Page 53 of Wicked Love

Grace came to stand on my right, her posture guarded and her stance rigid. “Mom, I’m not coming home. Not yet. I don’t wanna see you.”

“Are you still mad about the wedding day? About that piece of junk you called a gown? The one you ruined in another attempt to rebel against me?”

“Wow, I knew you were heartless, but this is a new low, Clarissa.” I angled myself to face Grace, blocking Clarissa’s view of her daughter. “Would you like to go upstairs and work on your designs instead? I’ll deal with your mom.”

Her brown eyes widened, and I noticed the tears building in them. “You sure? I can give her a piece of my mind. I’m not afraid of her. I’ve been doing this all my life.”

“Yes. Go. I feel like giving her a piece of my mind. She’s upsetting you. Don’t let her bad mojo affect your creative process. Not tonight. I’ll come to get you when the coast is clear.”

Grace cast a glance at her mother and nodded. “Fine. Kick her out. You have my permission.” I kissed the top of her head, and my fingertips lingered on her arm, touching her until she moved far enough to break the contact.

Not wanting Grace to overhear the conversation if her mother and I got into a verbal fight, I stepped outside, shutting the door behind me.

“What’s going on in there?” Clarissa’s voice gritted on my last nerve. How could my dad share his life with her? “Once we return home, you two will be grounded. Take my word for it.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, unable to reel in the sneer bubbling in my throat. “You actually know I’m twenty-three and you can’t ground me, right? That I’m too old to deal with a stepmom and I don’t owe you anything?”

Clarissa stamped her foot. “It’s the principle. You disobeyed us. You ran away, skipped the wedding ceremony, the pictures, and disappeared for weeks. And you stole my daughter. I’m not liking the tone you’re using with me. You’re lucky your father convinced me to not call the cops on you two. I was this close,” she brought her thumb and forefinger together, “to lodging a missing person report. Or to report a kidnapping. Philip knew where you were hiding the entire time. I’m just annoyed it took me a long time to figure it out myself.”

“My father knew, and he did nothing about it?”

“He said you two required some fresh air. An adventure. Some bonding time. And that you could use the break because you’ve been working too much. Can I see Grace now?”

“No. I’ll tell her to call you in the morning if she feels like it. It will be her choice. Her decision.”

“Joe, I’ve always respected you, but who are you? My daughter’s protector? I don’t think so. Don’t make me call the sheriff. You’re not allowed to hold a minor hostage against her will.”

“Well, technically, I’m her brother. And you’ve witnessed it yourself. Grace is here of her own volition. No one is harmed or in danger. No one kidnapped anyone.”

She threw her arms in the air. “Do you possess a rehearsed answer for everything? Gosh, you’re exhausting. Kids nowadays. To use your own words, I’m your mother, and I demanded respect and to be let in. Now.”

“My mother died years ago. You’re nothing to me. Just the woman my father chose to marry. For your information, the booking is under my name. And I’m an adult, so you can’t force me into anything. Stepmother or not.”

Clarissa would vaporize me if her eyes were weapons. “You know what, Joe? I’ll find another way in. Keep guarding the door like you’re some sort of superhero.”

She turned around and circled the house, probably looking for another door. Sadly for her, there was only one access, and I was blocking it.

Desperate to go back inside, I turned the doorknob. Nothing.

Shit, it was locked. How did this happen? Using my shoulder and all my weight, I pushed into the panel, but it didn’t budge.

I knocked, praying Grace could hear me from the bedroom upstairs.

I heard a loud noise inside, something sounding like a crash, just as Clarissa’s cries pierced my eardrums. “Joe, what is this? Is the house on fire?”

“Fire?” I walked in her direction when I noticed the flames licking every surface from the living room window. “No. Grace.”

Returning to the front door, I kicked the panel, but nothing.

I patted my pockets for my phone but realized I’d left it inside.

“No. No, no, no.” I tugged at the roots of my hair. “Grace.” Could she hear me? Why wasn’t she coming to the door? Was she knocked down? Had she choked on the smoke?

I moved back and looked up to search the second-floor windows, but she was nowhere to be seen.

My heart hit the walls of my chest cavity. This couldn’t be. Where was she?

“Clarissa, call for help.”