Lorcan
I’m fucking livid. I’m going to kill him. Fucking Dante. There wasn’t any love lost between me and Joseph, so I don’t give a fuck about what happened. But I told Viola not to go. I had a bad feeling. I just knew some shit was about to go down. I just fucking knew it!
Saskia is waiting for me outside her friend’s house when I arrive. She calmly walks over the cobbled pathway in her ridiculously high heels, and climbs into the Bugatti as I open the passenger door. She’s wearing more make-up than she usually does, covering her eyes with a large pair of Chanel sunglasses.
She takes them off. Her eyes are puffy, red. “I’ve been fake crying thinking of Marmaduke all fucking morning. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Your dead pony? Really?” Marmaduke died when Saskia was seven.
She glares at me. “I still miss him.”
I fill Saskia in on complications given that this will now be a murder investigation. She has an alibi, I have one but it’s fucking sketchy. Who the fuck’s going to believe I wanted to spend an evening with a room full of drunk girls, a bunch of male strippers, and table full of chocolate covered dildos. But there’s nothing we can do about that now.
We drive in silence until Saskia decides to put classical FM on. Chopin blasting out of the fucking speakers at 6.a.m. in the morning does nothing for my foul mood. This Dante problem has gone on long enough. He needs to be stopped.
If Viola won’t do it, I fucking will.
A horn beeps loudly as a car flies past my bonnet.
I slam on the breaks.
Almost immediately, Saskia sucks in a breath and clutches the leather seat, digging her fucking nails in.
Fucking hell. I almost ran a red light.
“Stop gripping the fucking seat, you’ll damage it,” I say to my sister.
She shoots me a feral look. “Then drive properly, you almost got us killed.”
I glare back, but say nothing. She’s right. My head isn’t on the road. I drive for a few more minutes, focusing on getting us to the station in one piece. But my thoughts won’t stop trying to fill the void inside my head. They keep spinning back to V. She changes her name as often as her victims, but V is constant.
Am I really going to call her that?
It rolls off the tongue, and reminds me of Venus. The goddess of sex, love and beauty. How fucking apt. Especially the sex. Images of Viola in nothing but her lacy white panties, enticing me with her fuck me eyes and lips, flash through my head.
My cock throbs and all too easily, I’m fucking hard again.
Christ, I’m screwed.
I have never been this obsessed with a girl before. What the hell is wrong with me?
“What if they want to question us when we get there.” Saskia’s voice cuts into my pathetic internal chatter like a knife.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “They won’t.” I say.
“But what if they do?”
“Then we say nothing and get our lawyers to do what they’re fucking paid to do.”
“Did you speak to them about the will yet?”
“No, I’m waiting for the appropriate time. We’re on our way to identify the dead body of our adoptive father so now probably isn’t the best.”
Sas huffs, sucking air between her teeth. “What if Joseph changed it already?” She means the will.
“He didn’t,” I say. Lights in my rear view mirror from another car coming up behind blind me appear out of nowhere.
“How do you know,” Saskia persists oblivious to the fucker burning holes my retinas. The guy is right up my fucking rear.