Page 24 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
Yes, she’s infernal, but she’s still a young woman.
The unexpected inheritance bomb the old man dropped has left us both shocked. To be fair, I’m hardly the only one stuck in the past.
I had my reasons for stopping her from acting out like the young, entitled punk she was.
I don’t regret welding the wine cellar shut.
I’m not sorry I confiscated the keys to her car when she wanted to sneak out with friends past curfew.
I wonder if she ever appreciated me for standing outside her door, every time the old man insisted she put in a few hours with homework or practicing her art.
No, she’s not her old man.
Gordon Blackthorn’s bullshit was everything Leonidas hoped to save her from.
Grumbling, I unfold the crumpled letter Leonidas left me. The wise old goat was a brilliant motivator.
He knew leaving behind a two-and-a-half-million-dollar severance pot of gold at the end of this shit rainbow would be plenty to keep me on for one more job.
Enough to make me go through hell.
Money like that can get Kit through college without breaking a sweat. It can fund a home nurse for my parents—a good one—plus anything else they might need. If there’s anything left over, it might be real security. Not scrambling after my retirement on a fraction of my old pay.
Damn. I guess I can’t begrudge a miracle when it comes with strings attached.
That familiar burn flaring in my knees agrees.
I flex my legs, wincing.
Probably the stress.
That and getting older.
They only started acting up a couple years ago, this gnawing sensation that’s getting harder to ignore by the month. Cortisone shots might calm it for a while, but my doc warned me that’s not a permanent fix.
A cruel reminder that I can’t carry on in the private security game forever. There’s a reason most guys with my career path age out by forty-five.
I won’t even get that.
And if I inherit my mother’s arthritis—shit. WhatwillI be able to do after this?
“Fine,” I whisper to the empty room, old routine taking over and doing a sweep of the doors and windows. I’ve already done a clean sweep of the house. “I’ll do it for you, Leonidas. One last rodeo with the little queen.”
I don’t owe him any favors, even if he was a good boss.
I’m in it for the money, and I’m not sorry. Especially when the alternative is too fucking nasty to contemplate.
I’ll execute, do my job, and get the hell out the second after Cleo Blackthorn unloads her bejeweled bomb.
I’m a creature of habit.
Like every day, I rise just as the first sliver of sunlight glints on the horizon, change into my workout clothes, and head out for a run.
I only skip the morning ritual when my knees scream bloody murder.
Not today, they’ve recovered.
There’s insight in the early silence.
