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I tilt my head, looking closer at the image, then when I go to turn the last page, a photograph falls to my lap. I flip it over and pause, noticing it’s the same image from the cabin.
“What?” I whisper, placing my wine onto the large coffee table and curling my knees under my butt. I flick back to the baby rattle and then look back at the picture.
I look closer.
This is the baby that Scarlet had said she wanted to raise.
Who is this baby girl? I swear if someone says it’s me, I’m going to rage and burn this world down. I cannot take another fucking twist of parents.
I pick up my phone and dial Scarlet’s number. She answers on the fourth ring.
“Tillie…”
“Scarlet, that little girl you told me about…”
Silence. “Yes?”
“Who was her mother? The woman Hector had an affair with?”
“Who do you think?” Scarlet answers calmly.
What has this book got to do with me. What are you trying to tell me, Daemon. My eyes close.
“It’s Katsia, isn’t it? My mother had another little girl…” But it wasn’t Peyton, because we already know she wasn’t Katsia’s birth child.
“Correct. Think, Tillie… who could that little girl be?”
“I don’t fucking know!” I yell, standing to my feet. I’m pacing back and forth on my white fur rug, adrenaline thrashing through my veins. Who the fuck are you…
I stop walking.
I stop breathing.
“Scarlet…” I whisper, blood draining from my body. “What color was her hair?”
Scarlet snickers. “So fucking smart, young queen. For her hair, was as white as snow.”
The phone slips from my hands and without thinking, I snatch the keys to my car off the coffee table, running out the front door.
I don’t care that I’m in yoga pants and a loose knit shirt. Or that I threw on the first sneakers at my front door.
I don’t even care that all I know is Nate’s street and not the number of his new house. I jump into my car and fire it to life, before skidding out of the driveway.
Nate
Two things happened to me the day that Tillie left Perdita.
One, I realized that Brantley was right. I had to let her go. She needed to come back to me when she was fucking ready, and not because I’m forcing her to be in this life. In other cases, I’d be a selfish bastard and take her anyway, but with all the pain that this world has inflicted on her, I couldn’t bring myself to force her to be here. I set her free. But mark my fucking words, the second she walks her ass back through any door of the house that I’m in, I’m calling it check-fucking-mate and stamping my name across her ass.
Bailey stumbles down the stairs, a bottle dangling between her fingers. “Nice house, Malum.”
I ignore her, my eyes flying back outside as I watch as horny fucking college students dive into my lagoon-style pool that’s outside my very fucking over the top mansion. The day I was told I had a daughter, was actually the day I started plans on building it. Took a while, but it’s done now. Still some things needing to be put in, like the basketball court, and a place I’ve decided to call “The Den.” Bishop and I have massive plans for it. Like a gentleman’s club, with no fucking rules. It’s where we’re going to train the new generation of Kings, Abel included. It’s going to be exclusive and fucking lethal.
From the foyer, the twin stairs lead up to the second level, that’s wrapped in stained marble. The whole second level is rounded in a circle, with a railing that you can look downstairs from. It has ten bedrooms, a theater, a show garage, and a room. The Room. I built this house around that one room. The room that started the plans. If you know me well enough and look closely at this house, you’ll see where I went dark. I started it happy, with Micaela’s room. Then it slowly went to shit and boom, The Den was built.
Everything spins around me, the alcohol pulsing through my system at a speed I can’t catch up to. “Swervin” by A Boogie Wit da Hoodie starts playing and I lean my head back against the top of the sofa, closing my eyes. I usually rage when I’m this drunk, but I can’t seem to find the energy to beat any of these fuckers tonight. I feel someone take a seat on my lap, wriggling.
My eyes fly open and I shove whoever it is off. The girl—who I don’t fucking know—falls to the ground.
“Ouch, Nate!” She turns and I see that it’s someone—I think—I’ve fucked with in the past. Her legs open slightly, and I see a flash of her pussy. Yeah, definitely remember that. I think. I’m drunk.
