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The annoyingly consistent buzzing prevented me from going back to sleep.
I reached blindly towards my nightstand, skimming my fingers over its surface until I found my cell. Rolling onto my back, I stared at the screen through squinted eyes to combat the bright glare.
It was the same number I had ignored not five minutes ago. Unknown and calling from California. I contemplated sending whoever this was to voicemail again, but then they could call right back, and I wasn’t up for playing a game of telephone tag. I swiped up, placing the phone on speaker, too lazy to hold it to my ear.
“Hello?” slipped out amid a yawn.
“Is this, Catalina Haven?”
I don’t know if it was the sound of his voice that had me waking up a little more, or the fact he used my first and last name.
Either way, he’d successfully captured my full attention.
“Uh, yeah,” I cleared my throat, “This is she.”
“Were you sleeping? Did I wake you?”
“It’s almost twelve-thirty in the morning.”
“Right.” A slight pause, but no apology followed. “This is, Alaric Schuyler.
I’m calling about your sister.”
“My…sister?” I questioned slowly.
Another pause.
“Catalina,” he stated my name confidently this time, “Jonathon Penn is your father, correct?”
Unfortunately. “Yes.”
“Then that makes you my wife’s sister.”
His wife?
“Oh! You’re calling for Megan?”
He sighed. I mentally slapped myself on the forehead. I was so glad he wasn’t in front of me.
The man probably thought I was an idiot. I’d forgotten Meg was even married. I sat up a little taller and took him off speaker. “Is everything okay?”
Of course, it wasn’t. I already knew that. Nothing good came from calls received after midnight.
“Things are…” he expelled another small breath. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. Megan—your sister—she’s dead.”
This is an erotic, twisted story that contains explicit dark themes, crude language, and contains scenes some readers may find objective. Reader discretion highly advised.
