Heartless

by Jade West

“The Power brothers?”

  “Yeah, the Power brothers. Big time, apparently. They say her mother is done with her. I think she’s hoping someone else will wipe her out and save them the embarrassment.”

  I was mulling over this new information when he spoke again.

  “So, what happened when you saw Elaine Constantine at the ball?”

  I despised the shame and humiliation brewing in me. Hunter had been a trusted ear for decades, but I was struggling to voice this confession to him.

  He saved me the battle.

  “You grabbed her, didn’t you? You let your dick rule your hate, and you grabbed her?”

  “That isn’t quite how it went–” I began, but he was already smirking at me.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Luke,” he said. “I’ve seen her. She’s quite a looker, even by Constantine standards. I mean, they’re all lookers, but she’s something else. I doubt there are many guys in that position who wouldn’t want to grab her and fuck the life out of her.”

  He thrust his hips to demonstrate. It felt cheap to hear it framed that way.

  “I was going to hurt her. It wasn’t anything to do with her pussy.”

  He was still smirking. “Yeah, but it became about pussy, right? Believe me, I know you well enough to know she’s got you all fucked up over that tight little body of hers.”

  “Forget it,” I said, and made to leave, too stinking with embarrassment to stand another minute of his smirking.

  He pushed me back down in my seat, dropping his humor.

  “Jesus Christ, Luke. You’ve got feelings for her. Are you out of your mind?”

  “No!” I spat. “What the fuck are you talking about? I never have fucking feelings for anyone. It’s you who’s out of your goddamn mind.”

  But he was shaking his head. “Nah, I’m serious. This isn’t you, pal. She’s done something to you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I hissed, but he wasn’t believing me. I could see it in his stare.

  I wanted to believe myself, and I should have. The concept was absurd. Never once in my life had I had feelings for anyone, let alone anyone with even the hint of a Constantine connection. I didn’t do emotions, let alone the fluffy bullshit of falling in love and all that crap. It was weakness. Nothing but weakness. People were flesh with a price tag. Nothing more.

  “It’s all right, you know,” Hunter carried on. “Seriously, just spit it out. Whatever needs saying.”

  “You’re not a goddamn counselor, Sparro. Nothing needs saying,” I countered, but he gestured to the clock above his fireplace.

  “Not quite what you showing up here before nine on a Sunday morning is telling me.” He smiled. “I turfed Melissa out for this, you know. I was planning on at least one fresh round of fucking her ass before she left today.”

  “Melissa?” I asked. “The waif from behind the bar at the Aegean?”

  “Don’t change the subject,” he said, and joined me on the sofa, kicking back with his hands behind his head.

  I forced myself to speak, for my own sanity. At least if Sparro knew about my bullshit choices then he stood a chance of keeping tabs on me if I lost my head again.

  I told him about Tinsley’s ball, and about how I’d grabbed Elaine in the bathroom. I told him how she’d wanted me, even through her fear. I told him how I’d liked it, even if I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself.

  “So, what happened next?” he pushed when I was done with the ball recounting. “Did she call you for a date night?” He laughed at the prospect.

  That’s when it got awkward. That’s when I should have shut my mouth for good and bailed on out of there.

  “I got access to her calendar through Alto. Her personal calendar.”

  “What the fuck?” His whole body spun in the seat to stare at me. “You got access to her personal calendar? They’ll skin you for that, your side as well as hers. If they find you’ve got access to it–”

  I cut him off at that.

  “It’s a fucking calendar. Nothing more.”

  “Yeah, and a swipe at an inroad into the heart of the Constantine world. They’ll come after you with full fucking force.”

  He was pointing out things I already knew. It was redundant speech but still he kept on telling me how raging mad my father would be, and just how attacked the Constantines would feel through something so concrete in its intentions.

  I’d wanted to track her down and destroy her. They’d know it. They’d react to it. It was a big statement, and I’d known it. I’d known the risks.

