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I can’t lie and say I haven’t stroked my cock to the image of her. In my eyes, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change a fucking thing. I’m sick, fucked up, demented. All I can ask myself is… is it because of my dad?
Does coveting Bel make me a sick and twisted monster like my father? It should. I’m obsessed, unhinged with the desire to fuck and own a woman who I’ve fallen for that might now be my goddamn sister. My stomach twists painfully, and I want to vomit, but I can’t ignore the hardness growing between my legs or the way my heartbeat speeds up.
I'm only a few minutes away from the spot where I'm supposed to meet my ride when my phone vibrates again. I'm two seconds from texting the bitch back to tell her off, but one look at the screen and I discover it’s a call from an unknown number.
I swallow hard, my heart in my throat, and hit the answer button, hoping, praying, needing it to be my wallflower.
"Mr. Marshall?"
I don't recognize the voice at all, and my hackles are up. "Yes? Who is this?"
"This is Gerald, a member of the nursing staff for your mother. We are unable to get in touch with your father, and we've had an emergency. Would it be possible for you to come and discuss the next steps with her care team at the estate?"
"Next steps?" What the fucking hell is going on?
My ride pulls up. I climb in and navigate from the call to change the address in the app. I usually walk around campus, and if I need to go to the estate, my father will send me a car. But maybe it’s time I bring one of the cars here to campus. It just seems stupid when I will rarely ever use it. The ride apps get me where I need easily enough.
We pull away, and I press the phone back to my ear. "I'm on my way there now. Is she okay?"
I hope he can't hear the naked fear in my voice, but I don't have the strength to hide it right now.
"I think it’s best if you let the doctors discuss things with you, Mr. Marshall.”
Instantly, I know this is bad. I tap the driver on the shoulder. "As fast as you can and I'll give you a bigger tip."
The middle-aged man driving nods and hits the accelerator, causing the car to lurch forward. My back flattens against the seat, and I struggle to catch my breath.
"I'll be there in a few minutes," I tell the guy and hang up.
The entire drive takes ten minutes tops, but it feels like an eternity with something so doomful hanging over my head.
The car hasn’t even stopped at the gate. The tires are still rolling, but I couldn’t give one shit. I jump from the car and rush through the partially open gate. My boots slap against the concrete, but I don’t slow.
I run the entire way up the drive and into the house. The house is nothing like Mill house, sprawling across way too much land for being inside the city limits. I barely see the staff or the rooms as I rush toward my mom's suite. By the time I reach the room, a thin sheen of sweat has formed on my brow, and I’m sucking ragged breaths into my lungs.
I notice a man in a white coat standing in the middle of the room, and I stop short. What the fuck is going on?
"Where is her usual doctor?" I bark in the way of greeting.
The youngish white man with dark hair and glasses surveys me. "He was unable to complete his employment. I apologize for any confusion. I was hired in his place until Mrs. Marshall can get a more permanent in-house physician."
The doctor extends his hand. "Dr. Banks. And you are?"
"Drew. Her son."
He nods. "It’s nice to meet you although I wish it were under better circumstances.”
I shake my head. There’s no need for pleasantries right now. I just need to know. "What’s going on? What's wrong?"
He places his hand on my shoulder, and I scowl but resist shrugging his hold off. “At the moment, your mother is stable, but some decisions will need to be made fairly soon. We are currently unable to get ahold of the elder Mr. Marshall. Your mother has you listed as the next of kin and power of attorney."
That’s news to me, but I’m not going to question them. Especially when my father is probably off fucking his new mistress or something equally disturbing.
"What's going on?” All I can think of are the worst possible things. “Please, just tell me. Is she dying?"
His mouth settles into a straight line, and he puts on one of those masks people adopt when they have to impart bad news. "I’ll be frank with you, it's not looking good. It seems her organs are beginning to shut down. From the testing we’ve done, she’s going to need at least a kidney transplant, if not more, and fairly soon, too. It’s best if a direct family member donates, as the viability of the body taking it without severe complications lessens greatly.”
The world spins all around me, and I want to punch my father in the face and rip the room apart. How could he let things get to this point? I eye my mother over his shoulder, staring at her unmoving body. I can’t help it. My body moves as if on command, my legs carrying me over to her bedside, forcing the doctor to follow with hurried, worried footsteps.
