Black Thorns: Chapter 15

“Smile, motherfucker.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling as I fasten my cuffs. Daniel takes the shot and grins like a fucking idiot on steroids, showcasing his dimples.

He taps his phone with a satisfied expression. When he speaks, it’s in his signature British accent that gets all the girls to drop their panties for him. “Now this, my mate, is what I call front-page newsworthy. Though you’ll never steal my title as the hottest bachelor of the year.”

I stare at the mirror and fix my tie as he circles me, snapping pictures and releasing satisfied sounds.

Daniel is about my height, but he’s leaner and has the type of blue eyes that make you want to stab them because they’re always on the lookout for trouble—like right now.

“Are you done?” I ask in a bored tone, managing to ignore him for the most part.

Mastering the art of observing one’s surroundings doesn’t mean I have to pay attention to everything that happens. It’s more about being aware of my environment and only reacting to what directly threatens me. Everything else is white noise.

“Nah. Possessing pictures of Prince Weaver is as rare as witnessing a bloody shooting star. I need to sell these babies to magazines—or fangirls. Whoever offers the best fuck first.”

“If you can handle an infringement of privacy suit, sure. I’ll be happy to steal some of your shares.”

“Oh, fuck you. As if you’d ever win against me in court.”

I raise a brow. “Want to try? I’m taking a pro bono case next month, so how about you take a similar one and we’ll see who wins first?”

“I would in a heartbeat if your uncle wouldn’t chop off my head for not doing my own pro bono cases.”

“It could be a good promotional opportunity. At least one of us will win. Me.”

He narrows his eyes as a smirk tugs on his lips. “You know what, fuck it. I’m taking more pro bono cases just to have a better record than yours.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He steps in front of me and clutches me by the shoulder. “I’ll win with flying colors. By the time I’m finished, you might have PTSD from standing in court and consider quitting law. Are you okay with that?”

“As long as you’re okay with me actually winning while you’re dragged in court by the prosecutor.”

“Oh, you’re fucking on. Don’t go crying to your uncle when I invade the magazines’ front pages again as the ‘Dream Lawyer of Every Woman’.”

I scoff.

He runs his fingers through his brown hair. “Don’t be jealous of my looks and skills, Bastian. It shows.”

“Fuck, and here I thought my complete disregard of your whoring habits wasn’t visible on my face. My bad.”

“You and your arrogance can sod the fuck off.”

“See you in court, Danny. Make sure you invite all the associates so they can watch your ass getting whipped.”

“You’re speaking to the student who graduated at the top of his class at Harvard Law. You merely took the two-year program and passed the bar. Show some respect, peasant.”

“Maybe you should take your own advice. I barely went to law school and still passed the bar with a score better than yours.”

“Nate helped you cheat.”

“Hearsay.”

Daniel shoves himself off me with distaste, but he still snaps a picture here and another one there.

I have no doubt that he’ll actually try to sell them. Unlike him, I keep my public appearances to a minimum and specialize in corporate law so I don’t have to take on cases that get too much public attention.

If I’d wanted to be in the limelight, I wouldn’t have metaphorically cut ties with my grandparents, and instead, I would have just followed in Grandfather’s footsteps.

Mrs. Weaver about had a stroke when I announced I was joining Nate in law and she threatened to take away my trust fund, apartment, car, and everything I’ve ever owned.

So I left them with her and slept on Nate’s couch for months while I took an intensive law course, apprenticed at his firm, and then studied for the bar.

My grandparents still actively try to ruin me and Nate for turning our backs on them, but I couldn’t give a fuck about them and their legacy.

If there’s anything I learned after being at the brink of death, it’s that I don’t have time to play other people’s games.

I have my own.

Before, I always saw my grandparents as my saviors and I accepted that I had to pay my dues by being the perfect Weaver. But I was wrong.

They only ever cared about themselves. They’re the reason Dad ended up in Japan, broke and with nothing to fall back on. They’re the reason we were poor and Mom had to steal from dangerous people, which is what got her and my father killed.

My grandparents might not have had a hand in it, but they indirectly participated in their deaths.

I was only fooling myself by thinking I wouldn’t meet the same fate.

So I had two options. Either I became their puppet or I got out of their shadows.

I chose the latter.

We still see each other at her banquets, because they like to brag about my and Nate’s accomplishments, even when they’re privately against them.

The door opens and Daniel stops his photo session when Knox walks in, dressed in a white tuxedo. Seriously, he looks like some Italian businessman from the sixties, but surprisingly, he pulls the look off with his build.

He pauses in the entrance and stares at the ceiling as he forms an L with his thumb and forefinger. “Take a picture, Dan. Make sure the line of my jaw is visible.”

Daniel complies, circling him like he did me. “Give me your best poses, my muse. Yes, more brooding…more handsome but still less than me. That’s it, give me the mystery, the thrill…”

They spend a few minutes taking pictures and feeding each other’s egos.

Daniel and Knox are both English and came to the States after they graduated high school. They studied law at Harvard, fucked half the female population, and are currently plotting to conquer the other half.

They’re also Asher’s acquaintances through Aiden King, a mutual friend from England from when my childhood friend studied in Oxford.

Daniel specializes in international law because it gets him on the cover of countless magazines around the globe. Knox has made criminal law his bitch because, as he said, he has ‘tendencies to satiate.’

