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But that didn’t make Bishop’s words any less true.
They needed me.
And I needed them.
They watched me get into my car and followed me partway back to my house like a secret service detail before finally splitting off and heading back to the other side of the city.
When I pulled into the large garage at my parents’ house, it was nearly ten o’clock, later than I had planned on staying out. Prom committee meetings didn’t usually last seven hours, and I hoped like hell my dad would buy some other excuse for my prolonged absence.
I scooted the seat back and awkwardly changed back into my school clothes, then stashed the dress I’d gotten from Josephine in the trunk. I’d come back for it later.
The entryway was dimly lit when I stepped inside the house, and I tried to ignore the heavy drumming of my heart as I crept through the mansion. I made sure to avoid Dad’s office, skirting around it just in case he was up late working.
I padded quietly up the stairs, but when I reached the top, I almost missed the last step.
My father stood at the end of the hallway, where it veered off toward the east wing where he and Mom slept. I almost hadn’t noticed him because he was standing still and quiet several yards away, but now I couldn’t drag my gaze from his.
Fuck.
Fear rattled through me. I expected him to come barreling toward me, to grab my arm and berate me like he had at the restaurant.
But he didn’t.
He didn’t move or speak.
I stood frozen for three long heartbeats, trying to read his expression in the dim light. Then I turned away and hurried to my room before he could stop me.
Dammit. He knows.
So why hadn’t he done anything?
Sixteen
The next few weeks were… surreal.
My father knew about the Lost Boys. He’d seen evidence of their existence on the security feed from the pool house, and I was certain he knew they were the ones I snuck off to meet with every time I said I was staying late at school for a prom committee meeting or going out with friends.
But he never said anything.
He didn’t ground me again.
He completely ignored it, as if everything was perfectly fine.
The plans for my wedding to Barrett progressed, and my father seemed determined to make it happen. He had made sure the guest list would be packed with important figures in his social circle, people he wanted to impress or intimidate. So maybe he had decided that as long as the marriage went through, he didn’t give a fuck how many boys I had on the side. That was essentially what Barrett had said when he’d told me he had no plans to stop fucking other women after we were married.
But that wouldn’t work for me. I didn’t want the Lost Boys, the boys I loved, to be on the side of anything. Not to mention the fact that they were all dominating and fiercely possessive. They shared me with each other because they loved and trusted each other, but there was no way in hell they would share me with another man—even if I had wanted that, which I most certainly didn’t.
The wedding wouldn’t happen.
I had become fixated on that single thought, repeating it over and over to myself as a way of getting through each day.
There was no way I could go through with it, but that still didn’t solve the problem of how to get out of it without risking the boys. My father was stubborn and demanding, and my past several inter
actions with him had shown me that the harder I fought against him, the more his grip tightened.
So I needed to find a way to negotiate my way out of this. To make him think it was his idea, that there was benefit to him in calling off the wedding between me and Barrett.
I thought about trying to track down Muse again to see if there was any damaging information on the King family I could get my hands on. After spending several months in prison, I didn’t think my dad would like the idea of attaching himself to a family that was likely to topple.
