Deception, p.7
Deception, page 7
“She hates being called chick,” I supply with a chuckle.
“Really helpful, Sparrow. Super fucking helpful.”
He asked. Not my fault he doesn’t like my answers.
“She tried to stab me in the balls,” he mutters. “Like I said. Bitch.”
“The chick went after mine, too.” A grin steals across my face. “I thought I was going to lose one of my nads. Maybe both. It was touch and go there for a bit.”
Sully scowls at me. “This shit isn’t going to work. I don’t like it.”
Sometimes Sully can be such a baby. He doesn’t like when Bryant keeps us tethered to him. He doesn’t like when Bryant sends us on jobs. He doesn’t want this life. Yet, he’s still here. Bitching about it every damn day to make me crazy.
Heathen makes a break, slipping from Sully’s grasp. I manage to grab the dirty beast before she escapes the tub, but not before earning myself the sharp end of her claws down my forearms.
A lot of cursing and struggling ensues, but we finally manage to get the cat washed and somewhat dried in a towel. The next time she makes her escape, we let her go. She bolts out of the bathroom and disappears, meowing loudly and in a way that sounds like a kitty version of a “fuck you both.”
We take a few minutes in silence to clean up our scratches before heading back to the living room. I’m a little surprised to see Scout’s made it home. What’s more surprising is that he’s sprawled out on the sofa on his side with a damp, purring cat curled up against his chest, staring at the double-sided custom quartz fireplace that’s lit and flickering despite the fact it’s like seventy degrees outside.
“Is that cat fucking purring?” Sully demands, slight outrage in his tone. “After I saved its damn life?”
Scout settles his palm on the bad cat’s back and strokes his fingers through its wet fur. The purring grows louder. “The cat is fucking purring,” Scout says in a mocking tone. “Don’t be mad, little bro.”
Sully’s not little and the same age as Scout, but his words always hit their intended mark, successfully rankling him. He flips Scout off before throwing himself into a recliner. His scowl is comical to me, reminding me of when we were little and he wouldn’t get his way.
Fuckin’ baby.
“You two look like twins,” Scout unhelpfully points out, darting his gaze between me and Sully’s matching outfits.
“We’re triplets, douchebag,” I grumble. “Just wait until it’s your turn to dress just like us. It’s kindergarten all over again.”
Scout’s features darken and my stomach tightens. Mentioning the way Mom used to love dressing us alike was probably a bad move. Triggering for damn sure. Sully stiffens uncomfortably. Neither of us are in the mood to stop a Scout psycho meltdown.
“Speaking of our job,” Scout says, speaking coolly as he glosses over my comment, steering the conversation to this bullshit Bryant signed us up for. “I went to mine today. I’m a pee-on associate a floor below the execs.”
I plop down on the end of the sofa, shoving Scout’s feet out of the way and shoot him an expectant look. “And? Learn anything useful?”
“So far, nothing.” He absently strokes the cat. “But, don’t worry, I’ll get there.”
His dark eyes glint in an evil way that never fails to unsettle me. Based on Sully’s silence, I’d say he feels the same. I’m secretly thankful Scout’s not going to be dealing with Landry. For one, she’d know something was up right away. At least me and Sully can pass for one another, but Scout?
Fuck no.
Neither of us is that insane and cold.
Plus, if he had to interact with Landry, he’d probably snap the first time she gave him lip. While I find it hot as hell, Scout will lose his mind. Then…
It will be Ash all over again. Our stepsister was supposed to be a game. We were to toy with her. Scout’s obsession changed everything. It took us to levels in a game we had no business playing.
If he were to zero in on Landry the way he did with Ash, it could fuck everything up. Last time nearly cost us our lives.
I catch Sully’s stare. He must read what’s on my mind because he offers me a slight nod. We need to keep this gig the way it is—Scout away from Landry so we don’t find ourselves repeating the past.
“I ordered some shit for Heathen,” Sully says, tossing his phone aside. “Maybe she’ll remember who saved her and reassess her loyalties.”
Heathen hisses at him.
What a bitch.
