Rough & Rich (Notorious Devils Book 6)

by Hayley Faiman

  Yet, how did I not know that Sloane had witnessed it first hand? How did he not trust me enough to tell me any of it? The thought makes my stomach ache. I don’t really know my husband at all.

  “There. Flawless,” she whispers. I turn around to look in the mirror. I am, indeed, flawless. “Are you staying with Graham?” she asks as she picks up her plate. She leans against her vanity before she begins to nibble on her food.

  “No,” I shake my head. “I broke up with him last night.”

  “Good. He’s an asshole, just like his father,” she says, scrunching up her nose. I can’t help but giggle.

  Spending the afternoon with Kalli turns out to be extremely pleasant. Maybe it’s the fact that I suffered at Graham’s hand and she opened up to me about herself and about Sloane, but something has shifted between us. Not that we ever didn’t get along, but now, it feels like a friendship has formed.

  “Don’t let Sloaney walk all over you, but don’t give up on him completely either,” she whispers as she gives me a hug later that afternoon.

  “I’m so tired,” I admit.

  “I know you are, but you’re good for him,” she says as we separate from our embrace.

  I purse my lips together, “What if he’s not good for me, though?”

  “If you didn’t love him, you would have left a long time ago. Trust me,” she nods. “And if he didn’t love you, he would have let you.”

  After our time together, I now see her in a completely different light. She’s not just some sloppy drunk, she’s nursing some deep hurts inside of her. I don’t necessarily agree, because her drinking has always made her a neglectful parent; but I now have a compassion for her that I never did before. You truly don’t know how someone else’s life is behind closed doors.

  On my drive home, I think about her words. She’s stayed with Sloane’s father, not out of duty or standing, but out of love, no matter how much he didn’t deserve it.

  In our world, love isn’t necessarily a factor in relationships; it’s about breeding, money, and power. It’s very aristocratic, and in a sense, we’re the American version of royalty.

  Women are urged to marry men their fathers approve of, and men are urged to marry women whose families can help their careers or tie businesses together through marriage.

  Sloane and I both rebelled, not only with being together, but for leaving society as well.

  “Hello,” I say into my phone as I disarm my alarm, walking inside of my home.

  “Graham called me this morning. You need to come down to my office,” my father announces.

  I feel fear and panic prickle over my skin at the mere mention of Graham’s name. I’ve held it together so far since he hit me, but I can’t deny that I’m waiting for him to do more, to hurt me again. I’m terrified of what will happen if he gets me alone. I feel as though a rock has settled in my stomach, and I wheeze at his words.

  My father doesn’t hit. He never has. Lifting a hand to do anything would be beneath him. No, my father mentally abuses and tortures. Before I had control of my own trust, he would try to control me monetarily.

  I still don’t have complete and total access to my money, so he could very well still try that—but I have more than enough to live the rest of my life comfortably, so he can honestly keep the rest for all I care.

  “I can’t today,” I lie.

  “Of course not today. I don’t have an available appointment time for you today. Tomorrow. Lunch. Eleven-thirty. Meet me at Boulevard,” he announces before he ends the call.

  I let out a heavy sigh and re-set my burglar alarm before I make my way upstairs. I’m completely and totally drained. I didn’t sleep much last night, and although it’s not even six in the evening, all I want is a hot bath and my warm bed.

  Opening my eyes, I wait for that pounding pressure that usually follows, except it doesn’t. My head is completely clear. I’m completely sober, for the first time since being out. I had a few bourbons last night at my brother’s party, but I didn’t get tanked, knowing I had to drive home and having no desire to stay in the city for longer than I had to.

  My phone rings and my brow furrows at who is on the other end.

  “Mother?” I ask in confusion.

  My mother never calls me. She’s usually too lost in her bottle to concern herself with anyone else.

  “Are you going to let her get away?” she asks, not bothering to even greet me.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” I grunt, though its none of her fucking business.