  It wasn’t anywhere near the severity of me sneaking into the Constantines’ private party, but that didn’t seem to matter shit to Hunter. There was more concern than that in his tone . . . he was too astute for his own good.

  “You tracked her down already,” he said, and there was no question in it.

  “Yeah, I tracked her down already. I was intending to wipe her out.”

  He shook his head. “Nah, you weren’t. Tell yourself that all you like, but you were intending to do a shit ton more to her than wipe her out.”

  “I did fuck all to her in actuality,” I told him. “I tracked her down to some shitty downtown bar and stalked her from the sidelines, enjoying every little sniff of her ignorance. Then it gets even better.” I paused to soak in his expression of crazy. “I followed her to some shitty apartment of some friend of hers. It seemed the perfect backdrop to take her out, slowly.”

  “And to fuck her,” he said.

  I finally admitted the obvious. “Yes, and to fuck her. I wanted to break her apart and use her for the thrill of it.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  I still wasn’t quite sure of the answer to that, so I shrugged, and carried on admitting my idiocy.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because she wanted me to. Maybe because it would’ve been too easy. Maybe because I want to make it much closer to the heart of the Constantines when I take her and snuff out her world.”

  “Don’t do it,” he said, and his voice was tighter with dread than I’d ever heard. “Seriously, Luke, for the life of you, please don’t do it. Don’t go anywhere near the Constantine bitch again. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.”

  The fire in me said otherwise, burning bright with the need for her pain and destruction.

  “I fucking mean it,” Hunter said. “Don’t go anywhere near her again. Go after Tinsley if you have to. Or some of the Roosevelts. Why not Harriet? Or even Grace, or whoever, none of it matters. Just not Elaine Constantine. Please, to God, not Elaine Constantine.”

  I sneered at him, because his words made no sense. His logic made no fucking sense.

  “Why not Elaine Constantine?” I said. “Her mother would be crying harder about losing any of the others than that addict. Taking out any of them would be a much more dramatic swipe at their heritage than the cokehead they want to disown. She’d be an easy starter.”

  He was shaking his head, and I could read it in his eyes, something that made my blood freeze.

  “This is nothing to do with the Constantines and who they’d cry hardest about,” he told me. “It’s about you.”

  “Me?” I scoffed. “What the hell has it got to do with me? Why the fuck does it matter which of the Constantines I opt to wipe out next? I’ll be firing a nice fucking shot into the heart of them, regardless. It’s about damn time one of us did.”

  “It’s got everything to do with you,” he said, and he meant it. He really fucking meant it. “It’s got everything to do with which of the Constantines you opt to go after next.”

  “So tell me,” I snapped at him. “Tell me what catastrophe you think is gonna happen when I go after Elaine Constantine and wipe her the fuck out for good.”

  Hunter Sparro looked at me like the best friend I’d known for decades, all summed up in that one short moment.

  “I don’t think, I know what catastrophe is gonna happen,” he said. “You’re not gonna kill Elaine Constantine. You’re gonna fall in
love with her.”

  12

  Elaine

  Monday lunchtime, and sitting with Harriet, Grace, and Vivian in the Regent Country Club bar room meant nothing to me. The girls were chatting and laughing, sipping away on coffees like a group of regular BFFs. We were four blondes, all made up to the nines, amongst a whole load of golfers and suited gentlemen and their high-styled wives around the edges. The other girls were glowing fresh from a morning gym session, but I was barely steady on my feet, still muggy-headed from my weekend on the rocks.

  My thighs were itching under my dress, fresh with cuts from the night before, deep enough to remind me of my failings.

  The others went through their usual crappy small talk. How was your weekend? Did you see Amy-Ann’s dress on Saturday night? Hemmings Vintage, right?

  I sipped my black coffee, hoping that the gathering would disband as soon as possible. I barely said a word, just smiled my fake smile as everyone spoke, playing at being vaguely interested.

  But I couldn’t be vaguely interested.

  Not with Lucian Morelli racing through my mind.

