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A lot of the ones on top are family photos—pictures of Oliver with his mom and dad. Some are old, some more recent. All in all they look like the all-American, happy family.
I don’t know what happened between his parents, or why they divorced. It’s not something I thought to ask. I just assumed it was for the same reason most couples separate—because they no longer love each other or one cheated.
I think about that for a moment, a gut curdling realization settling in my stomach. Is that why Oliver hates me and my mom so much? Did his dad cheat on his mom? Was my mom the other woman?
There’s no way… Mom would never knowingly break up a family. At least, I don’t think she would….
Shaking off the thought, I continue rummaging through the pictures. I find several of Oliver with various girls. One after the other, it’s like every picture has a different face. How many girlfriends has this guy had?
I pause when I come across one of him and Zayden. They’re sitting in the back of a pickup truck, legs dangling over the open bed, fishing poles propped up next to them. They are both smiling at the camera. I would guess them between maybe twelve or thirteen in the photo. Both look so innocent and carefree that I hardly recognize either of them.
I hone in on Zayden. Even the younger version of him is breathtaking. His messy dark hair, those incredible eyes, but it’s the smile that really draws me in. I’ve seen him smile, not at me of course, but I’ve never seen him smile like he is in this picture.
The sound of the front door shutting causes me to jump, and I end up knocking the tub of pictures off the desk. They go sliding across the slick hardwood in every direction.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I lean down and frantically pick them up, sure that I’m about to be caught at any moment. Throwing the lid haphazardly back on top, I sprint to the closet and quickly return it to where I found it.
My heart is pounding a million beats per second as I exit the bedroom, flipping off the light before quietly closing the door behind me. I’ve just turned the knob to my own room when Oliver appears at the top of the stairs. If he has any indication that I was in his room, he doesn’t lead on. Then again, it could be due to the fact he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment—given the red head hanging on his arm.
“I thought you’d be face down crying in your pillow by now,” he sneers, causing the girl next to him to giggle.
“Sorry to disappoint you, brother, but per usual, you’re wrong.”
“Guess I’m not trying hard enough.” A wicked smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“What you did tonight was low, even for you, but there’s something you’re failing to realize.”
“And what’s that?”
“That eventually I’m going to start pushing back. And I have a feeling you’re not going to like what that means for you.”
“Is that a threat?” he spits, his tone murderous.
“Keep up this little charade of yours and find out,” I challenge, turning my attention to the girl on his arm. “And just so you know, he won’t call you tomorrow. But by all means, go spread your legs for him. When you end up with an STD, you can’t say he didn’t give you anything for your trouble.” With that, I spin on my heel and disappear inside my room.
Pressing my back to the door, I have to cover my mouth with my hand to conceal the laughter that bubbles from my throat.
Damn that felt good. Almost too good. And while my snooping was cut short before I could find anything to use against him, that doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I meant what I said. If he keeps pushing, I’m going to push back. And that goes for Zayden, too. He may not have been the one feeding the lies, but he’s just as guilty as Oliver.
Our earlier altercation comes back to the forefront of my mind, and just like when it was happening, it only serves to confuse me further. He’s cruel, there’s no question about that, but not in the same way Oliver is. Oliver’s goal is to hurt people; whereas Zayden seems like he only wants everyone to fear him.
There’s just something about him. Something that tells me there’s a lot more to Zayden Michaels than what he lets people see—something beyond the tough guy exterior. And if I want any chance of coming out of this on the other side still standing, I have to know what that is.
ZAYDEN
I PULL UP TO THE back entrance of Hart’s just before nine and shut off the engine. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. Pulling in a deep breath, I let it out slow. The adrenaline rushing through my body has me twitchy and my muscles tight. This is how it always is right before a fight. Hyped up on endorphins with the need to do some damage coursing through me.
Giving my head a shake, I open my door and get out of my truck. The bright light over the back door of Hart’s flickers. Just beyond the reach of the beam, Oliver stands with his back against the brick wall, waiting for me. I haven’t seen him since last night, when we both took part in humiliating his sister.
Anger at the both of us along with a twinge of guilt lead the way as I walk toward him.
“You ready for tonight?” he asks, stepping away from the wall.
“Yes,” I grunt. I bang the side of my fist against the rusted metal door and wait for Bruce to answer.
Oliver tosses a handful of Red Hots into his mouth and chews as he talks. “Where’d you go last night? Thought you said you didn’t have to leave until eleven.”