  “Good. Whatever you do, you need to do it quickly.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Graham and her father are plotting something,” she states.

  “I know. The fucking idiot told me everything himself,” I chuckle.

  “You need to see your wife in the next day or two,” she says before ending the call.

  I look at the phone in my hand, confused by her words and her insistence. My mother usually calls me for one reason and one reason only, to appear with her for whatever functions where we’re required to look like a happy family. Nothing else.

  I get dressed and head down to the clubhouse on my bike. Shit is not sitting well with me. The things Graham said, the things my mother’s said—none of it. I’m not about to walk into a situation blindly. First, I need some information.

  “Soar,” Camo greets as I walk into the clubhouse.

  His woman, Ivy, is perched on his thigh, and I’m surprised to see that she’s pregnant.

  “Hey, brother, congrats,” I say, lifting my chin to Ivy.

  “Thanks,” he grins, placing his hand on her swollen belly.

  “We just found out it’s a girl,” Ivy squeals. I can’t help but smile.

  “Get your guns out, brother,” I murmur as I walk past them to MadDog’s office.

  He should get his guns out, too. If his daughter is half as pretty as Ivy, he’s in deep fucking shit.

  “C’mon in,” MadDog’s gravelly voice calls out.

  Walking inside, I’m surprised to see he’s got a toddler in his arms. I can’t tell which daughter it is. I don’t know either of them, and it’s then that I realize exactly how long I’ve been away. MadDog has two toddlers and another baby on the way. My whole life stopped while everyone else’s kept moving right along.

  “You still in contact with Russian’s tech guy, Oliver?” I ask, my eyes unable to move away from the little dark-haired girl in his lap. It hits me out of nowhere, I could have a whole brood of my own, if I wasn’t such a colossal fuckup.

  “What’s wrong?” he barks. My eyes lift to his.

  “My mom called me to talk about Genny. Normally my mom doesn’t care much what I do, but she sounded funny. Last night I confronted Genny and her new man, who I’ve known my whole life,” I explain. MadDog’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “He’s talked her father into releasing her entire trust fund to him to manage. He already told me he was going to transfer it to his off-shore accounts and leave her penniless,” I explain, leaving the part about giving her a couple of his kids out.

  He doesn’t say anything for a beat, but I can see the cogs working behind his eyes, “I’ve never asked you details about your life, Soar. I know you come from some money. Especially based off of your car and Genny’s. But I think it’s about time you come completely clean with me about how much money we’re talking about here.”

  “Genny and I both come from old money. I’m a Huntington,” I say. MadDog’s mouth gapes slightly.

  “Fuck,” he rasps.

  “Genny’s family has just as much as mine, if not more. We were raised in society, private schools, vacations to Europe, the whole bit,” I shrug.

  “This guy wants her money, that it?”

  “He’s from old money, too. Graham Bayard. He’s hated me and has competed with me since we were kids. Genny is just another competition to him, but he’d break her. He’d not only leave her broke but break her mind and body too,” I explain.

  “Unlike
the way you’ve treated her?” he asks, arching his brow.

  “Never said I was a saint, prez; but what he would do, I can’t let that happen. I need more info. I don’t even know where she’s living right now. I need everything on her, her father, and Graham.”

  “I do this for you, what are you going to do with it? Aside from deal with the situation. What are you going to do about Genny?”

  I want to tell him to mind his own fucking business, but I don’t. I need him. I take him in. He looks a little older than he did three years ago, but he looks a fuck of a lot happier than he did before he married Mary-Anne. He doesn’t fuck whores that I know of, and he’s got a third baby on the way, in four years. Instead of looking miserable, he looks more content than I’ve ever seen him.

  I wonder if I’ll ever be content. If I’ll be able to be that kind of man, now that I’m forced into sobriety. I wonder if I can do it, if I can really do it. Or if it will all come crashing down around me like a goddamn avalanche of shit.

  “Getting her back and bringing her home,” I mumble, ignoring the churning in my gut.

