Heartless by Jade West

Author:Jade West [West, Jade]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dangerous Press

15

Lucian

So many fools in this place, cheering and clapping. So many fools believing I was some paltry journalist from across the Atlantic. I raised my glass to the stage and took a pitiful little bow.

Fuck knows how my insanity had sunk low enough that I’d paid fifty thousand dollars just to enjoy the look on that little fool’s face when she saw me stealing her applause. That’s what it was, of course. It was stealing her applause and seeing the shock and fear on her face when she realized it was me. It definitely wasn’t me saving her from her own goddamn craziness of bidding thousands for a penguin when she had the fucking Power brothers on her back for her debts.

The Constantine table was clearly oblivious to the fact that the real Terence Kingsley was buried deep in the depths of the London slums. To them, he was right there amongst them, with his pathetic camera on the table as a disguise.

The head of the family was modest in her applause, pasting on her regal smirk as she clapped for me. Her brother-in-law was already half drunk at her side, raising his hands in the air.

Elaine didn’t try to alert them. Her eyes were on me, and her breaths were ragged, but she didn’t say a fucking word.

More fool you, temptress. More fool you.

I sat myself back down and kicked back, sipping on yet another mineral water while the table of crappy reality TV stars around me did their best to be caught by the cameras. I hated charity events; they were the very epitome of tackiness and arrogance, everyone patting themselves on the back for being such selfless saints in their overblown lifestyles. That and saying their Hail Marys on the path to the eternal divine.

At least I knew I was an evil piece of shit. My path to hell was already paved in sin. Soon it would be paved in Elaine Constantine’s blood and pain, too.

There were another twenty lots auctioned off by the time the ass of a presenter on stage fucked off and left people in peace. The majority of people were straight up from their tables, doing their usual cheap socialising, and so was Terence Kingsley.

It was hilarious when I stepped up close enough to Caroline Constantine that she reached for my arm.

“Such a noble bid from your shareholder,” she said to me with a smile. “Would that be Winston Warwick by any chance?”

I tapped my nose. “I’m not allowed to say, of course, but you may well be right on that.”

She slapped her brother-in-law on the arm. “I knew it. I knew it would be Winston.” Her eyes were glinting when they met mine. “Don’t worry, Mr Kingsley. I won’t say a word to him. He’s such a generous soul.”

Winston Warwick was a cunt, and I knew it plenty well enough. He manipulated the UK tabloid media so ridiculously that I’m surprised the general populous didn’t scoff at his bullshit, but they didn’t. They lapped up the sensationalist trash and kept on begging for it.

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