Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 71148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“I can’t miss mom?” I ask, knowing Lycan won’t even bother questioning him. The black sheep, that’s who I am. I don’t obey, I don’t follow the rules, I may as well be the outcast because that what it feels like.
Instead of responding, he lifts the paperweight in his hand, and for some reason, I flinch. Usually, I’m not scared of anything, of anyone, but with my father, he’s like a bomb waiting to explode, and the moment he detonates is the day we’ll all be left in pieces on the ground.
“This symbolizes emotions,” he tells me before lobbing the heavy glass ball at me, which I quickly dive to catch because I’m sure if it had fallen and shattered, he would take a belt to my ass. “See how they weigh you down?” He chuckles at this.
It’s as if he’s made one of the best jokes in the world, but as he laughs, he wheezes, and I wonder when that cigar is going to kill him.
One day.
I hope.
It may not be good to wish death on your father, but I do. Every fucking day. At sixteen, you’d think I’m stronger, that I can handle his bullshit, but each moment I spend with him, my anger seems to grow. It’s an entity on its own now.
“Dad, I think we get it,” Lycan offers, his voice placating, but there’s no doubt in my mind Conall won’t get angry at him. He’ll merely grin as if Lycan’s words are soothing.
“Good, now go off and have fun. You’re teenagers!”
As if that’s going to change anything.
I set the paperweight on his desk, but Conall grabs my hand in his fist and holds me hostage. “Be careful of who you trust,” he warns in a low growl. I consider his words for a long moment before it dawns on me. He means because he’s seen me with the boy next door.
Dad hasn’t told me why, but each time he’s seen the young boy here, he’s given me a warning, a threat to keep me in line. I’m not sure what it is about him, or them, but my father hates the Bardots. The boy lives with his parents, but I don’t see much of his dad, only the mother. We may not be best friends, but he seems to be a cool kid.
“Yes, sir,” I answer in an attempt to get free, and for a moment, I’m certain he won’t let me go. But, after a long moment, he releases me with a nod.
Something isn’t right.
And I’m going to find out what it is.
When I focus back on Scarlett, she’s watching me intently. I move toward her, my hands extending to untie the rope, and the moment she’s free, she sighs. “Thank you.”
My gaze latches onto her wrists as she massages them, her thumbs circling the smooth, delicate skin. The door to the basement opens, and I’m met with Howler. He’s our tech genius. I put him on the case to find out if the records Grace Bardot gave me were legit.
Working for her under the ruse of another name was something I did to get access to her home, to possibly learn what happened to my father. I knew it was the Bardots who killed him, I just needed to prove it. Then one day I finally admitted to Grace who I was, she was shocked. She hadn’t seen me in years, so she didn’t recognize the man before her from the boy she must have remembered being the son of the man she once loved.
When Grace offered me the folder, I read the results and my heart hurt. For the first time in years, I allowed that useless fucking organ to do its thing, to experience pain. I let fucking weakness in.
It’s been almost eight months since I found out the truth. Even though I was on her property, on the grounds of the Bardot Manor, she never once came to me. There wasn’t even an inkling that she wanted to know who I was, and as time passed, I learned little tidbits about her.
When Lycan’s plan caught my attention, the contract he signed to marry Scarlett, I realized I had to make a move. And thankfully, the little one walked right into my clutches the night she wandered into the garden. In a way, I helped my brother capture her, but now she’s here, and I’m not letting her get away until I get what I want.
“Got something for me?” I ask Howler when he reaches me. His face giving nothing away. The man has one expression—stoic. Even if he’s in a good mood, you can never tell.
He hands me a printout, which I scan slowly. The details on the page tell me that Grace Bardot is a lying bitch. One that I need to put an end to. The test results she gave me were nothing more than fabricated lies. But that doesn’t make sense.