Page 8 of The Family Pet

“Strip him naked and parade him through town?” Ridge chuckled at his own comment, but I merely stared at him until the smile fell from his mouth and discomfort swept over him. He let out a small cough that didn’t hide his irritation with me.

“Is this a frat hazing?” I stood abruptly, and Ridge tensed, real fear passing through his gaze. Pleasure simmered low in my stomach. Good. I wanted him to be afraid of me. I strode around to his side of the desk and leaned on it, ass pressed against the edge. “Is he a nerd we want to scare off?”

Ridge raised his chin, looking up at me with traces of defiance playing across his face. My son possessed the potential to be a great lawyer one day, and his degree and career could benefit us and our family name, but he was still too childish. I would need to teach him a few things, like how to be a true Godfrey. We weren’t called the Gods of New Gothenburg for nothing.

“What are you going to do with him?” His fingers curled around his knees and he gripped them tightly.

I smirked. “He owes us, so we’ll come up with a compromise.”

“Why?” His eyebrows dipped low and he glared. “He made us look like fuckheads. I don’t care what he says. I bet he knew everything his parents were doing. Father—”

“Enough!” I snapped before I could stop. I’d been as reasonable as I could with Ridge, but he had a lot to learn. While most people looked at him and noted me in his sharp features, I saw his mother. Even though she’d been a money hungry bitch, she’d always been beautiful, with deep brown eyes and a narrow face. Her hair wasn’t quite as dark as mine and she had a cute button nose. In a lot of ways, I’d wished it had worked out between us, but we never had a chance. She was a means to an end—helping to perpetuate the Godfrey name—and I was nothing but a bank account and prestige to her.

Despite his lack of discipline and drive, Ridge had the potential to dominate New Gothenburg. He needed a mentor, though, and this was the perfect situation to be that person for him.

I held up my finger. “First, when you ask me a question, you won’t talk back. You will listen. Am I clear?”

He visibly swallowed, Adam’s apple bouncing, and while rage warred with his need to make me proud, he bowed his head. “Sorry, Father.”

“Hm.” I didn’t believe him, but it was a start. “Second, when Saint gets here, you will stay quiet and watch me. Do not say a word, Ridge.”

His lips twitched with disagreement, but he merely nodded. I would have to show him how to wear a poker face. “Yes, Father.”

I reached over to turn the desk clock around.

6:01 p.m.

I grunted in disapproval. When I’d told Saint what time to be here, I’d expected him to at least be punctual.

Someone knocked, and I stood, stalking over to the door and yanking it open. Saint was on the other side, looking worse for wear. His right cheek and left jaw were bruised and swollen, and he had a scrape across his chin. He scowled at me, though it looked painful because he winced. His hands were clasped in front of himself, nerves clear in the way he was fidgeting.

“Hm.” I tilted my head, taking in his battered appearance. “What happened to you?”

He peered up at me from under long, dark lashes. “People that my parents owe money.”

“Really?” I opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in, and he did, walking slowly as though in incredible pain. He paused when he saw Ridge, but like I’d ordered, Ridge didn’t say a word. “Go sit down beside your cousin.”

Saint grunted and walked to the chair. He took a seat, keeping his gaze straight and away from Ridge.

I moved behind the desk and sat, then rolled the chair in until my abs were pressed against the sturdy wood. I linked my fingers again and rested my elbows on the desk, staring at both of the boys—young men—carefully. Cousins, bred from the same strong Godfrey line. They were the same and different. Where the similarities of their privilege ended, the differences in their personalities began. Any confidence Saint had once displayed had disappeared, and he was left with insecurities that were easy to spot.

“Who did this to you, Saint?”

Saint. The ironic part of his name was that he was anything but. My brother had named his son that because he knew Saint would be our parents’ favorite, and with their obsessive devoutness, they saw their first grandchild as a gift from God. I snorted at the thought.

“The Harlots,” he whispered, head dropping.

“The bikers?” Ridge’s eyes widened as he bent forward, and he glanced at me in surprise.

I shook my head and placed a finger to my lips, reminding him to stay quiet. He fell back in his seat with an annoyed huff. “What did they say to you?”

“My parents owed two ladies double their investment.” He frowned hard and winced in pain. “Someone named Winters and Sapphire?”

I whistled. I’d never expected my brother, of all people, to get involved with hardened criminals, but I shouldn’t have been surprised, either. Johnny would’ve done anything to get his dirty hands on extra cash. “Ms. Winters and Sapphira?”

Saint’s frown deepened and he glanced at Ridge, as though he would have the answers. Ridge flipped him the middle finger instead.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a yes or no question, Saint. Answer me, pup.”