A loud bang in the hallway outside our apartment sends Heathen jolting from the couch and under a bookcase. In the next second, Scout flies off the couch toward the sound. It takes me a second to realize Scout has a black Glock in his hand to answer the door.
Holy shit.
“What?” Scout snarls after opening the door and pointing the weapon at the guy’s chest. “Who the fuck are you and why are you trying to beat your way inside my apartment?”
The dude in the hall is wasted and obviously confused. Not someone trying to break in or whatever the hell Scout believes. Slowly, I rise to my feet and inch toward our unhinged brother.
“Thisss isn’t my place,” the guy slurs, a confused expression twisting his features as he looks past Scout at me. “Whoops.” He cracks up laughing. “Don’t shoot, bro.” More laughter.
For fuck’s sake, Scout might shoot him just to shut his annoying ass up.
Scout doesn’t lower the gun. His finger is curled around the trigger. One sudden sneeze and the drunk guy’s brains would paint the wall behind him.
“I’ll walk him to the elevator,” I tell Scout in the calmest voice I can muster. “Dumbass got lost.”
Scout doesn’t resist when I gently push his arm down. When the gun isn’t pointed at the guy’s head, I breathe a little sigh of relief. Not for the drunk’s sake, but for ours. I’m not about to let our lives get fucked over this piece of shit.
“Be right back,” I assure Scout. “Order Thai. I’m fucking starving.”
The trance Scout had been in seems to fade and he blinks before nodding. I glance back at Sully. The relief on his face is palpable. We dodged a bullet. Literally.
I drag the guy to the elevators, having to keep him from busting his face several times along the way. Knowing Scout won’t have to encounter Landry settles my erratically beating heart. Because if I didn’t know my brother owned a gun—that he clearly wasn’t afraid to use—there’s no telling what else I don’t know about him.
This job to fuck with Landry is fun.
I don’t need my crazy-ass brother spoiling my fun.
Chapter Nine
Landry
This evening is going to be a royal disaster.
Dinner with some guy my freaking dad is setting me up with. He could be a total nerd or a giant douchebag. Worse, he could be someone just like my father.
Controlling. Cruel. Cold.
Every nerve in my body is electric and alive in anxious anticipation.
Breathe, Landry.
I refocus my attention to the mirror. My blonde hair shimmers in the light, the ends bouncing at my bare collarbone with each movement I make. The Paco Rabanne floral print dress that Lucy recently brought me hugs my curves yet is still tasteful with a below the knee length. I’ve paired it with my favorite pair of patent leather Louboutin pumps. I might feel sick to my stomach with worry, but I at least look put together.
A long sigh rushes past my lips, exhaling the last of my unease. It’s time to put my game face on and play the part of perfect daughter. At least tonight I won’t have to worry about Della. I’d helped her get ready for bed and then I read her one of her favorite stories. She fell asleep without putting up a fuss.
I can do this.
“Something bothering you?”
The deep timbre of Dad’s familiar voice vibrates and can be felt in each bone in my body. Like an aftershock of an earthquake, my teeth chatter noisily and against my will. Gritting them together, I turn and face my father, a forced smile on my face.
I expect to see his adoring expression.
But that’s not at all what’s looking back at me. It’s the same cruel stare he uses on Della. I freeze mid-step toward him, at a loss for words.
“Landry, sweetheart,” Dad says, words sharp and biting, “I’ll tell you what’s bothering me instead.”
Swallowing, I barely manage a nod. He slowly steps into my room and then walks—no, stalks—my way. I fist my hands at my side to keep the trembling at bay.
“W-What’s bothering you?” I whisper, unable to lift my head and meet his stare now that he’s only inches from me.
Please don’t say Della…
“This.” He motions at my dress. “This is dinner you’re going to, not a hotel for paid sex.”
I flinch at his words, jerking my head up to gape at him. “But, Dad, this one was one of Lucy’s picks. You bought me this dress—”
His hand seizes my jaw, and spittle hits my face as he growls, “I bought you every goddamn dress in your closet. This one is all…wrong. I’m going to have a serious fucking talk with Lucy about what she thinks is acceptable.”
