by Nikki Ash
“You earn your own money, orphan. I’ve given you a home, food, and a place to rest your head. More than your weak, useless parents did. Don’t forget that. And you’ll always be in my debt.”
His words always repeat in my head. He’s right. When I was just three, my mother abandoned me and my father took the easy way out, overdosing on a bottle of pills. I’d nearly starved to death, but it was Heath who rescued me and took me in. He’s hardly a father figure, but I’ve never gone hungry again, and for that I am thankful. I have Helen and she’s like a mother. From what I’ve heard, not long after Heath found me in that pantry, Helen left her previous employer to come here. Heath offered to double her pay to come work for him and look after me. She agreed and has stuck around ever since. The moment I turned eighteen, I worried Heath would kick me out on my ass. It was then I begged for a loan for college. I was denied but was told I could continue to stay in the home as long as I kept the property in order and cared for the livestock. I’d had to take a second job at Heights Automotive so I could have extra money. I’m saving up to get my own place one day. Until then, I endure him and all his stupid games. One day, I’ll leave and never come back.
“He’ll care,” she hisses, grabbing my forearm. “Come on.”
She drags me into the house and as soon as we step inside, I immediately cool off. Heath’s house, no matter how fucking hot it is outside, is cold. It’s almost as though the home itself is a ghost. When I was a kid, I’d have nightmares and cry to Heath. He’d tell me to grow a pair of balls, toss me back in my room, and shut the door.
“Mr. Heath!” Helen calls out.
An annoyed grunt resounds from the kitchen. I allow her to drag me into one of his favorite places to dwell. Close to the coffee maker. He sits perched at the head of the table with his reading glasses sitting on the end of his nose. His perpetual scowl is present as he taps away on his laptop. A fresh cup of coffee steams from beside him as he works. Upon realizing our staring, he lets out an exasperated huff, lifts a dark brow, and pins us both with a what the hell do you want glare.
Helen releases me to pace the kitchen. I saunter over to the pantry that is kept full and try not to linger on a memory I have—one of my earliest—of scrounging for food. Now, I grab an apple from a bag and then set to rinsing it off. I lean my ass against the counter and take a bite, watching Helen as she frets. Heath, never a patient man, grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he waits for whatever it is she has to say. Something tells me he won’t be as impacted by what she has to tell him as she thinks. She’s pretty damn dramatic when she wants to be.
“Out with it, woman,” Heath barks.
She lets out a garbled sound and stops her pacing. “I think he’s your boy.”
Because I’m the only other male in the room, Heath darts his gaze my way. Cold and hateful. Like always. I smirk at him.
“Not me,” I say before biting into my apple again as I quickly connect the dots. Helen isn’t telling him about Catrina’s daughter. She’s telling him about Isabel’s son. His son. It makes sense. Catrina dedicated several pages in her journals to bitching about Heath and Isabel trying to have a baby. Guess they succeeded…
“No, not Harrison,” she huffs. “Mr. Lincoln.”
Heath frowns, confusion marring his normally calculating features. “Elliot? You’re not making any goddamned sense, Helen.”
“No, not Elliot. Theo. He has a darker shade of her blond hair and her thin lips.” She nervously swipes her palms on her uniform. “Isabel.”
Heath stiffens and glowers at her. “Impossible.”
“Hear me out,” she utters. “We just saw him with Mr. Lincoln’s daughter. He looked like a male version of your ex-wife, but that’s not all. He has your eyes, Mr. Heath. Same color brown.”
“If she had conceived my child, she would’ve asked for money. I would’ve found out from Elliot. This is impossible,” he snaps, but his tone indicates he’s unsure.
“Yeah, I don’t know, Helen,” I interject, swallowing some apple remnants. “The kid was a preppy pussy. Looked soft as fuck. I don’t really see an ounce of Heath in him.”
Helen doesn’t bitch at me for my language this time but shoots me an unimpressed stare. “He was raised by his mother. If you had known her, you’d know she was soft.” She turns back to Heath. “But he has your eyes.” As if this is all the proof she needs.