We met after I joined Weaver & Shaw, Nate’s law firm that he founded with his best friend/ex-rival, Kingsley Shaw.

At the start, we competed so hard and made each other’s lives hell. They hated me because I’m Nate’s nephew and then ganged up on me. But over the years, that rivalry has become our favorite pastime. We enjoy digging holes for each other and waiting to see if the other will take the bait.

We give Nate a headache, but it’s worth it.

We all recently made junior partner, but it’s far from being the end of our weird-as-fuck rivalry.

Daniel and Knox finish their photo shoot and force me to take a selfie with them that they’ll probably blast all over their social media pages.

“Are we ready to go or does your ego need more stroking?” I ask in my bored tone.

I almost always sound that way now.

Dull.

Hollow.

Down.

I lost a part of my soul seven years ago and I’ve never managed to get it back. Which is strange as fuck since I thought I didn’t have a soul in the first place.

Finding out I actually do, then losing it cost more than I can afford.

“Someone take this grumpy fucker and toss him somewhere that I can’t see,” Daniel jokes.

“Or hear,” Knox adds.

“Or even think of.”

“Nate would kill us, though.” Knox taps my head. “You know how protective he is of his little prince.”

I flip them off and head to the door. They follow after me and fall in step on either side of me. The organizers gave us a special room we can retreat to whenever we wish, which definitely has to do with the amount of money Nate donates.

The moment we step out, a myriad of sounds and colors explode in front of us.

Low classical music fills the space and staff members dressed in formalwear offer us glasses of champagne.

We each take one and Daniel smiles, making sure his dimples are on full display as he winks at the waitress who blushes and scurries away.

The attendees are wearing either tuxedos or cocktail dresses, and the women have their best pieces of jewelry on exhibit. Chatter fills the air as everyone mingles.

Nate sent us to this charity event to give away some of his money and snatch clients from other firms.

So our mission is to basically help the poor and take from the rich.

Nate being Nate will probably show his face later on like he’s making some sort of a surprise appearance.

For now, his three ‘show-offs,’ as he likes to call us, will bear the weight of attending this gathering until his majesty is here.

Many women bat their eyelashes at us as we pass them by. We attract that type of attention when we’re in public, and being the focus of these kinds of events is Daniel’s kink.

Knox’s, too, when he’s in the right mood. And he seems to be tonight.

Both of them smile at the passing ladies and Daniel is still making sure they notice his dimples. The fucker uses them as a magnet any chance he gets.

“I’ll take the west wing,” he announces. “Lots of beautiful ladies.”

“East for me.” Knox pats my shoulder. “You don’t mind taking one for the team and going to the old folks’ area, do you, Bastian? They love you.”

“All the pure people do. Not my fault you’re rotten.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Daniel whispers, and Knox flips me off.

I leave their side with a smirk and head toward a small gathering of businessmen. I recognize them from the days I used to play the good grandson.

They come from old money and know how to manage it—their money, that is. They’re now represented by one of our rival firms, Carson & Carson, which is owned by the father of my friend, Asher, who currently works for them.

Although he specializes in international law, he’ll have my balls if he knows I’m gunning for their clients.

But then again, if the roles were reversed, he would do the same. Both of us still like the challenge, just like when we first chose to play football back in middle school.

I summon my showtime smile. It’s harder to do that these days. Smiling. Whether it’s real or fake.

In fact, I’ve forgotten the last time I genuinely smiled. It was robbed from me the same day I lost the meaning of living and started to simply exist.

Working is the only thing that keeps my mind functioning and alert. And that’s why I intend to have more cases than I can handle.

Maybe that will manage to shut off whatever feelings try to rise to the surface.

Maybe that will help me get my soul back.

My feet come to a halt not far from the small group as tingling erupts at my nape.

At first, I think it’s just a figment of my imagination.

An untasteful fucking joke from my brain.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t be having the sensation that the world is being set on fucking fire and the only thing I can do is to stand there and watch.

I search my surroundings, because I know, I just know that she’s somewhere here.

She has to be.

My frantic gaze scans all the faces and attendees even as I remain in place. I survey the people at the bar and everyone coming inside, searching for those inquisitive dark eyes and rosy lips.

Searching for the face I’ve never been able to forget.

The face that I picture when I take shooting fucking lessons.

I pause when my eyes land on her brown ones. She’s standing near the corner with a champagne flute in her hand.

Her posture is erect, accentuated by a long black gown that skims the floor, and her hair, the color of the night, is gathered in a twist.

I’ve dreamed about this moment a million fucking times, but nothing, absolutely nothing could’ve prepared me for the view in front of me.

Her face is almost the same—petite, delicate, with soft lines contouring it. But it seems mature, touched by the hands of time. Her lips are a deep shade of red as they part the slightest bit.

Lips that I’ve feasted on and whose taste I still remember. It’s turned fucking bitter over time, but it’s still there all the same.

A diamond necklace that must’ve cost a company’s budget wraps around her delicate throat.

The same throat that I’ve grabbed countless times and have marked just as many.

Her arm is looped around an Asian man’s who is wearing frameless glasses.

Her lips part when my eyes connect with hers. They’re also the same, dark, haunting, but they’re now a little bit strange, a little bit changed.

A little bit far away.

She inhales a breath, which from this distance, I can almost hear, then feel trickling against my fucking skin.

It’s her.

Naomi.

The one who broke me.

Broke us.

Now, it’s time I do the same.