Page 42 of Prey It By Ear

“Interesting,” my mother says as her face stays frozen like the Botox Queen she is. “Well, if you must know, I’m perfectly fine without the extra baggage. I am sailing around Ibiza with my new beau and a large staff to help meet my needs in ways your father never could.”

I struggle not to make a face as the bile rises in my throat. For one, no kid—even when they’re adults—truly feels okay with hearing about their parents’ sex life. Next, Lucille disgusts me as a living being as it is, and I do not want to imagine her getting her rocks off with anyone. I’m having trouble with the fact that she faked things well enough with Bruno for him to fall for whatever shit she pulled with a fucking Fae to get pregnant with me. This additional bullshit is going to make me call that therapist again.

Not Rockland, of course, she’s a fucking moron with a search engine, not a professional.

“Well, that’s um… nice?” I stutter out. “But uh… I…”

“Delores! How many times have I told you that stammering like a fool makes you seem like you should be hidden away from the public eye and operated on!”

I’ve never heard her say that before, and she’s said a lot of nasty shit to me over the years. In fact, though she’s threatened Bloodstone, forced cosmetic surgery, boarding school, and a myriad of other awful things, that threat is new. I grit my teeth to prevent myself from chewing on my lip as I try to figure out just where the fuck this new, scary-as-fuck punishment has come from. But Lucille says nothing; she just leans back and smiles in a satisfied leopard fashion.

Then I see him.

The shot widens to show her leaning against a tanned, dark-haired man wearing equally expensive sunglasses and jewelry while a cadre of young—looking women and men in tiny bathing suits rush about the deck of the yacht. I suck in a quick breath through my nose as I watch his long black curls blow in the wind, and then he says in a heavy accent, “I do not believe that comes from you, my love. It must be your dearly departed, idiotic husband who gave her such damaged genes.”

My eyes narrow for a split second as the spunk and confidence I’ve gained in the past three years almost get the best of me. Instead, I smile even more fakely and reply, “Very nice to meet you, sir. I’m so happy to know that you are consoling my mother in her grief. I am doing okay as well; I know you both have to be wondering if it will affect my schooling, but it definitely will not.”

His laugh is dark and threatening as he throws his head back. Lucille snickers as well, and I have to wait until they finish pretending to be amused for a response. The new man shakes his head, standing to reveal a fit body that needs a much bigger swimsuit if he’s going to move into the camera and shove what looks to be a disappointment in my face.

I’m about to lose my cool and say something again when he turns to head for somewhere off-camera. My jaw drops again when the shot is filled with his ass and back—sporting a huge fucking tattoo that I absolutely recognize without a doubt.

My mother is fucking the phony Raj of Bloodstone and his goddamn unwilling harem.

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper

Lucille

“How do you like your schedule?” I ask as soon as I know she’s figured out who my yachting companion is. A feeling of dark glee settles in my gut despite her lack of facial reaction to Taka’s presence. This will bother her more than her supposed father blowing up in the airplane, and I thought I’d have to arrange it myself.

Fate certainly dropped a boon in my lap today by way of her video chatting me all on her own.

Delores gives me one of her infuriatingly common shrugs and replies, “I’ll be very busy this year. That’s why I wanted to call you now; once the semester starts, I will have very little free time to chit-chat, even with my friends.”

“Oh, yes, the chubby bear who makes ugly clothes and that disgusting hillbilly boy. They’ll live without your drivel, Delores. Hopefully, you will shape up a bit more when you’re not sitting around stuffing your face and gossiping with them on the weekends.”

I see a slight clench in her jaw, and the ball of joy in my stomach grows. That hit landed, whether it’s true or not, and I’m sure it has to do with a naïve notion of fairness or truth. My daughter has always been dim in regard to her worldview, and the association with the older men doesn’t seem to have changed that. I would have thought they’d teach her that the world is not fair, nor will it give you what you want if you don’t take it, but here we are.

Such a dud for someone conceived ingeniously by illegal means; it really is a waste.

“Mother, I didn’t realize you were coming to Europe on business,” Delores says, and I have to tune back into her ramblings to make certain I miss nothing.

Pretending to consider the unasked question, I wait until she looks as if her eyes are going to twitch before I respond. “Council business is global, as you know. With your father gone, the Drew seat has been merged with the Rostoff one, so I have much more to do and many more places to be. If you need my calendar, email Matilda.”

My flighty assistant steps into frame behind me and I whip around to glare at her. I only allowed her to answer because I needed to remind my child of what I have as an ace up my sleeve. I have no idea why she’d care about this feather duster on legs, but it seems to be a good negotiation tool since Delores left for college. Otherwise, I would have had Bruiser roast her carcass on a spit for a nice dinner a long time ago.

“My emails and calls have not reached her since the end of last year,” my child says, and I grin as I hear the stress in her tone.

The media blackout between her and the ex-nanny has worked just as I planned.

“Technical issues, I’m sure,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I’ll have someone from Erikson look into it, and she can email you once we have the problem sorted. Right, Matilda?”

She pushes up her glasses, almost trembling with fear as she does a terrible job of faking a smile at Delores. “Yes, Lucille. I’ll get right on contacting our IT person at the office in Paris. His name is Gizmo Quilliam, and I’m certain he will be able to⁠—”

“That is enough, Matilda! As if I care what the hell the drone working on internet wires and such is named.” Huffing in annoyance, I turn back to Delores with a dark look on my face. “Are you happy now? We will correct the issue now that we’re aware, and you will be able to access my schedule in order to call with your educational progress.”

Delores tilts her head, the ridiculous rainbow hair falling over her shoulder as she smiles faintly. “Yes, Mother. That will be sufficient. Thank you for your efforts.”

I don’t trust that in the slightest; what is she up to?