Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Spencer: Are you wet right now? Does your pussy miss me?
The throbbing of my clit, a direct result of his texted words, is the only answer needed. Luckily for me, he can’t see or feel the way he affects me. I’m thankful to be out of the house and far, far away from his tempting ways.
Me: I hate you.
Spencer: Hate makes for the best sex.
Is it wrong that I want to test his theory?
Spencer
“She’s in perfect condition and such quick turnaround,” Pops says, smirking. “When I call in a favor, they move their asses. Or else.”
I lift a brow at him. “You know you sound like you’re with the mafia when you talk like that.”
He chuckles, a dark, sinister quality threading through it, and shrugs off the statement. I know he isn’t actually heading an organized crime family, but he likes to allude to it, even with me. It’s one of the things I admire most about my pops. He’s a powerful mystery, making things happen seemingly without effort—all for the ones bearing the Park last name.
“I overheard Gemma and Dempsey talking,” Pops rumbles, voice growing cold. “Aubrey’s back?”
Aubrey isn’t the reason for his change in demeanor. No, Neena holds that title. However, since she’s Neena’s daughter, she’s guilty by association.
“Unfortunately.” I rub at the back of my neck, easing some of the tension there. Aubrey is the only person who can ruffle me. It’s maddening.
“You’re quite right. Misfortunate timing.” Pops motions for me to follow him next door to his house. “This is the last thing your father’s campaign needs right now.”
I fall into step beside him, shooting him a questioning look. “Aubrey’s bad for Dad’s campaign?”
He doesn’t answer until we’re standing on his porch. His lips thin out and his eyes narrow. He doesn’t meet my stare as he says, “Not her per se. But it’ll be a reminder about what happened to Neena.”
What. Happened. To. Neena.
Pops clears his throat before stalking into his house. I follow after him, curious about his shifty behavior. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was responsible for Neena’s disappearance. I mean, Dad always has been his favorite son. It’s obvious to everyone in the family. It’s not a stretch to imagine him hiring a hitman to deal with his difficult daughter-in-law. His own wife conveniently died in a house fire while he was fucking his son’s girlfriend.
But he’s not the mafia.
“She covered for Dad,” I admit as we walk into his home office and take a seat. “Maybe it’s not the worst thing that she’s back. Might actually make it appear as if everything is normal.”
“I’m not a fool,” Pops says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “You don’t believe that. I can see it in your eyes that you can’t stand that she’s back. Is she the one who vandalized your car?”
You owe me, Aubrey…
“Nah,” I lie easily. “It’s just difficult sharing a space with her. We don’t exactly get along or hang with the same kind of people.”
Also a lie.
The only people I hang with on the regular are Gemma and Dempsey. Both of them like Aubrey, though Dempsey pretends not to for my benefit.
Pops shakes his head but thankfully moves on to other subjects like where he’s taking Jamie and the twins for spring break vacation. He prattles on even though I’ve lost interest. My buzzing phone saves me from boring small talk.
Just who I was waiting on.
Jude: I have information.
Me: Be there in five.
“Sorry, Pops, but I need to head out.”
“Keep your stepsister in line. This family depends on it.”
My grin is wolfish. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Even if it means fucking her into submission.
Jude’s nightmare house is no less imposing when I visit again. In a way, I like forcing myself to face the creepiness of it all. If I can handle his house, I can handle anything. The entryway smells like pie again, a temptation no doubt. I ignore the grumbling of my stomach and head for the stairwell.
The approaching whir of a motor echoes around me. A chill races down my spine. Sure enough, Grandpa’s familiar wheeze can be heard seconds before he appears in a doorway. He has an oxygen tank but only uses it when he’s damn near suffocating. One day, his stubbornness is going to literally suck the life out of him indefinitely.
“My,” Grandpa rasps, “favorite.” He sucks in a ragged breath. “Grandson.”
He’s never called me his favorite, which means he thinks I’m my father again.
“Came to see Jude,” I grunt out.
Grandpa’s body jerks as he waves a papery-thin, skin and bone hand toward the stairwell. “Jude.” He wheezes again. “Avoids me.”
“Jude avoids everyone,” I assure him, plastering on a million-dollar grin that no doubt will further confuse him into thinking I’m Dad. “No hard feelings, Grandpa.”