  I should’ve known it was inevitable that the questioning would turn in my direction. Manners cost nothing, so our au pairs and housekeepers had instilled from a young age.

  It was Grace who spoke. My cousin was a picture as she grinned across the table at me, eyes fluttering under fake lashes.

  “Hey, Lainey. How was your weekend, then? How come you bailed on the Longley fundraiser? Someone said you were busy . . .”

  The other two were staring along with her. Harriet – my closest cousin of them all – was trying to look optimistic, like she didn’t know the answer would be something unacceptable to Constantine standards.

  My sister, Vivian, wasn’t even trying to look optimistic. Her smile was paper-thin, knowing full well that I was likely coked up and barely conscious the whole while since she’d seen me last.

  I nearly let loose an unhinged laugh – dark humor as I imagined what expressions they’d be pulling if they knew the truth of it. They’d be retching all over the table.

  I was downtown with Tristan, watching some rocker guy he wanted a piece of dick from. I got fucked up on beer and coke with no security in sight . . . and then I was hoping to get fucked by Lucian Morelli before he killed me. As it turns out, he didn’t do either, just wound me up with his gropes and kisses. I guess I was just too pitiful a specimen for him to enjoy destroying.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, it was good, thanks. Just took some time out.”

  Three blank expressions looked across at me, paper smiles not even cutting it.

  I summoned up a smile of my own and poked the conversation back to some regular numb chatter.

  “Tell me about Amy-Ann’s Hemmings Vintage gown, then.”

  Grace leaped up and into it, sliding her hands down her ribs as she bleated on about teal satin and diamonds. Same old crap.

  I knew Harriet’s eyes were on me as I played with my coffee mug. I could feel them.

  I loved Harriet Roosevelt. Not just because she’d been my closest cousin for forever, but because she was a really sweet soul and I wished I could learn something from her. She was on the straight and narrow with everything she ever did, and it wasn’t because the Constantines were dictators who demanded we all did what we were told – it was because that’s who she was as a person.

  She didn’t fill her calendar with hundreds of different charity events because it looked good in the tabloids. She did it because she wanted to be there with her heart of gold.

  Maybe we had more in common than I’d ever let myself believe, but my heart wasn’t gold like hers. Mine was tattered, dead.

  Secrets. More secrets.

  I’d have paired her up as besties with downtown Jemma if I thought they’d be able to spend any time together under the Constantine umbrella, but my mother would have blown a fuse to even catch sight of Jemma on Bishop’s Landing turf with her moral crusading and dreadlocks in her hair.

  No matter how much I branded myself as pathetic, there was nothing any more pathetic than this facade of brilliance we pasted over the true corruption and brutality of Constantine life. At least the Morellis weren’t trying to be so glossy over their grime.

  We were as highly trussed up in it as they were. Underhanded dealings and corruption. Bribing politicians and twisting their laws. And the rest of it . . . even lower. So low it would’ve kept me awake at night if I hadn’t been too wasted to stay conscious.

  I barely noticed the girls checking their watches and preparing to leave. I must’ve been half dazed for the rest of our catch up. We did air kisses, same as usual, and I didn’t even bother downing the rest of my coffee before I gathered my coat up, ready to go.

  I was at the front doorway when Harriet grabbed my arm. I leaped out of my skin, eyes opening wide on hers on instinct as she pulled her usual confused face, trying to make sense of just what the hell was going on with me.

  “Come for a walk around the grounds?” she asked, and the flare up in my stomach was a fresh quest for cocaine, but I managed to contain myself enough to resist snorting a line at the Regent Club on a Monday lunchtime.

  “Sure, yeah.”

  She linked her arm through mine as we walked, waving the others away with the chauffeurs. I didn’t know where to begin with speaking, so I didn’t bother, just stared numbly ahead with the paces.

  “Seriously, Laine,” she whispered. “What’s happening with you? Please tell me.”

  “The usual,” I said back. “I don’t know why you bother asking.”

