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My first cousin.
Something that her father, my uncle, knew and allowed to happen—encouraged to happen. The sting of his betrayal still aches inside my chest. He died for that shit, his sons watched him take his last breath, and even as he died, his only concern was Shiloh. Not his wife of thirty-plus years, not his other children, just her.
I didn’t understand it then, and I probably never will.
He knew that his wife would die for it, too. My innocent aunt would suffer for his betrayal, and he just fucking did it all anyway. He could have stopped the whole thing from happening twenty years ago, yet he just let it go—he let it go.
Deciding that I can’t let this go for another minute, let alone another day, I push the driver’s door of the car open and step out. I’m parked in the guest parking of the apartment building. I am a guest today, even if an unexpected one.
Moving through the building, I walk in as if I know exactly where I am going and that I’m expected. It works, just as it always does. Nobody asks me a single question. I doubt they even glance twice at me, to be honest.
I step into the elevator bank, touch the button for the fourth floor, and wait for it to climb. Once the elevator car dings and the doors open, I step out into the hallway and turn left toward Bryson Simon’s apartment, number 421.
I ball my hand into a fist and knock on the door. I know he’s home. I followed him here from the hospital where he’s been working his residency. A few seconds later, the door opens, yet he doesn’t see me as he rubs his eyes and yawns.
I don’t wait for him to greet me or ask me who the fuck I am. Instead, I walk past him, pushing him to the side as I make my way into his apartment, spinning around as quickly as I can. He does the same, turning to face me, the door still open, and suddenly, he’s alert and no longer half-asleep.
“Bryson Simon?” I ask.
“Who the fuck wants to know?” he growls.
I smirk, admitting his false bravado is something laughable. I rub my chin as I take a step backward, not because he intimidates me but because I don’t want to be close to the door.
“I don’t think I really need to say who I am, do I?” I ask. “I’m your new brother-in-law,” I say after a moment of silence.
Bryson presses his lips together, his gaze narrowing on me, and then he slams the door closed behind him and takes one step, then two, in my direction. I don’t move. Staring at him, I tilt my head to the side, my gaze searching his.
I don’t say a single word. I watch him, waiting to see what he’s going to say to me. It’s clear to me that he has something he wants to tell me. I find it interesting that he has anything he could be pissed at me about.
“Do you think you’re a big man?” he asks.
“A big man?”
“Yeah,” he snorts. “Do you think you’re a big man? Forcing my parents’ hand that way and taking my sister like she’s property?”
Ah. I see his parents haven’t told him the whole truth, or maybe he is under the impression that they are always the victims. They are not. His parents are fucking selfish and worthless piles of shit rolled into one big ball.
Chuckling, I take a step forward, shoving my hand into my pocket, my eyes never leaving his. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I scrape them across and decide to tell him the truth.
“Your parents asked for money. There was a loan, terms were agreed upon, and they could not meet those terms. Meaning they selfishly spent all of the money and had no way to pay it back. They agreed to trade your sister for the debt owed. Nobody is forcing anything.”
He blinks, his lips part before he clears his throat, then he shifts his attention to his feet. “But that’s not why I’m here,” I murmur before he can respond. His head pops up, and his gaze finds mine again.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
I lean forward slightly, my gaze never leaving his. I focus on him before I speak. “You left your sister alone in that club, turned around and walked away. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Three times before he lets out a snort. “That’s why you’re here?” he asks. “Are youstalkingher? Why the fuck would you want to stalkher?”
I hum, unsure of how to answer exactly. Do I deny it? That would be stupid because it’s exactly what I was doing. So instead of reacting, I only shrug a shoulder. It doesn’t fucking matter what I’m doing. She’s mine anyway.
“How about you have some respect for your sister?” I ask.
He takes a step toward me. Somehow, he thinks he can smirk at me. That he has a fucking leg to stand on. He starts to speak, but I shake my head once. Reaching out, I wrap my hand around the front of his throat and squeeze.
“Fuck respect for her. She’s sold herself like a whore, so that’s how she should be treated.”
I jerk him forward until my nose almost touches his. “Have respect for me, too. I could kill you right this fucking second, and nobody would know or give a fuck.”
