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Chapter thirty-eight
Another restless night, another bag of wasted weed. I stared at the ceiling, my mind fixed on Anniston until I finally gave up and crawled out of bed as soon as the sun peeked through the cracks in my window shades. I held my hand on the knob of her closed door, resting my head against the wood and picturing her lying in bed. Smooth skin, full lips, perfect fucking curves.
A better man would have seen her broken body last night, then brought her home and spent the night making it up to her. A better man would have given in to his guilt and made her feel special rather than used. But I wasn’t a better man. I was the devil, and she was an angel. And I lived in a darkness where demons feasted on angels. Which made me the man who came home, closed my door and drowned out the nagging ache that was clawing through my chest.
It was one thing to be fucked in the head. Leo was fucked in the head. Lincoln, too. But me? I was fucked in the heart, and that shit was lethal, fucking toxic to anyone within a five-mile radius. That was why I kept people at a distance.
Then Anniston barged in with her questions. She always had fucking questions.
What was that back there?
If I hadn’t followed you, would you just have fucked the next girl in line?
What happened here?
She wanted to talk about last night. Weneededto talk about it. But talking would lead to touching the same way it did last night, and touching to fucking, because my willpower when it came to her was fucking shot. So, I decided to leave her sleeping and check in on Leo instead.
The club wasn’t open yet when I walked through the door. Bright, fluorescent overhead lights brightened the black painted walls and stained concrete floors. The bartender stacked glasses in a glass rack while servers made sure all the tables were fully stocked with cocktail napkins. A delivery guy walked in pushing a dolly stacked high with cases of alcohol. It looked like another typical day.
Until I walked into my office and saw my father in my chair with his feet perched up on my desk. On one corner of the smooth dark wood, my clothes sat in a neatly folded stack with my wallet on top. I didn’t even want to know how they got them back or what happened to that snake. Draped over the back of an empty chair was the black robe.
I tucked the wallet into the back pocket of my gray dress pants. “Thanks for returning my clothes, but I won’t be needing this.” I grabbed the robe and tossed it to him.
He pulled his legs down and sat up straight, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. “You’re one of us now, Chandler. It’s time you accepted it.”
“I’ve seen the things you do, and I don’t want any part of it.” Flashbacks of that night at The Grove plagued my dreams more than I wanted.
Dad stood up, towering over me by an inch or two. His dark brown eyes narrowed. “Did you ever stop for a second and wonder last night why your robe was black and not red?”
Yes, but I shoved it aside the instant it popped in my head.The black robes only meant one thing. That much was obvious last night.
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
He rolled my chair away from my desk, then nodded toward the buttery leather seat. “Sit down.”
I folded my arms across my chest and met his gaze.
He chuckled. “Okay. Have it your way.” He sat on the corner of my desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His light gray suit stretched over his toned frame. My dad was a football player, just like me, all the way through college. Even at fifty years old, he’d managed to stay in shape. “Years ago, we had this housekeeper. Renee.” He smiled to himself at the mention of her name. “God, she was gorgeous. Blonde hair, and the prettiest eyes.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “And then you fucked her. The end.”Probably in some ceremony in front of a bunch of other men. I unbuttoned my suit jacket, ready to get comfortable. “Great story, Dad. Next time tell me one where I can’t predict the ending.”
He stood up straight. “She got pregnant. Had a little boy. Bronze skin like his father. Bright green eyes just like his mother.”
My heart beat faster, angrier, twisting a knot in my chest, and my stomach tightened. I needed to throw up.
I was the baby. It was me. Pierce Carmichael was my biological father. No wonder my mother hated me. No wonder she sat in her kitchen sipping mimosas while her friend came upstairs and sucked my dick. I was nothing more than a physical reminder of a broken heart—if she had a heart.
“But there was one problem, they made one mistake—”
A mistake?I was a fuckingmistake?
My jaw clenched. “Get out.”
He snarled, “You’re fucking up.”
I slammed my palms on top of my desk. “Get the fuck out!”
He took two steps toward the door, then turned around to face me again.
Dots of blinding emotions filled my vision. Rage. Pain. Confusion. It all made it hurt to breathe. “You think the fact that you fucked a maid, got her pregnant, then lied to me my whole life to avoid embarrassment will make me feel warm and fuzzy inside? That I’m supposed to suddenly feel like I belong?” I met his gaze, and my throat closed tight at seeing pieces of myself in the devil’s eyes. “I said get. The fuck. Out.”
“Radcliffe knows Anniston was there last night. He heard her voice call your name.” His sharp tone cut through the air. “Right after you soaked her skin in blood and fucked her on that altar. You think he’s just going to submit to your ridiculous request now? That he’s even going to let you walk away after that stunt?” He chuckled to himself.
I smirked. “She had a hard time walking away, too. And she wouldn’t have been there ifyourmen hadn’t fucked up and snatched her off the street.”
My father’s voice boomed louder than before. “This isn’t a game, Chandler. Do you have any idea what the king had riding on her marriage arrangement, which will be burned to ash if the king of Norway finds out what you’ve done? Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?”
“I know exactly who I’m fucking with.” I sharpened my glare. “Do you?”
The second he was out of my office, I called Caspian. “Pack your shit, loverboy. We’re going to Ayelswick.” I glanced at the robe my father left on the chair. Fuck a deadline. “This shit ends now.”
