His mouth opens and closes, his lips trembling. I throw him back into his chair and pace the length of his office. I will fucking kill him with my bare hands if I don’t get a handle on my temper, and even I couldn’t get myself off a murder charge with a half-dozen witnesses outside.
I dampen my rage and adrenaline with cooling lungfuls of air. And when I can look at him without tearing his head off, I sit down in front of his desk. He eyes me warily, his twitching fingers wrapped tightly around the arms of his chair.
I glare at his smug, entitled face and wonder how the fuck a good man like Luke Edison raised a piece-of-shit son like this one. “You know the people I work with, right, Bryce?”
He nods, his eyes wide and skin paler than chalk.
“You must also know that I could make someone as insignificant and pathetic as you disappear and not get my hands the slightest bit dirty. I’ve done it before.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Yes.”
I lean forward, placing my hands on his desk and glaring at him. “But for you, Bryce, I would gladly get my hands dirty.”
He darts his eyes around the room like he’s hoping someone might burst in and rescue him.
“If you ever touch a hair on her head again, I will make you my exception. There is nowhere you can run that I won’t find you. And I will find you, Bryce, and I will crush every bone in your body to dust.”
He stares at me, opening and closing his mouth like he’s fucking mute. I grab his tie and pull him toward me. “Do you fucking understand me?”
“Y-yes,” he sputters.
My eyes drift to the antique letter opener on his desk. Picking it up, I let go of his tie and grab his right hand instead, splaying it out on the desk in front of me.
“N-no.” He shakes his head. “Please.”
Ignoring his pathetic sniveling, I drive the sharp edge straight through his hand, pinning him to his desk. His mouth opens on a strangled scream, and I put a finger to my lips. “You don’t want anyone coming in here, Bryce, because then I’d have to tell them all how you embezzled their pensions and all of your family’s money. How you spent it all on whores and cards. And you don’t want that, now do you?”
He presses his lips together and shakes his head as tears run down his cheeks. I tap the side of his face. “That’s a good boy. Now stay the fuck away from my wife.”
Chapter
Forty-Eight
NATHAN
“Fuck me, I couldn’t eat another fucking thing,” Mason says with a loud groan, earning him a clip on the ear from our father, who he obviously hadn’t realized had walked back into the kitchen.
“No cursing at my table.” Dad takes a seat and promptly lights up a cigar.
“You’re supposed to have given those up,” Elijah reminds him.
Dad shrugs. “What’s the point of living if you can’t indulge in life’s simplest pleasures, son? I have two vices, cigars and whisky, and I’m not about to give up either of them.”
“Don’t forget the women, Pop.” Mason chuckles and receives a withering glare to go along with his sore ear.
Our dad sighs wearily, but he doesn’t dwell on it any longer. Of all of us James boys, Mason is the one who can push him the most before he snaps.
“You had a heart attack, Dad. Those things aren’t good for you,” Elijah persists, but our father dismisses him with a wave.
“It’s New Year’s Eve. I have four of my boys here with me, and life is good. Can you at least let me enjoy my cigar in peace?”
I shoot my older brother a look, warning him not to press any further. Dalton James has been smoking cigars for over fifty years. A heart attack isn’t going to stop him.
With a reluctant nod at me, Elijah turns his attention to our younger brother. “Drake, how are things in Chicago?”
Drake shrugs. “Same old, same old.”
“You should come home,” Dad says in a gruff tone. “You were only supposed to be out there for a year or two. Six years later and you’re still there. Surely the office can run without you now?”
Drake bristles. “I like it there, Dad.”
“You should be home with your family,” Dad insists, blowing out a stream of cigar smoke.
I throw Drake a conspiratorial wink, and he rolls his eyes in response. It’s good to be here with the four of them. My penthouse apartment has been feeling way too big and empty these past few weeks, which is fucked up given that I lived there alone for eleven years before Melanie Edison walked into my life.
“How are things with the Edison girl?” It’s like my father can read my mind.
I seethe at the mention of her. “Her name is Melanie, as you well know, and things are exactly the same, Dad. She’s a lying, soul-sucking bitch who will become my ex-wife as soon as possible.”
“You’ve drawn up the divorce papers?” Drake asks.
“No. Not yet,” I admit. I should have had them drafted the day I found out the truth about her, but I’ve been distracted. That’s what I’m telling myself anyway.
My father’s eyes narrow at me from across the table. “What’s stopping you, son?”
I glare at him. “I’ve been busy. It’s only been a couple of weeks. I’ll handle it.”
“I can handle it for you if you’d like?” Drake suggests.
