Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)(67)
Author: Jen Frederick

“I’ve earned every penny I’ve spent,” I respond. “Can you say the same?”

In an instant, his pale face turns red with anger. “Your golden goose is cooked. I made sure of that. Kerr Inc. isn’t going to be controlled by you much longer, and then how many things will you be able to buy yourself and your whore?”

I might have swung at him if not for Tiny’s hand at my back. She’s right behind me, telling me with her touch that I should go on and not deviate from the plan.

“What else have you done? Tell me,” I command.

He’s too angry now to watch what he’s saying. “I’ve f**ked women for their money. Is that what you want to hear? That I’ve taken advantage of old hag socialites to get their accounts and slept with daughters to ruin their fathers?” he sneers. “This dick has stuck more women in the city than a  p**n  star in the valley. And I’ve made more money doing it. I don’t need you,” he says, straightening and trying to gain composure. “There’s a hundred stupid women out there right now whose dickless husbands can’t get it up. You offer to eat them out, and they’re all too willing to open up their checkbooks as well as their legs. Easy pickings.”

Complete silence is in the room now. “Easy, is it?” I peruse the crowd. Howe is still bloviating. “You know what your problem is, Howe? You have no imagination. You aim low and achieve low.”

“Fuck you,” he grunts. “I’m Richard Howe. I can trace my descendants back to people who rubbed shoulders with Henry Frick. You could have aligned yourself with me. My father could have put you in a position of power. Your mother didn’t even know how to dress herself when she married Duncan Kerr. And now, blood tells, because you went and tied yourself to an illiterate bike messenger. How stupid can you be?”

“Not so stupid that I say indiscreet things when there’s a hot mic in front of me.” I tap the microphone and the thump thump reverbs back. It’s almost as satisfying as hitting Howe in the face. Almost, but not quite.

So I turn and punch him right in the mouth so that the flesh of his lips is pushed hard against the line of his teeth. He stumbles back off the dais. No one helps him, and he falls to his knees. I jump down beside him. The crowd is rushing toward us, scenting blood. No matter how rarified the air, everyone loves a fight.

“I’m tired of you insulting my fiancée, who on her worst day is smarter than you’ll ever be. Unlike you, she doesn’t have to prostitute herself to make a living. Unlike you, she’s not a whore.”

The crowd collectively inhales. Rather than concede that he’s been beaten, Richard, because he’s a dumb animal, strikes out. “Like your mother? Because she tried to sell herself to me. That’s where I got the idea that these stupid bitches could be screwed out of their money and into submission.”

I shake my head. “You’d think you’d shut up while you could, but no.”

I punch him again, and he goes down. This time his nose is bleeding as well as the corner of his mouth. Someone—Kaga, I think—shoves a handkerchief at me to wipe away the blood on my hands. But I don’t want to wipe it away. The sight of his blood ignites a fire inside me. All the hate and rage I’ve stored up against him is roaring, and the blood is fanning the flames. Red is all I see.

Howe scrambles back as I stride toward him. Like a scuttling crab, he moves backward until he hits a chair and then a potted plant and then a wall of people. There’s nothing more that I want to do than pick up a chair and bash his head in until he’s not able to talk again. Not able to breathe again.

I’m reaching for the back of a cloth-draped chair when a small hand presses against my arm. “It’s done. Don’t waste your time with that animal.” It’s Tiny, and the rage recedes slightly at her words.

“He needs to pay,” I say through gritted teeth.

“He has. He will. Look around you,” she urges.

The yoke of revenge and hatred still weighs me down. With great effort, I lift my head. The crowd has gathered close, and on their faces I see shock, dismay, and even some satisfaction…which so easily could turn if I press too hard. His father is in the grip of Kaga. I ease back.

“Mr. Fairchild,” I say loudly, trying to regain my composure. A handkerchief is offered again. In fact, not just one but several are being offered. This is a gesture of support, and I’d be stupid—stupid as Howe—if I didn’t take it. I see one being offered by Kitty McFarland, a scion of the community. “Thank you.” I bow my head in a courtly gesture.

She gives me a grim smile. “You look like you need it, son.”

“I do. Fairchild,” I repeat. “I think we’re ready for that announcement. Since Mr. Howe is indisposed, perhaps you can do the honors.”

“Of course! If everyone would gather over here by the dais, I would love to share the generous donation that Ian Kerr has made to the Frick Foundation to benefit the citizens of New York City.”

I take Tiny’s hand and walk toward the dais. Behind me I hear a scuffle, and we both turn back. Richard is being forcibly helped to his feet by two brawny young servers. They begin to drag him out of the atrium with Kaga directing. I give Kaga a nod of appreciation and he returns it.

Turning back, I wrap my arm around Tiny and draw her close.

“Does it hurt?”

“My hand?”

She nods.

“Yes, because I only got to punch him twice. It would hurt a lot less if I got to hit him at least ten more times.”

“I think the pain will lessen with each day. Didn’t you once tell me that?” She’s referring to her mother, and hell, maybe she’s referring to mine too.

“And was I right?”

“You were. But this is the only time I’ll admit it.”

“Good enough for me.”

We stand there then and listen to Fairchild extol the virtues of Sophie Corielli, the mother I had gained for a short time and then lost. But she left me her most prized creation, and that was a bigger gift than any monetary contribution I could ever provide. My arm tightens around Tiny’s shoulders, and she leans into me, placing a hand over my chest.

“I love you, Ian Kerr.”

“I love you, soon-to-be Victoria Kerr.”

TWENTY-FIVE

OUR LOVEMAKING THAT NIGHT IS more tender than fierce, as if we are both comforting each other.

“We’re going to make a baby tonight,” I swear as I thrust slowly inside her.