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Moments later, I’m freshly showered, my bloodied suit with the body as the cleaners arrive. We leave, knowing that they will have everything perfect and the surveillance tapes erased within the hour. My father is nothing but meticulous when he has his cleanup crew trained.
“I think we’re going to have Chinese,” Coleman murmurs as he starts the car’s engine.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
He shifts the car intoReverseand backs out of his parking spot before he clears his throat and moves forward. “I don’t know. Call it a hunch.”
Leaning back in the seat, I close my eyes for a moment and instantly, my vision is filled with an image ofher. Haunting green eyes, innocent and yet not. I can’t get her out of my head. I want to see her again.
I want to fuck her.
I will have her.
ChapterThree
WELLS
Pasta was a good guess.Chinese was better, but we have neither for dinner tonight. My mother picked up Greek, which is surprising, but I’m not complaining because it’s one of my favorites. I couldn’t even begin to pronounce any of the food I love, but online ordering comes in clutch with that shit.
In my mind, I would like to think that we are cultured because we have money, but there are some things you cannot buy. Fortunately, we have enough money that nobody mentions the fact that we are not cultured at all.
Sitting down in my place, I take the napkin and place it on my lap. Once a week, since we’ve been teenagers, my mother demands we be home for dinner. It didn’t matter what sport we played, what date we had planned, or what job we were working for the family. It was nonnegotiable and still is.
“To family,” my dad announces as he lifts his glass.
“Family,” we all repeat in unison and take a drink of wine.
Red wine.
Always.
“Tell me something about your day,” my mother says as soon as the toast and drink are finished.
She asks this every week. When we were kids, she asked this every night at the dinner table. No phones are allowed, no television, just the five of us conversing and always something productive.
Stabbing some lamb with my fork, I bring it to my lips, then shove it into my mouth so I don’t have to speak first. Coleman growls under his breath, knowing that by default, he will have to go first because he’s the oldest.
I feel his foot slam into my shin, and I snort but smile as I continue to chew. Only at my mother’s table do we turn into children again. It’s almost comical. Every week, it’s the same shit over and over.
“I broke it off with that girl I was seeing,” Coleman states.
I hadn’t known that he actually broke things off with her. I knew he was pissed that Dad wanted him to marry her, but I didn’t think he’d already done it. Shifting my attention to our dad, I watch as his eyes narrow, but only slightly.
“Are you upset about it?” Mom asks.
Shrugging his shoulder, Coleman reaches for his wineglass and brings it to his lips before taking a sip. “I’m not. She was not anyone I saw a future with,” he replies, his gaze cutting to Dad’s. I see Dad’s eye twitch.
Coleman is so fucking fucked when Dad gets him away from Mom. He’s going to beat the absolute shit out of him. Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat slightly. I should probably try and save him from this conversation, but I’m enjoying it far too much.
“You’d been seeing her for months, correct?” Mom asks.
“Drop it,” Dad growls.
My gaze flicks back and forth between Mom, Dad, and Coleman, loving every fucking second of this shit. It’s nice that it’s not me in the hot seat because, typically, it is. I’m always fucking shit up, always causing problems, and as the middle child, it’s expected, if not anticipated.
“Hendrick, you’ve been quiet, and I haven’t seen much of you lately. Care to explain? Is it work that keeps you so busy?” she asks, shifting her attention from Coleman to the youngest brother, Hendrick, glossing over me, and I’m happy as fuck about it.
I almost laugh because, as a leader, Hendrick is busy with work but not as busy as he probably could be. He’s still just twenty-two, and he has discovered that his good looks, money, and earned cockiness can get pussy thrown at him. I remember being the same way at his age. Hell, I’m still that way.