  “Going back to the way it used to be?”

  I let out a breath and slide my palms against my jeans before I tap my fingers on my knees. “Can’t get fucked up, so no,” I bark. He stays stony faced and waits for my real answer. “Genny’s mine. Has been since she was fifteen years old. I haven’t been good to her, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I do. I can’t let her go to some douche that I know is intent on causing her harm.”

  “What you didn’t tell me in any of that is that you want to change or that you want your relationship to change. Don’t string her along for another twenty years and make her completely miserable, or yourself,” he says, cocking his head to the side.

  “I’ll get you the info. Leave me their names. I’m doing this because I see past the bitch-shield Genny’s had up for years. I remember the pretty, sweet, young thing she was when you brought her here. I watched her change because of whateverthefuck you guys have going on between you. I’ll do this for Genny and because you’re a Devil—but I’m warning you, get your shit straight with her. Don’t waste anymore of hers or your own time.”

  I leave his office. Without a glance at anybody else, I leave the clubhouse. I have to meet with my probation officer, but my mind is consumed with MadDog’s words. He remembers the young eighteen-year-old Genny, and it’s not lost on me that he attributes her bitch façade as being my doing. He’s not wrong, that’s the fucker of it all.

  I did all this shit.

  Me.

  Sloane McKinley Huntington, III. A giant fuck up, just like my father. A name that hurts women one way or another for no reason other than they are supreme assholes. A name that I’ve never been proud of, not since I was a kid—not since I discovered just how fucked up my father is.

  Not since I walked in on him fucking his secretary in the ass, her dead eyes aimed at the door. He didn’t stop, either. He finished, put his dick away and threw an envelope of cash at her head before he told her to get her whore ass out of his office.

  Degradation, my father’s favorite fucking pastime. I was ten years old. He never once apologized. He told me when you have money you can do whatever you want, to whoever you want, and nobody can say a goddamn thing.

  You fuck, you steal, you lie, you cheat, and you beat the shit out of your family—no consequences. Those were my life lessons as a kid. Those are the reasons I’m fucked in the head. Those are the reasons I rebelled and found dope, found a way to forget it all; and yet, it didn’t help me one fucking bit. Here I am, still a complete fuck up.

  Day two of my bruised face is by far much worse than day one. It’s darker, and there’s no way I have the magical powers of Kalli Huntington when it comes to makeup, so I don’t even bother.

  Graham hasn’t made an appearance yet, but it seems like he’s going to try to get to me through my family, which doesn’t surprise me at all. What scares me is what my father will say and do. I know that he and Graham are buddies.

  If my father wants to ask me about my eye, then I’ll tell him the truth. I have nothing to hide, and I already know that this luncheon is about Graham. If he sees my face and still wants to push me with Graham, then I don’t even know what to think.

  My father and I have never gotten along. No, that’s a lie. When I was a child, he doted on me. He doted on me to the point where my mother would get jealous. She’d say snide things to me, narrow her eyes, and just be cold toward me in general. By the time I was a teenager, it had gotten so bad that I started to rebel so that my father wouldn’t think I was perfect.

  It worked.

  Throughout my adult years, my relationship with my mother and father has been tolerable. They never cared for Sloane, but they supported our marriage because Sloane is from proper breeding, though they weren’t happy about it at all. They couldn’t say much. Since I’ve been back the past three years, things have improved between my mother and I; however, they’ve only stayed distant between my father and me.

  My mother wants grandchildren, and both of my parents were ecstatic when I started dating Graham. My father deals with his father’s company often, and I know they had been making plans on being in-laws. Sloane’s father can’t stand my father and vice-versa. I don’t know why, but they’ve never been able to be cordial to each other.. Another reason my father didn’t want us to be married.

  I smooth down my cream pencil skirt and adjust the straps of my deep purple tank top before I put on my matching cream blazer. My feet are encased in pale pink, sling back, four-inch-high heels.