Struggling to keep the tears at bay, I blink furiously. Every day is a minefield in this home. You never know which misstep will obliterate you. Clearly, I’ve put my foot on the mine and the second I try to escape, it’s going to blow.
“I’m sorry,” I croak out. “Which dress should I wear instead?”
“The black Shoshanna puff sleeve dress will do.” He narrows his eyes which are slightly bloodshot. Based on the scent of liquor emanating from him, I know why, too.
He’s drunk.
Or at least, fast getting there.
And he always promises he’ll never let it happen again. Just wine. Wine is safe. Whichever hard liquor he’s tried to drown himself in is anything but safe.
“I love that dress,” I agree, my voice a mere whisper. “I’ll go change.”
“Good girl.” He doesn’t release his grip on my jaw. “You need to understand something about tonight. This dinner is nothing more than a power move. It’s a chance to align ourselves with one of the wealthiest families in the world.”
“I understand.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, you don’t. You will not make this easy for him. I will not have my daughter whoring herself out on the first date.” His eyes narrow. “You’ll take your time and drag this out for as long as I say. I want to make sure this arrangement is beneficial to us in every way. You winding up pregnant or ending up on the cover of every tabloid magazine in compromising photos will not happen.”
“Dad…”
“Change your dress and wipe that goddamn lipstick off. I can’t look at you right now.”
Without another word, he releases me and storms from my room. Tears well in my eyes, blurring the room in front of me, as I try desperately to get air to enter my lungs. It’s as though a vise is clamped around my throat, keeping me from taking a breath.
I remain frozen for God only knows how long and am only jolted into movement at the sound of the doorbell. The sound of men speaking to each other can be heard which means my dinner date is here. Quickly, I rush into my large closet and strip out of my dress. I exchange it for the dress Dad wants me to wear. Once I’ve pulled the material into place, I leave the closet to make my way to my vanity.
The girl staring back at me doesn’t feel like me. This girl is haunted. Terrified. So tired.
I use a makeup pad to remove the lipstick and exchange it for a soft pink gloss instead. Since my eyes keep threatening to spill over with tears, I take a minute to touch up my eye makeup. Finally, I feel like I could be presentable and acceptable in my father’s eyes.
Yesterday, I let Ford distract me at school, but tomorrow, I’m going to try and slip out of class early to do some research in the media center since I won’t have security breathing down my neck like at home. Maybe I can figure out a way to access my trust fund without him knowing. As it stands, the second I attempt to withdrawal any of it from the bank, they’ll notify him to make sure it’s allowed. Which it’s not. The twenty bucks he gave me this week for coffee and snacks at school won’t get me very far. I know he probably keeps a stash of money and jewels in his safe, but that’s a risk I can’t take again. What’s in there that’s so valuable anyway?
At this rate, I’m never going anywhere. He’s smarter than me and always ten steps ahead. Every time I think I have some grand idea, reality squashes it.
The quicker I can figure out a plan to get me and Della the hell out of here, the better. I thought I had more time, but after the way Dad acted just a bit ago, I realize I was foolish to ever think anything was in my favor, especially time.
His cruelty isn’t often pointed at me, but when it is, it always ends badly.
Calling the police won’t help since they’re all deep in his pockets. Reaching out to people like Noel or Sandra or even one of the drivers, like Trey, won’t work because they’re all completely intimidated by him and are always doing their best to impress him.
Money talks.
Dad has endless piles of it.
I’m at a complete disadvantage here.
Lifting my chin, I stride out of my bedroom, hoping for an air of self-confidence. All depressing thoughts of my future are shoved into the corners of my mind when I am mentally prepared to deal with them. I’ll be the polite, demure heiress Dad wants me to be, and make my way through this dinner without any further damage.
I can do this.
Following the sound of the voices, I walk into the dining room where both my father and a man in a fitted suit stand chatting amicably. Funny how only moments ago, Dad was in my bedroom, his anger washing over me like a tsunami. Now, he’s seemingly normal, putting on his pleasant show for our guest.
