Third a Kiss

I hung up.

Before thoughts of Eleanor could wriggle their way like a parasite into my brain, I picked up the phone again. This time, I called the recruitment office I used in the States. I delivered on a promise that I should’ve done days ago and ordered a highly qualified vet to support the growing number of creatures on Serigala. And because guilt sat heavily for allowing my own shit to come before the animals who’d endured so much, I requested not one but two practitioners. One experienced in small animals, one in large livestock.

Soon, we’d have a shipment of horses and a couple of donkeys arriving. They hadn’t been tortured in a lab or forced to be unwilling guinea-pigs. Their experiences came from a more sinister nature. A facility that catered to psychopaths who liked to rape animals. A few sheep and a couple of cows were also expected. Poor beasts could be physically rehabilitated but would never trust a human again.

Like me.

Normally, I didn’t take on other abusive cases that didn’t originate from chemical testing…but, I couldn’t say no when the request for help appeared in my inbox. Soon, I might have to expand to another island to cope with the ever-growing population.

Good job I own forty-four of the fucking things.

When I put the phone down for the second time, Pika flew off my head to help himself to the bird table outside, shoving aside a sparrow and nipping at the legs of a macaw as he eyed up a juicy grape. He was a tenacious little spitfire…unlike Skittles who was so sensitive and sweet.

My hands balled, thinking about the shy caique and the fact that she was most likely hanging out with Eleanor.

Goddammit.

Try as I might, my thoughts always returned to her. To wonderings of what she was doing. Of memories of what she’d felt like in my arms.

Fuck!

Rubbing my mouth, I shook my head and stood. Work wasn’t the all-consuming salvation I’d hoped it would be. I needed the sea. I needed to swim to the horizon and get as far away from this goddess-filled hellhole as I could.

“Pika. Let’s go.” I snapped my fingers, but Pika continued to attack the mushed grape and my phone rang shrilly in the serenity.

I deliberated not answering, but with a heavy sigh, I snatched it up, and barked, “What?”

“Do you always answer your phone so rudely?”

Every pain, every weakness, every hint of what I’d been through yesterday faded under a tsunami of black hatred, thick as oil, toxic as a corpse-rotting crypt. “What the fuck are you doing calling me?”

Drake snickered, his voice so similar to mine. We didn’t share much in the sibling gene pool but our voices were almost identical. The only way to tell us apart was his more American drawl from still living on our motherland shores, while I’d lost my accent a little thanks to my adoptive home. Also, the thread of evil he cultivated was obvious whenever he spoke, making him sound like a vile bastard who deserved an excruciating extermination.

“I figured I owed you a thank you…for setting your fucking lapdog on me.”

“That lapdog delivered what you were owed for thinking you could tamper in my company.”

“Our company.”

“Mine,” I snarled. “Or are you forgetting you got the mansions and the holiday homes and all the goddamn cash while I got the very thing that destroyed—”

“Sinclair and Sinclair Group is worth more than any of that other shit combined.”

I bared my teeth. Pika and the rest of the birds took wing at the rage flowing off me. “Only because I made it so. It wasn’t worth nearly as much when they had it.”

“They?” Drake sneered. “You mean our parents, Sully? The very same parents you fucking murdered?”

I went ice. Fucking. Cold.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard you accuse me of murder.”

He laughed icily. “Cold-blooded murder actually.”

My heart hurtled itself into a sick gallop toward a cliff. I did my best to rein in the hate between us—to stay calm, collected, and to handle this unfortunate situation—but Drake lowered his voice to a guttural whisper, “I’ve known all along, you little cocksucker. I knew when I showed you what our mother did to those stupid animals you rescued that you’d snap eventually.”

A nasty coating of sweat broke out over my back. “I don’t know what the—”

“Yes, you do. Do you honestly think I’m that fucking stupid?”

I cricked my neck, still trying to divert this disgusting chat to more domestic topics. “I never thought you were stupid, Drake…just a fucking ignoramus with the instincts of a dung beetle. Actually, wait. I take that back. To liken you to any animal is an insult to the animal. You’re just…human.” I said the last word with every disgust and hostility imaginable.

Drake just laughed. “I’m not the killer in the family, Sully. You are.”

“I think you forgot to take your meds. You’re delusional.” My nostrils flared as my phone glued itself to my ear. I pressed it into my skull until a headache formed, trying to stop his accusations from spilling free and infecting these pristine shores I’d found sanctuary in.

I’d run from society because I couldn’t stomach the level of detestation and malevolence that swamped me when talking to people I couldn’t stand. People I didn’t respect or like.

I had no control over the way my body primed for a fight. A sick and dirty fight where I forgot the part of me that was still human and became a filthy, ferocious animal instead.

I would tear his motherfucking throat out if we ever came face to face again.

“I’m not the one who needs drugging, asshole.” He paused before adding, “This stroll down memory lane is good and all, but I’m sure you’re aware I have a reason for calling you.”

“Extortion by the sounds of it.”

“Call it what you want. You owe me and I owe you for my broken hand and ribs.”

“What do you want?” I chuckled frostily. “A get well card? A ‘get the fuck out of my business’ Hallmark greeting?”

“I want your shares in the company. I want the billions of dollars that you’re sitting on and wasting on those pet projects of yours.”

I looked at the ceiling, trying to regulate my breathing. “You want to talk about pet projects? Fine, let’s talk about pets, shall we, Drake? The pets you killed?”

Pongo still rankled me. Still hurt. Watching something being murdered before your very eyes changed your psyche. It carved away the pieces that cringed at gore and mutilation. It hacked away at the fundamental commandments a kid is born with: thou shalt not kill. Thou shall not carry out revenge.

I’d done both those things.

And I’d do it all over again.

Gladly.

“Still hung up about that stupid mutt? Well, I’m hung up on the fact that you flew after our parents when they hired that yacht, that you stowed on-board with whatever sicko plan you had, that you made them sink, that you were the only survivor, that you so quickly accepted the position of power at Sinclair and Sinclair. Their bodies weren’t even cold when you smashed apart the labs and thought you were some sort of liberator, releasing animals that already had their life’s purpose.” His voice rose, becoming sloppy with loathing. “You chose them over our goddamn parents. You killed them, you cocksucker, and you didn’t even pretend to care.”