Deception, p.12
Deception, page 12
But Ash?
She was different for me.
I hated her and her father for joining our family. They were an infection that got to my mother and ultimately got her severed from us.
I wanted Ash to pay.
I wanted to hurt her. I did hurt her.
Eventually, I would have broken her completely.
Winston Constantine ruined everything.
All I want is the opportunity to get Ash in my grasp once more. To stare down at her, watching her wither and wilt like a dying flower.
It won’t be childish games like last time.
I shoot Ty the number. When I realized Sparrow had been talking to her earlier, I texted Bryant to also get her number. I felt like it was useful to have. You never know when you need information like that.
Ty: You amaze me, man. Seriously. Thanks!
Me: Good luck getting past Daddy Croft…
Ty: Right?!
He sends me some dumb emojis of a bicep flexed. Idiot.
Sparrow mashes the button on his stereo, silencing the vehicle. The clink, clink, clink of his blinker is almost comical. Since when does he use a fucking blinker? Not to mention, he’s been blowing through most red lights and going well over the speed limit whenever there are less traffic-congested areas.
We pull into a parking garage—one I know well now. It’s Croft’s office building. Sparrow pulls the ball cap lower over his brow and creeps into the parking garage. Since there are other businesses in the building—a couple restaurants, some shops, and even some residential units—it’s hard as shit to find a parking spot. Eventually, we get lucky and find a spot that someone is exiting.
“What now?” Sully asks, leaning forward between the front seats.
“We wait.” Sparrow goes to turn back on the music, but Sully smacks at his hand. “What the fuck?”
Sully growls right back. “What’s the plan? How long do we have to wait here?”
“We’re not going to wait here,” I tell them. My brothers are not the mastermind. Their intentions are good but without me, they’d be waiting forever. “We’re going to go find his car and hide nearby.”
“And then what?” Sully demands.
I reach beneath the seat and pull out my Glock. “Then we teach him a lesson.”
“Woah. Dude, no. We’re not fucking killing him,” Sparrow exclaims. “Fuck him up, yes, but not shoot his ass. Put the gun away, psycho.”
“Fine,” I say with a smirk, shoving it back under the seat. “I guess those guns will have to do.” Sparrow grunts when I flick his bicep. “Let’s go.”
We slip out of Sparrow’s death machine and stick to the shadows. Our ball caps and hoodies, all in black, will make it impossible for the cameras to pick out who we are. Several flights of stairs later, we make it to the floor Alexander parks on. His midnight-blue Bugatti is parked at an angle, taking up two spots.
“I fucking hate this guy,” Sparrow spits out.
“You and me both.” Sully crouches into a shadowed area near the car.
Me and Sparrow find our own hiding spots. It reminds me of when we were toddlers. We’d hide and Mom would seek after us. I fucking miss her.
Mom’s not coming this time.
We wait for over two hours for this workaholic prick to emerge from his office. I don’t know what Sparrow and Sully do to pass the time, but I text back and forth with Ty because the guy just will not stop.
“Psst,” one of my brothers hisses.
I shove my phone into my pocket and ready myself, waiting for this guy to approach his vehicle. I’m about to creep from the shadows to attack him, but Sparrow bursts forward all fiery rage and a guttural roar of fury. Sully pounces too, however, with a lot less noisemaking. I prowl after them, amused by how furious my brothers are.
This is personal.
That much is evident when Sparrow puts his hands on his throat and starts squeezing.
This just got more interesting.
Alexander is choking out startled cries and what sounds like pleas for us to just take his money. He has lots of it, apparently.
Sully kicks Alexander hard on the side. The man squirms, trying to fight the both of them off, but my brothers are too strong.
I’d assumed we’d just rough the dickhead up a little, but Sparrow is seconds from crushing this dude’s windpipe. Sully must realize it at the same time I do because he shoves our brother off Alexander. Sparrow stumbles away, cursing under his breath. Sully swings his leg, nailing Alexander in the side again. If he didn’t break any ribs, I’ll be shocked. Patiently, I wait for my turn. Sparrow grunts and snarls like a goddamn bull, but lets Sully get his fill. Alexander is barely moving by the time he finishes with him.
“Let’s go,” Sully snaps, starting back toward the stairwell.
I start for Alexander, walking slowly because my knees are hurting from being crouched for so long. I shove my hand into my pocket and push my fingers through the holes of my brass knuckles. He grunts when I reach him and straddle his chest. His throat is purple and blue, but other than that, he looks fine.
I slam my fist across his cheek.
Pop!
A laugh bursts out of me when blood rushes down over his cheek. Doesn’t feel so good to get hit in the face does it, old fucker?
This time I slam my brass knuckles into his nose. The sickening crack and subsequent flood of blood is satisfying. I don’t even personally know this Landry bitch, but if she’s got my brothers all agitated enough to want to kick this guy’s ass, then I’m there for moral support.
We’re a triple threat. Always.
I go for his fucking teeth this time. Someone grabs me in a headlock, dragging me away before I can make impact. Snarling, I attempt to fight them off. I realize it’s Sparrow, so I know I won’t win. Going limp, I let him haul my ass away. Once he’s certain I won’t go finish what we started and land a death blow, he takes off toward the stairwell since we parked his car on a different level. It’s not until we’re inside the vehicle and peeling out of the parking garage do we even speak.