  My outfit screams that I’m together, my face looks completely opposite of that. I don’t have time to worry about my face a second longer. Hurrying downstairs, I slip into my garage and start my car, with only twenty minutes to make it to the restaurant. It’s going to be a time-crunch, that’s for sure.

  The restaurant is bustling, but I spot my father immediately. I ignore the hostess’ wide eye’s when she sees my cheek, and hurry past her to my father’s table.

  “Father,” I say as I remove my blazer and sit down.

  “Sloane do that to your face?” he asks immediately as I adjust myself in my chair and place my napkin at my lap.

  “No, Graham did.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I know all about Sloane’s father and his heavy hand. No surprise his son is cut from the same cloth. I know that you and he met up at Kipling’s graduation party,” he states coolly.

  I’m not surprised that he knows. He was probably watching me from across the room the entire time—my every move.

  “We did have a discussion, yes, but Graham did this to my face when I refused to go home with him. Sloane has never hit me.”

  “Why didn’t you go home with Graham? He is your fiancé,” my father says accusingly.

  “Graham is not my fiancé. I actually don’t wish to see him any longer. Not that it’s your business, but I’m not attracted to him,” I announce.

  “Who gives a shit if you’re attracted to him? You’re old, Imogen. No man in our social circle would take you at the age you are. You’ve got one unsuccessful marriage beneath your belt, everybody thinks you’re sterile, and you’re lucky a man with such impeccable breeding like Graham is even considering taking you,” my father snorts as he lifts his hand to call over the waiter.

  I listen to my father order, for us, and then shoo the waiter off. I didn’t even hear what he ordered, knowing it wouldn’t matter. I’m not planning on staying here long enough to eat.

  “That wasn’t nice, father,” I whisper. “Sloane and I, we have our own set of issues, but we never tried for children, so I’m fairly certain that I’m not infertile.”

  “Well, that’s good. At least you might be able to have children; but that window of time is narrowed as it is. That doesn’t negate the fact that you’re old, Imogen. Men my age have their children already, so you couldn’t secure yourself in a family with a man my age. Graham is y
our only hope.”

  “I would rather be alone than be with Graham. Why are you pushing this so hard?” I ask.

  “I’m not going to repeat myself again. Graham comes from a good family, much better than the man you married,” he grunts.

  “I’m sorry to ruin all of your plans, but I won’t be marrying him, father,” I say standing firm. “Aside from the million other reasons why I don’t want him, I won’t be with a man who takes his anger out on me this way,” I say pointing to my bruised face as I stand. “I’ll see you at your summer party in a few weeks,” I state before I turn and walk away.

  I’ve never turned my back on my father in the middle of a conversation, and I can feel his narrowed, heated gaze on my back with each step I take, but I refuse to allow that conversation about Graham.

  It’s over with, finished.

  There is no Imogen and Graham, and there never will be. To be honest, there never really was. I tried, but there was always something lacking, either in me, or him, I’m not sure—but I know one thing is for certain, I don’t want him.

  It doesn’t take me long to get home, and I’m grateful for the lighter traffic of the mid-afternoon. I make my way inside and kick off my shoes in the mudroom before I bend down to gather them in my hands.

  Slowly, I make my way upstairs and change out of my luncheon clothes and into a pair of soft, faded holey jeans, and an oversized Notorious Devils shirt before throwing my long hair into a pony-tail.

  The shirt is Sloane’s, and it’s a complete comfort piece. I used to wear it when I wanted to feel close to him, when he would be gone or I just missed him in general. It’s probably stupid, but I don’t have much to grasp onto when it comes to Sloane, so this shirt, I’m keeping it close to me—forever.

  Making my way downstairs, I freeze when my doorbell rings. With a frown pulling at my lips, quietly as I can, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. I expect to see Graham standing on the other side, but what I don’t expect is Sloane. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking almost nervous as he shifts from side to side in his boots.