Unfortunately for Flower Girl, playing into her hands wasn’t in my plans. Not anymore. If she wanted to destroy this marriage, she was going to have to do it the long, slow, excruciating way. I wasn’t giving her the chance at a clean kill.
The memory of my visit to Colin Byrne stirred something violent in me.
“Veitch wanted to whore out his wife all by himself before he fucked off. He wanted to kidnap her and give her to me.”
I remembered his words, verbatim.
I’d never wanted to kill a person more than I had wanted to put a bullet in Paxton Veitch’s skull.
All I needed to do was walk inside the house and tell her.
It was that simple.
But I knew it’d hurt her.
Break her spirit.
Show her that the man she chose to spend the rest of her life with wanted to sell her.
It was a terrible time to grow a conscience.
I turned around, walked back to my car, and called Sam.
“Give me Paxton’s address.”
I wasn’t going to break Persephone.
But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let the real villain get the girl.
Paxton Veitch’s temporary residence was nothing more than a shack in the back room of an illegal poker joint in Southie. Judging by the exterior of the decaying two-story building, he was probably sleeping in a cot made solely of garbage, pubic hair, and STDs.
Rather than announce my arrival with a knock, I kicked the flimsy screen door down, barging in.
Three round tables full of men with oil and dirt stains on their faces looked up at me, their eyes snapping off their cards.
“Paxton Veitch,” I grumbled. No other words were necessary.
Silence rang in the room.
I knew dangling my sharp suit and expensive haircut in front of them was inviting trouble, but I welcomed it. Sighing, I took out my wallet and raised a hundred-dollar bill between my index and middle fingers, waving it around.
“I’ll ask again, where’s Paxton Veitch?”
This time, the men shifted in their seats, glancing at each other.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, we don’t even know him, why are we protecting him? He’s in the back room!” one of them piped up, banging his cards over the table. “Take the stairs up. His is the second door on the left.”
I dropped the bill to the floor, proceeding as a few men rushed to the floor, fighting for the money.
When I got to the door I was looking for, I took a few breaths to calm myself down. I’d imagined going head-to-head with the bastard longer than I’d like to admit. Before Persephone and I were on speaking terms.
The memory of her kissing him at Hunter and Sailor’s wedding still made my blood boil.
I’d walked along the hedge garden, inwardly convincing myself I wasn’t a complete moron for rejecting the Penrose girl I wanted so much. The topiary assaulted my eyesight. A tacky mixture of angels, animals, and heart shapes. The sound of panting made me slow next to a cloud-shaped shrub.
“Oh, Paxton,” a throaty, sweet voice had moaned.
My blood ran cold.
I took a step aside, pretending to read a sign explaining the design of the garden. From my position, I could see strands of white-blond hair woven in the shrubs, a delicate, snowy neck extended, and a male mouth peppering kisses all over it.
“God, you’re so fucking sweet. What’s your name again?”
“Persephone.”
“Persy-phone-ay.” His hands were everywhere as he mispronounced her name. “What does it mean?”
I’d strained my neck, developing perverse satisfaction in making myself watch her in another man’s arms after snubbing her. His head trailed down her breasts, disappearing from my line of vision. She was panting hard and fast.
Take a good look at what you did. She is in someone else’s arms now.
Someone normal.
Who deserves her.
Now, Paxton’s door taunted me.
I pushed it open, unbothered about stomping into his territory unannounced. He did that twice to me. It was time he got a taste of his own medicine.
He was in the room, having an intense phone conversation, standing in front of a small, dirty window with his back to me.
“You think I’m not trying? It’s not as easy as I thought. She’s changed, man. Probably all that dough and gold-plated cock.” He snickered, snorting. “I’m not gonna hurt her. I still love Persy, you know. She’s always been my girl. I just want in with her ass, so I can get my way, too. There’s too much money in that pot for me not to get my share.”
At least now I knew she hadn’t fucked him yesterday.
Silver linings and all that jazz.
I grabbed the phone from behind him and killed the call, tossing the device onto his bed. He whipped his head around, his mouth hanging open.
“Shi—”
I shoved him toward a wooden desk pushed against the wall, shutting him up.
He sagged onto it, plopping down.
“Time for a little talk, Veitch.”
“You’re the Fitzpatrick guy.” His brows furrowed. “The dude she married.”
“And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”
We examined each other. He was a good-looking kid. Light hair, soft features. Clad in a broken-in leather jacket and saggy jeans that made it look like he needed his diaper changed.
Paxton folded his arms over his chest.
“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble.”
“If you didn’t want trouble, you wouldn’t chase it across the planet. Do you really think I’d let you touch what’s mine?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. All I know is that Persy and I had a good thing going. I fucked up, but she’s a good girl. She could still forgive me.”
That meant she hadn’t yet. My heart slowed for the first time since I saw him enter her apartment. I tugged at the leather gloves in my back pocket, slapping them over my thigh and putting them on. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Good. He needed to know I wasn’t above getting down and dirty to get my point across.
“Don’t mistake Persephone’s goodness with naiveté,” I warned. “She is past forgiving you.”
“You don’t know her like I do.” He shook his head.
“What I do know is that you tried to pay Byrne with her as currency, which is why I’m here. Now, you’re going to listen carefully and follow my every instruction, and I will spare your miserable, pointless life. Veer off the lane I put you on, and I’ll make sure you slam into a ten-ton semi-trailer and feed whatever’s left of you to the hyenas. Are you following me so far?”
He clutched the edges of the table behind him. I reached over, grabbing the gun I noticed was tucked in the back of his jeans, cocked it, and pushed the barrel against his forehead.
“You’re going to write a ten-page letter to Persephone, in which you apologize profusely for being the shittiest husband in the history of civilization. In this letter, you will take the entire blame for the fallout of your marriage and excuse her from any wrongdoings. I will read and approve the letter before you send it. After you send it, you will pack a bag, drive to the airport, and buy a one-way ticket to Australia. Once there, you will drive to Perth, where you will settle down. Perth, in case you’re wondering, is the farthest point geographically from the US of A, and therefore exactly where I want you to be, at least until Virgin Galactic offers flights to Mars, to which I would be happy to relocate you. You will not, under any circumstances, contact my wife. You will not, under any circumstances, write, call, or meet her again. If I hear you as much as breathed in her direction, I will unleash my three-headed hounds on you—a Hades reference, in case it escaped your bird-sized brain—no matter where you are. I will make sure you experience the most painful death known to man. Tell me you understand.”
I pressed the barrel harder to his forehead. Paxton groaned, closing his eyes, dripping sweat.
“I understand.”
“I will provide your flight ticket, accommodations, and a work permit. The rest is for you to deal with.”
“I don’t…”
“This is not a conversation.” I held up my free hand. “This is me feeling uncharacteristically charitable and not blowing your brains out, mainly because blood makes my wife feel queasy.”
He nodded again, gulping.
“Forget she’s ever been a part of your life.”
Another nod.
“Oh, and Paxton?”
I slid the gun down the bridge of his nose, tucking it into his mouth. His eyes widened, a drop of sweat trailing down the same path the barrel had made, exploding on his neck.
“How’d you end up here? We both know you don’t have a penny to your name.”
“Arruw Arrameeth,” he said around the barrel.
“Andrew Arrowsmith?” I pulled the weapon from his mouth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“He found me in Mexico. Paid for my flight back here. Got me this apartment and told me to get my girl. Said she was in trouble. That you were hurting her. Good guy. Nothing like you.”