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“Then when is?” I finally blurted out, unable to hold back any longer. “When were you planning on telling us? After the funeral?”
“Weston,” she warned, her eyes narrowing. But I didn’t care. I was tired of being kept in the dark, especially when it came to matters concerning my family.
The tension in the room thickened as Cole and Kent continued their heated exchange, each word dripping with venom. I stood there, watching the two of them go at it like rabid dogs, unable to tear my eyes away from the spectacle.
“Fuck you, Kent! You think I wanted to keep this from you?” Cole roared, his face contorted with fury.
“Seems like it, doesn’t it? What kind of brother keeps something like this a secret?” Kent retorted, his voice raising an octave higher.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, a sudden reminder that there were other, more pressing matters at hand. Slipping it out, I glanced down at the screen, my heart thudding wildly in my chest.
“Looks like you’re going to be working a lot harder.” The message from Darius read, reminding me of our earlier encounter and the dangerous game we were playing.
I looked up, my gaze finding Darius across the room. He was leaning against the wall, a wicked grin plastered on his face as he watched the scene unfold before him. Our eyes locked, and he winked, a silent promise that things were far from over between us.
Chapter11
Darius
The message on my phone was just as I expected from James. “Got your membership shit.” No pleasantries, no bullshit. Just the way I liked it. The engine of my car roared to life, a sweet fucking melody to my ears as I pulled away from the grandeur of my grandparents’ estate. It was a temple of old money and indifference, the kind that suffocated you with its opulence and left you gasping for anything resembling genuine warmth.
Twenty minutes of aggressive driving through the manicured hell that was the wealthy suburbs brought me to James’ place. Another goddamn palace pretending to be a home. As I killed the engine, I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Dark-brown hair perfectly tousled, hazel eyes filled with an intensity that said “don’t fuck with me.” My smiley piercing glinted underneath my top lip as I sneered at my reflection.
I stepped out, slammed the door harder than necessary, and strode up to the massive front doors as if I owned the place. Because one day, maybe I would. The doorbell echoed through the halls as I waited, impatience gnawing at me. The lady who opened the door could have been Martha’s twin. She had the same hawk-like stare, and the same condescending downturn of her lips. Must be a requisite for housekeepers in these circles.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice all starch and no substance.
“James,” was all I grunted, pushing past her without waiting for permission.
The foyer sprawled before me like a museum exhibit of “How the Rich Live.” Marble floors so polished I could see my damn reflection, spiral staircases winding upwards like as if they led straight to heaven— or hell, depending on who you asked.
I didn’t need to compare this place to my grandparents’; it was almost a carbon copy. Both screamed money, both felt as warm as a crypt. The decor might cost more than most folks saw in a lifetime, but it did jack shit to make it feel like a home.
“Hey!” James’ voice boomed from above, shattering the silence of the dead foyer. I craned my neck to see his smug face grinning down at me from the goddamn balcony that screamed “my daddy’s richer than yours.”
“Up here,” he beckoned his arm sweeping in a come-hither gesture.
I snatched a handful of mints from a crystal dish and headed for the staircase. They were a blur under my boots as I took them two at a time, the sound of my steps echoing off the grand walls like a drumbeat heralding my arrival.
The upper hallway was worse than downstairs— wallpaper so ugly it must have been a tax write-off. It was a swirling mess of colors and patterns, the kind only the truly wealthy or utterly tasteless would splurge on. As I peeled the gum from my mouth and pressed it firmly against the monstrosity of a wall, I couldn’t help but smirk. Fuck their expensive tastes.
“About damn time,” James drawled as I stepped into his room.
His room was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. Gray walls, clean lines, minimal bullshit. The king-size bed was made up with military precision, and a corner desk held stacks of papers and tech worth more than most people’s cars. A fireplace sat unlit, its darkened grate like a silent sentinel watching over the room.
My eyes roamed, taking it all in until they landed on something unexpected on the bed. A beat up silicone vagina, just lying there like an invitation or a challenge. My lips curled into a grin as I leaned closer, examining the pathetic thing. What the fuck?
With a flick of his wrist, James covered the toy with a blanket, his lips tightening into a thin line. “Everyone isn’t like you,” he said, a note of challenge in his voice.
I snorted, the metal ball beneath my lip clicking against my teeth. “I don’t fuck pussy,” I said, my eyes still on the spot where the worn fake flesh was now covered up.
James’ brow arched, amusement touching the corners of his eyes as he settled back into his desk chair. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t have an issue getting any.” He leaned back, fingers steepled, a grin playing across his face.
“Sure as hell not,” I agreed, dryly.
No dispute there. I moved closer, feeling the pull of whatever game we were sinking into. His hand disappeared into a drawer and reemerged, holding a matte black envelope that seemed to swallow the light around it.
I took the offered envelope, thumbing it open with a casual flick. Inside, a card as dark as my intentions slid out, a single rose embossed in deep red— beauty on black. Beside it, a slip of paper lay waiting, its digits stark against the white background: a timestamp.