  I wasn’t expecting her to grab my shoulders and twist me towards her. I wasn’t expecting the sheer hurt and fear in her eyes as they met with mine.

  “Don’t do this,” she said. “Don’t shut me out like this. When have you ever shut me out like this?”

  Plenty of times, but I couldn’t say that. I could never say that to anyone.

  In her mind we were kids kicking our legs out under the tree house in the grounds of her mansion, talking about life and boys. Until we weren’t. Until we were talking about Constantine customs and business and trying to make our way in this crazy world.

  I used to hold her tight when she got scared, even though I was festering with fear myself under the surface. I’d pick her up when she fell down and promise her it would always be fine.

  I’d loved her, and she’d loved me. Until she didn’t know me anymore, not enough to love me for real. As me. As the real Elaine Constantine beneath the makeup.

  Harriet would get married. One day, she would get married. Maybe it would be to someone nice, someone she was compatible with, but regardless, a girl like Harriet could be a happy one, whoever she was hooked up with. She would always see the best in everyone, even in some rich asshole my family forced her to be with.

  I wished I could be living in that bubble-gum sweet cloud she was living in.

  She was still gripping my shoulders. “Were you out with Tristan? Didn’t you say he had some guy he was interested in?”

  It was a decent enough confession to keep her occupied, so I used it.

  “He is all caught up in this guy. A rocker. Blue Hawk.”

  She tipped her head. “Don’t think I’ve heard of him.”

  “You wouldn’t have,” I told her. “He’s small time, downtown.”

  Her mouth dropped open, just a little. “You were downtown? With Tristan?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I was downtown. No biggie.”

  She let out a sigh. “Without security? Your mom would go wild.”

  “I was with Tristan.”

  “Yeah, but Tristan isn’t going to be much use to your safety from people who really mean you harm, is he? Especially not while he’s chasing after some rocker dick.”

  I shrugged, even in her grip. “Yeah, well I made it through alive, didn’t I?”

  It seemed my confession wasn’t quite enough. Her eyes stayed fixed on mine. “Have you been hurting yourself again?”
/>   I pulled away from her. “What the hell does that matter?”

  She followed me as I walked away. “It always matters to me how you’re treating yourself. If you won’t let yourself love yourself, then how are you ever supposed to be happy?”

  “Yeah, I should get therapy, right?”

  She was more forceful than usual as she squeezed my arm again. “You should do something, Elaine. Talk to someone. Why won’t you please just let it be me? Please?”

  Her eyes were pleading. Genuine. At odds with the fake surroundings.

  “Please, Lainey,” she went on. “Please, will you just let it be me? I would never tell anyone . . .”

  I believed her. So far in my life she hadn’t betrayed me to anyone. If only I’d have spilled my truths to her in the early days, maybe she’d have given me the strength to act on them. Maybe she’d have held me just as tightly as I’d held her. Still, there was no point reflecting on that now.

  I looked at her again. I looked at the way she was looking at me and knew I should do it. I knew I should speak to her, at least about some of it.

  “You swear on it, Harriet. For real? Keep your damn mouth shut, no matter what?”

  Little miss lovely showed her face again. She held her hand to her heart, like some Girl Guide promise.

  “I swear on it. Harriet Roosevelt’s honor.”

  Seriously, I loved how she was still such an innocent little girl, even behind her super styled beauty highlights.

  I waited until we were out of sight of the Regent’s Club building before I even dared to sit myself down on the grass. A double confession would be dangerous. Spilling my Lucian Morelli truths to Harriet as well as Tristan would only make them more real. My heart was thumping as I cleared my throat to talk, and it wasn’t just from the disgust at my own confession.

  It was from the disgust at just how much I wanted it to happen all over again.

  I wanted Lucian Morelli.

  I wanted his touch, and his hurt, and his hate.

  It was weird. Hardly believable, because I wanted something I hadn’t wanted since I was a little girl wishing on a fairy tale life ahead, with a noble prince on a noble steed charging into my world to claim me.