jackson Builders, for the past two years now. I was in New York up until now, handling things up there because that’s where I was needed. My father’s words, not mine.

But now he’s called me back and I’m supposed to obey him.

And I have.

I’m back, aren’t I?

Even though I’m sure that this big move back was just a way for him to show his power over me.

“Anything else?” I ask, wanting to get out of this suffocating, four-hundred-square-foot and yet claustrophobic office as soon as I can.

But he won’t let me go so easily.

He knows how much I hate it here and he’ll make me take it.

He’s going to make me suffer.

“Yes." On his desk, there’s a file that he slides toward me. “I’ve got a job for you. Your first job here in Bardstown.”

A job, of course.

A violent sort of energy flashes through my body at his words.

It’s nothing new though, this violence in me. It’s been brewing for the past two years, ever since I started working for him. Ever since he forced me to work for him and made me his lapdog.

“And what does this job entail?” I ask.

“The usual. There’s a piece of land that I want. But the owner is being difficult.”

"So, we’re going to make things more difficult for him, then?”

“Of course.” My father smiles. “We’re going to increase the pressure until he cracks.”

It’s not a miracle that my father owns everything in this town and it’s not all hard, honest work either. He likes to bend the rules, fuck with people and their lives as long as he gets what he wants.

Like screwing with their bank accounts so they can’t pay their mortgage. And when they can’t, the bank gets involved. That’s when my father steps up and offers to pay off the debt in exchange for the land.

I have first-hand knowledge about that.

About his business dealings.

About how he fucks with someone’s life. That’s how he got me actually. By fucking up someone else’s life.

I go over to the desk and pick up the file. I recognize the name on it, Henderson. He owns a bookstore in town, I think.

I went to school with Mr. Henderson’s son, Martin Henderson. He was a good kid.

I know it’s not going to make a difference but still, like an idiot, I speak up, “I went to school with his kid.”

My father chuckles. “So?”

“So you want me to destroy someone I know.”

So far I’ve only fucked with people I haven’t known. I try not to think about it too much. But this is new. This is fucking new and I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.

“For business only.”

“Yeah because that makes everything so much easier, isn’t it?”

This time I’ve amused him so much that his chuckle turns into laughter and I fist my hands and tighten my muscles again.

Damn it.

His laughter really strangles me to death.

“You’re so easily offended, aren’t you?” he says once his laughter is under control. “Yes. It does.”

“Why can’t someone else handle it?”

“Because I want you to handle it.”

“I think I’m going to have to pass.”

That pisses him off, my refusal.

“Are you sure you want to say no to me?” he asks. “You know how upset I get when I hear that word.”

“Apparently not enough to have a heart attack or something.”

His nostrils flare and all the charm and all the ease that he portrays to his investors at his parties slips even further. He goes from being a posh businessman to just a man from the wrong side of the tracks who managed to own everything that he ever set his eyes on, either by hook or crook.

“You remember what happened last time when you said no to me, don’t you?”

I do.

I do remember it.

“Yeah, last time when I said no to you, you blackmailed me into working for you.”

His eyes narrow. “And whose fault is that? I let you run around, do whatever the fuck you wanted while growing up. You wanted to be a little shithead who hated his daddy, fine. But you don’t fuck with me when I ask you nicely. I asked you to quit soccer, forget about the championship game, that fucking scholarship — like you even needed a scholarship when your father’s loaded — and come work for me. But you didn’t listen. So I had to show you who was boss.”

“And you’re the boss, aren’t you? Always.”

“Yes. Because I always win,” he declares, his features morphing into something harsh, villainous. “I always get what I want. So instead of being an ungrateful son of a bitch, try showing some gratitude that I’m leaving you this company. That I’m going to teach you how to fucking run it, because I’m not letting you ruin my life’s work. And I’m not leaving it in the hands of someone as incompetent as you.”