CHAPTER NINE
Lance
I impatiently fidgeted with my sleeve, calling out to my brother, “You ready yet?” As usual, Logan wasn’t even near ready. The dude likes to look good and takes his goddamn time getting pretty. Usually it wouldn’t matter, but today Patricia was at home, and she was eyeing me like a snake stalking a mouse.
“Lance,” she said sweetly, her voice all poison. “Logan will be out soon. Why don’t you have a drink?”
Seriously? We were driving my Lambo into Jersey, a flashy canary-yellow sports car that attracted the police like bees to honey, and she was telling me that I should drink before driving? This bitch was up to no good.
“No thanks, I’ll just have some water,” I said coldly.
If the girl at the club had been Kathryn’s identical twin, then Patricia was Kathryn’s polar opposite, in looks and demeanor. How could Logan stand living with her? It was beyond me.
But she was a beauty, I have to admit, if you like women with the air of Cruella de Ville. Sleek, sinuous black hair fell like a waterfall down her back, and her whip thin frame was dressed in the finest designer clothes, purchased courtesy of my brother. As far as I could tell, Patricia no longer worked. For a while, she’d had some PR job at a fashion company, but probably quit the minute she moved in with Logan. Now she spent her days doing … what exactly? I realized I had no idea.
“So Patricia,” I said with a hint of menace in my voice. “Tell me about your job.” Let the bitch answer that one.
“Oh job schmob,” she said, waving her hand airily. “Logan wants me to stay home for now and take care of the apartment,” she said. “Plus, I might be pregnant, you never know, so it’s not a good time for me to look for work,” she continued.
I almost spat out the water. Trust Patricia to throw the grenade right back. Pregnant with my niece or nephew! Hell no! What the fuck was Logan thinking impregnating this bitch? My thoughts must have shown on my face because Patricia interceded.
“Don’t look so excited Lance,” she said silkily. “He or she would be your blood as well.”
True, but hopefully any child related to me wouldn’t be the spawn of this whore.
Patricia is one area where Logan and I vehemently disagree. Again, my brother and I usually share girls, the stripper from last week being no exception. But he’d gone through some kind of dark period last year, probably ruminating over Kathryn’s death again, and Patricia had latched on when he was weak. She’d forced him to go to a shrink or something, and before I knew it, they were a couple and Patricia had moved in. Man, this bitch was manipulative.
I hated her guts, and she knew it. The good thing was, she didn’t know that Logan had fucked another girl last week, one that looked like our lost love, and I wasn’t about to tell her. Hey, if your boyfriend steps out on you, that’d be grounds for breaking up, but with Patricia, she’d probably just use the chains of guilt to bind Logan even more tightly.
My brother finally appeared, handsome and clean-shaven, dressed in a dark suit, no tie.
“Ready brother?” I asked. He nodded, searching for his money clip and thrusting it into his pocket before grunting, “Your car or mine? We’re headed to Newark right?”
I frowned. Newark? Was that where our dad wanted to meet for lunch? The hospital he worked at was in Newark, but he lived in Closter, a beautiful suburb of New Jersey. Why the fuck did he want us to meet him at work?
I shrugged. “If we’re going to Newark, better take your car,” I said. The grey Tesla was less flashy than the yellow Lambo, although car aficionados would spot it immediately.
“Bye Patty,” I said, using the nickname I knew she hated.
“Take care,” she said, kissing Logan goodbye. I could see him stiffen as she neared, like watching a rattlesnake approach. But he managed to accept her kiss before grabbing his keys and punching the light for the elevator. My brother wasn’t happy in his relationship, that was obvious … and the Donkey Club was only the most recent proof.