Clearing my throat, I alert my father to my presence. Both men turn to regard me. Dad’s features are tight but he’s wearing his business smile reserved for boardroom deals. The man beside him, despite my not wanting to look at him, draws my attention anyway.
Oh, wow.
Definitely wasn’t expecting someone so…handsome.
Unlike Ford, with his devilishly sexy good looks, this man appears to have fallen from heaven—all golden skin and perfectly styled dark blond hair. His blue eyes sparkle as he rakes his gaze over my form. A smile curls his lips up and reveals a perfect row of pearly white teeth. He takes a step forward and offers a hand.
“Tyler Constantine, er, Ty.” His grin grows wider. “You must be the lovely Landry Croft. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Dad’s irritation clouds the air around me. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s fuming with it.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, as I take his hand. “I’ve heard lots about you as well.”
Lies.
Ty’s hand is slightly clammy in mine as he squeezes it and gives it a shake. Something about the fact that he might be nervous too calms me considerably. There’s a kindness in his expression that’s disarming.
And I absolutely cannot afford to be disarmed when in the presence of my father.
Jerking my hand from his, I force a wide smile. “Thank you for joining us for dinner.” Dad steps between us and his palm finds the small of my back. He guides me over to one of the dining room chairs. It feels like a blatant show of possession. As though he wants to remind everyone in the room that I’m his and he’s allowing this other man to be present. Dad pulls out the chair and I sit in it. He takes the seat on the end and Ty sits in Della’s usual spot across from me.
“So,” I say too cheerily, “you’re working with my dad? How are you liking it?”
Noel slips into the dining room with a bottle of wine. We all pretend she isn’t here as she pours our drinks and Ty prattles on about how excited he is to work with my father.
“Mr. Constantine is doing a wonderful job thus far.” Dad drains his wineglass and gestures it toward Ty. “He’s a natural.”
Ty’s cheeks turn pink and he offers me a sheepish grin. “Thanks, Mr. Croft.”
“It’s Alexander in my home,” Dad says, smirking. “Tomorrow morning, though, it’ll be business as usual.”
While dinner is served and the two of them discuss some things they worked on today, I keep sneaking glances over at Ty. He’s really cute, but the fact that he seems nice, too, is a huge relief. I find myself relaxing and joining in on the conversation much more easily than before. Dinner seems to pass quickly as Ty regales us with funny tales of college life and that of his place in the Constantine family.
Dad’s phone rings and he excuses himself from the table and stalks across the living room to his office. Ty smiles at me, his blue eyes gleaming with interest. I blush at his attention, biting back a smile of my own.
“I’d like to take you out, Landry. Just the two of us. I think…” He glances toward the doorway. “I think we’d both feel a lot more comfortable without him breathing down our necks.”
A cold sweat trickles down my spine.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I murmur, body tensing. “Dad is…overprotective.”
“You think?”
Ty is definitely a lot more playful when not in Dad’s presence, but that just puts me on edge. With Dad, you always have to be on guard. You can’t be playful. You just can’t.
“Hey,” he says when I don’t answer. “You okay? You’re white as a ghost.”
Swallowing down the ball of stress in my throat, I nod vigorously. “I’m fine. It’s just—”
My words are cut off when Dad strides back into the room. I dart my gaze to my food hoping like hell I don’t look guilty. But, he sniffs out guilt like a dog with a bone. The air thickens with furious tension.
“Mr. Constantine,” Dad clips out. “I hate to cut the evening short, but it appears my daughter isn’t feeling well. You’ll forgive us for not extending our evening to a nightcap after dinner, right?”
Ty glances at me but then slowly nods. “Oh, sure. Yeah, no problem, Alexander.” He rises to his feet. “I guess I’ll get going. Dinner was great, but the company was better.”
Though they’re both standing, I wisely remain seated. I wriggle my fingers at Ty in farewell, but don’t dare try and shake his hand again. The two of them walk out of the dining room, leaving me to my spinning thoughts. When I’m sure I can stand without my knees buckling, I make a hasty exit, heading straight for my bedroom.