Naturally, it’s me to break the silence.
“That was fun.” I grin at Sparrow. “Too bad we left at the good part.”
“Jesus, Scout? You always take things too far.” Sparrow shoots me a nasty glare. “Don’t fuck everything up on Friday.”
“Friday?” Sully asks.
“Bryant needs me at some meeting or something,” Sparrow bites out. “He wants Psycho over there to fill in for me. Seriously, Scout, don’t fuck this up. She’s already suspicious. You have to play it cool.”
She? Ahhh. Her. Landry. I apparently have a date with his little girlfriend on Friday.
“I’ll behave,” I promise, my voice angelic and quite convincing, though everyone in this car knows it’s a lie. I don’t behave. Ever.
“Fuck,” Sparrow spits out. “Whatever. Just don’t turn this into another Ash situation.”
This piques my interest. This Landry must be pretty fucking intriguing if they think I’ll get my panties in wad over her like the both of them apparently have.
I can’t wait to see what the big fuss is all about.
Chapter Sixteen
Landry
Dad was jumped after work on Wednesday night. Not mugged or robbed or whatever. No, several guys came up to him and beat the crap out of him. He took a trip to the ER via an ambulance when he finally came to and called 911. I didn’t even know what happened to him until he came into my room early yesterday morning after being released from the ER looking like a train hit him.
Though I was secretly happy to see him on the receiving end of someone’s fists, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that it had something to do with me. The timing was too perfect.
This morning, my driver was escorted to campus by two police cars. Dad thinks he was targeted on purpose and he’s not taking any chances with my safety, so naturally he has his cop buddies to follow me.
I’m afraid of what they’ll find, especially if they happen to see Ford.
This is bad.
So bad.
What is it about Ford Mann that makes me lose my mind and forget my purpose? He’s a distraction I absolutely cannot afford.
Dad will connect these dots. He will. Just as soon as he’s healed and not laid up in bed in pain.
My stomach twists and my vision darkens. I’m going to faint. Or be sick.
Ford did this. I know he did.
The walk to class is difficult because my knees keep buckling. Why would he hurt my dad? He doesn’t know him. He barely knows me. Yet, I’m not an idiot. I told him on Wednesday that my father hit me, and coincidentally, Dad gets jumped later that night.
I could have called Ford and confronted him over the phone. But every time I picked up my phone, I couldn’t bring myself to call him. It doesn’t make sense. This thing with him is too fast. For him to beat my dad up as badly as he did feels over the top—an extreme reaction to a comment made by someone he barely knows.
You had phone sex with him. He knows you enough.
This isn’t right. His infatuation—bordering on obsession—is too much, too soon. I’d thought he could help me, but I’m thinking I’ll just be jumping from one possessive monster into the arms of another.
I’m supposed to be saving me and Della, not causing more problems for us.
God, I trusted him. I really trusted him. And look where that got me. I can’t afford any slipups and Ford is becoming my biggest slipup yet.
My ears ring as I near the classroom door. What will I even say to him? Should I just ignore him and hope he goes away? This thing is spiraling and the moment my dad comes out of his painkiller-induced haze, he’s going to want retribution. He’ll exhaust all his resources to find out who did this to him. And when he finds out Della’s tutor—my classmate—did this, he’ll blame me somehow. The timing is too suspect not to.
And then what?
I can’t even begin to imagine.
As I enter the room, my gaze automatically snaps over to our spot. Relief floods through me when I don’t see him. Maybe he’s ashamed of what he did. Maybe he doesn’t want to face me. My heart rate slows and the churning in my stomach settles. I’ll still have to see him later when he comes over for Della, but at least, for now, I’ll have a reprieve. It gives me more time to plan what I’ll say to him.
All thoughts come screeching to a halt when my skin feels as though it’s crawling. That creepy feeling you get when someone is watching you, peeling you apart layer by layer. I snap my head to the right, my stare landing on a muscular guy dressed all in black who’s sprawled out in a desk that seems too small for him.
Ford?
I freeze mid-step, unable to look away. His eyes aren’t maple syrup or smooth caramel today. No, they’re fathomless like melted dark chocolate, hot and swirling with some unknown emotion. With just one burning stare, he drags me into unknown depths where I can’t breathe or move or speak.
Terror.
It’s the only emotion I can describe that’s setting my nerves alight and my hairs standing on end. The urge to flee is overwhelming, but fear has me paralyzed, rooted in place.
He has a personality disorder.
I know it. I can see it now.
It’s the only explanation. I read once about dissociative identity disorder. The different alters that live within one person and varying personality traits, but also medical conditions. It was a fascinating subject to read, but it’s not so fascinating when the villainous alter is watching you like you’re a snack he’s about to eat.
And not in a sexy way.
Like he will tear the meat from my bones and spit the leftovers in a heap after.
Ford needs help. I’m absolutely certain that this version of him is the one who hurt my dad. The empty deadness in his dark eyes is terrifying.
Move, girl.
Just move your legs and sit far, far away from him.
