Puh-lease. I just like the outfit.
I snicker and smack into a hard, warm object. I grunt and whip my head up. Large hands settle on my waist, steadying me before I fall flat on my face and make a fool of myself. My lips part as ocean eyes stare back at me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I look up at Ryder.
His expression is as flat as always. Dark brown hair falls over his forehead like a curtain, giving me just enough space to drink my fill of his eyes.
God, how long has it been since I last saw him? Three weeks? I’m not sure, but it’s been too long.
He stares at me for a long moment, not saying a word. His hands flex on my wide hips. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he wanted to pull me closer to him. It has to be all in my head, though. There’s no way he’d want to do something like that.
My cheeks warm when he doesn’t let go. Any other time, he would have already released me and walked away.
As if he can read my mind, Ryder’s gaze moves down my body. Then he turns and walks away. The spots where he touched me cool, but the feeling lingers, like the ghost of him still touches me. He puts more space between us, then turns the corner to the hallway.
I don’t know what he’s doing here. It’s been weeks since I last saw him.
Maybe he’s here to work out?
Ryder spent a lot of time in the gym when we were in high school. I snooped on him sometimes, sneaking away before he could catch me being a creep. Ever since he moved out, he pops by and works out before disappearing again.
Whatever Ryder’s reason is for being here, nothing’s changed. He’s resuming the cold-shoulder treatment and pretending I don’t exist. It still hurts like the first time because all I want is a good relationship with him.
Shaking my head, I walk past the hallway and head into the kitchen to grab a light snack. I’ll give Ryder a few minutes before I try to sneak to the gym.
“ANXIETY” PALAYE ROYALE
The old grandfather clock ticks away the silent seconds as I sit in Jerry’s office, wishing to be anywhere but here. This suffocating home always brings back the harsh memories of my stolen childhood.
Jerry used to beat me in this office. If I didn’t get to the dinner table on time, he would bring me in here and land a few blows to my gut. If I left a crumb on the counter after sneaking a snack, he’d bring me in here to teach me a lesson.
“Hitting isn’t okay, no matter the situation!” he would scream as he beat me for fighting at school.
This man’s hypocrisy is ironic.
It also seriously fucked me up. I got hit as a kid, and it’s knocked a few screws loose, so now I enjoy spanking women and calling them filthy names while I fuck them into the mattress. Some of those women leave crying after I finish because it’s too much.I’mtoo much. All because of this bastard who sits at his desk, drinking whiskey like it’s water and staring at his computer screen, pretending I’m not in the room with him.
I settle further into the leather sofa and drape an arm over the backside. My gaze drifts to the cracked door for the tenth time since walking in here. If I listen hard enough, I can make out Madison’s voice. After not seeing her for weeks, I’ve turned into this desperate simp who needs to hear her voice and stare at her when she’s not looking.
My sister is the only reason I still come around. It’s fucked up because I want to emphasize that she’s my sister, but sometimes it doesn’t stick. We aren’t related by blood, but we still grew up together.
Madison is my wet dream. She has been for a long time. I’ve imagined all the different ways I could taint her with my darkness. I want to hate-fuck her out of my system, but my stepsister wouldn’t be able to handle me. I’d extinguish her bright flame. I’m a greedy man and I’m often tempted to give in to my desires. The only thing that’s stopped me so far is the constant reminder of our familial ties.
If Jerry ever found out about my attraction toward his daughter, he’d finish what he started all those years ago and bury my body in an unmarked grave.
“How did Hellfire Night go?”
I blink out of my thoughts and shift my attention back to Jerry. He’s still staring at his computer screen, whiskey in hand. The muscle tics in his jaw, and his meaty fingers squeeze the crystal glass—the only signs that show he’s focused on me.
“Hellfire Night was fine,” I say.
Jerry breaks his staring contest with the computer and glares at me. “That’s it?”
I don’t allow any emotion to show on my face. The less I show, the better. Any time I express myself, it only angers him. Jerry doesn’t scare me anymore, though. Those fears turned to ash and smoke when I turned seventeen and hit my breaking point. I school my face to savehimfrom me, not the other way around.
When I don’t say anything, Jerry turns back to his computer with a huff and sips his drink. A moment passes before he sets his half-empty glass on the desk. “I heard through the grapevine you killed Stan Richards’ son.”
My eye twitches.