I can’t move, though.
I’m a little rabbit with her foot caught in a trap. The predator is salivating over me, toying with me.
There’s no way in hell I’m confronting him. Not now. Not with him dressed like he’s ready for a funeral—my funeral. Not with the way he cuts me open and dissects me with his eyes.
He sits up in his seat, slowly raking his gaze over my form. I feel exposed and naked. Heat burns over my flesh. His stare alone is almost painful. A tremble quakes through me.
And still, I can’t move.
“You okay?” a guy asks, stopping beside me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Yeah, mine.
I feel like this shadowy, monstrous version of the man I had freaking phone sex with and kissed will be the one to end my life.
Not my father.
Him.
“I…” I trail off, clearing my throat. “I’m, um, fine.”
The guy remains beside me, his concern boring into me. I can’t look at him. I have to keep my eyes on the threat in front of me.
“Are you afraid of that guy?” he asks, his voice low. “Do you need help?”
Help?
I need help, but this guy isn’t going to be able to help me. No one can. I need to figure out a way out of my mess in a way that doesn’t result in Ford or my father destroying what little life I have.
Ford rises to his feet, his features darkening. He glowers at the guy at my side and squares his shoulders. A vein pops out on Ford’s neck. His jaw tightens and his hands curl into fists.
Oh crap.
Run!
I want to scream at this guy who’s only trying to be nice, but I can’t find my voice. He says something to me. It’s muffled by the roaring in my ears.
A storm is coming.
It’s barreling my way.
We’re about to be decimated.
The guy gently grips my arm, trying to get my attention. I squeak in surprise, jerking away from him.
“I’m okay. I’m fine. I promise. Just leave me alone,” I hiss, my fear sounding more like venom toward the one person in this room full of people willing to help me.
“Okaaaaay.”
The guy walks away, honoring my wish—my death wish.
Ford limps slightly, yet it doesn’t diminish the raw power rippling from him. He’s dangerous in this moment. Starved for me. As he nears, I try not to cower. Just another monster like my father.
I can handle him.
Lifting my chin, I meet his dark eyes that flicker with intensity. He doesn’t stop until he’s towering over me. His scent is different today. Not buttery sweet or like the sea with a hint of spice.
He smells decadent. Heady. Like an expensive mocha latte sprinkled with cinnamon. His scent is anything but dangerous. It’s intoxicating.
“Landry.” He says it like a question. As though he’s confirming it. “Hmm.”
The rumble of his voice vibrates through me making me shiver. A lot of eyes are on us. Class hasn’t started, but we’re standing in front of everyone and giving them a show. I can’t do this with an audience. The idea of being alone with this man is terrifying, though. I’m out of options.
“Ford.”
He cocks his head to the side, amusement making his hard expression transform into something more familiar. It’s a trap I fall easily into. My muscles slightly relax.
“You’re scared of me.” His apathetic words are almost said with a yawn.
Am I that transparent?
Straightening my spine, I affix him with a hard glare. “I need you to leave me alone.” Because I know you beat my dad up and if this gets back to him, he’s going to completely lose it.
“Leave you alone?” His eyes narrow. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
“What you did to my dad—” I start and snap my mouth shut when several students glance over at us.
“Go on,” Ford urges, his voice low and lethal sounding. “I’m listening.”
His taunting is both confusing and maddening at once. My mind scatters in a thousand different directions. I don’t understand him, especially now, but this nagging curiosity says I want to. If only to better know how to deal with my newest opponent.
“Can we talk?” I mutter, unable to find my voice. “Alone?”
A dark brow arches and he smirks. “Alone?”
“I’m not doing it in front of the whole damn class,” I snap, my fear quickly morphing into anger.
How dare him inject himself into my life and shake things up.
My life is already a mess. I don’t need him adding to it.
“Saucy.” He chuckles, dark and devious. “Let’s go somewhere private then, prickly princess.”
Prickly princess.
I prefer Laundry or honey over that stupid name.
When I don’t move my feet, he reaches down and takes my hand. It feels clammy inside his large, powerful one. He tugs, guiding me to the door.
This feels like a death march.
Suicide.
And yet, I don’t run.
I let him pull me away from the safety of other people.
A chill numbs me to my bones the second we exit the classroom. He slowly limps along, taking me through a series of hallways until I don’t know where we’re going. The amount of people grows more and more sparse.
“Did you get hurt when you beat up my dad?”
He stops mid-step, cutting his eyes my way. “I did what now?”
“Beat my dad up.”
“All by myself?”
I frown at him, confused at his words. Dad just said he’d been jumped. There wasn’t a mention of more than one attacker.
My dad isn’t exactly a small guy, but Ford is young and built. He could easily take my dad on in a fight. By himself. But everything in his expression tells me there were more than just him.
I don’t have time to consider it any longer because he pulls me into a handicapped bathroom. As soon as the door closes, he snaps the lock on it.
Oh God.
I’m alone with him.
His hand jerks toward my face and I flinch out of habit. But, rather than striking me, he grips my jaw, angling my face in different directions as though he’s studying every detail. All I can do is stare back, hating how attractive I find him even when he’s being like this.