“Why are you telling me this?” Heath seethes. “If he’s my son…” he trails off and slams his fist down on the table, sloshing the coffee out onto the surface. “That bitch! She knew she was pregnant and kept this from me. That’s why she ran and refused to take any money from me. She severed all ties so she could hide my kid from me. If this shit is true, I’ll make her pay!”
Helen grabs a towel and sets to cleaning up the mess. Her voice is soft and shaky when she utters, “She’s dead, Mr. Heath.”
His features grow stony. For one moment, you might confuse his reaction to grief or regret or sadness. But I know him better than anyone. He’s thinking. Planning. Figuring out how this news benefits him and his agenda. With Heath, there’s always an agenda.
“Elliot, that weak snake, kept this from me,” Heath says, his voice icy. “He’s done.”
“You’re going to kill him?” I ask, nearly dropping my apple core.
Heath rolls his eyes and rises from his seat. “No, dumb boy. I’m not going to kill him. I’m going to bury the proverbial dagger in his chest. Quick deaths are for movies and old classic tales. I prefer long, agonizing, torturous ones that bleed my victims dry of everything that makes them who they are.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Helen cries out. “I thought you’d be happy to learn you had a son! I thought it’d make you less bitter. Here you are babbling about more revenge! Never mind. Forget you heard anything. The boy is happy. Just leave him be.”
Yeah fucking right.
“He’s my son,” Heath says, his lips quirking into a devilish grin. “Now that I know he exists, I can’t in good conscience not bring him home to me.”
“Mr. Heath,” she pleads.
“Prepare a room. My son is coming home. Thanks for the intel, Helen. Your meddling comes in handy sometimes,” he says, smirking at her.
I don’t like the pussy kid, so taking him away from his pretty cousin sends curls of satisfaction twisting inside me. And maybe she’ll come visit him, which means in turn, I’ll get to see her.
As Heath passes me, he narrows his eyes as he regards me. “Don’t look so excited. He’s not your brother. Remember your place here. You’re the orphan. I own you.”
I bite back a derisive laugh and give him the nod he’s looking for.
He pats my head. “Good dog.”
I’m shoveling shit in the barn when someone whistles. I toss the shovel down and regard Heath with a questioning stare. He’s dressed in one of his expensive suits he reserves for going into town in. I think he likes waving around the fact he’s rich as fuck. When he’s at home, though, he doesn’t care. It’s always for everyone else’s benefit, not his own. I think, deep down, he doesn’t even like money. To him it’s another one of his games. Something to win and use over others.
“Yeah?” I ask as I saunter his way.
“We’re going into town. Shower and do it quickly. You’ll always be that shitshow that crawled out of that pantry all those years ago. But today I need more from you. Drive me to town. I may need to use excessive force and I want to be prepared,” he tells me coldly.
I let his insults slide and give him a clipped nod. Once I’m showered and dressed in a pair of black jeans and black T-shirt, I climb into his brand-new S-Class Cabriolet Mercedes. It’s midnight blue and a convertible. I know the asshole won’t let us take the top down, but I enjoy the purr of the engine. The cars I get to drive at the shop are all shitty clunkers. He doesn’t ask me to drive him often, but when he does, I jump at the chance to drive around in luxury.
“Where are we headed?” I ask as I gun it ont
o the road.
He fists his hand but doesn’t get onto me about my speed. “W. Heights Investments.”
“You hardly ever go to the office and when you do, you drive yourself. Why am I suddenly needed?” I mutter mostly to myself.
He scoffs. “Because I might need your muscle, orphan.”
Heath is such a prick, but he raised me. I’m used to his snide comments. It’s not like he woke up one day and started being an asshole. He’s been an asshole for as long as I can remember. At least he never put his hands on me growing up. His vicious tongue was his favorite weapon and when I was young its cruelty was almost too hard to take. But as I grew older, my skin thickened and I became immune. If he ever did try to touch me, I’d stomp his old ass into the ground.
“So whose ass are we maybe kicking?” I ask as we pull into the parking lot after a lengthy drive filled with brooding silence.
“Elliot Lincoln.”
I jerk my head to look at him. “Here?”
His nostrils flare and he smiles. Cold and hateful. “Well, he works for me. Here. I own him like I own you. Where else would we find him?”
My brows shoot up. “I thought you hated him.”
“I do.”
“So why did you give him a job?”
“I didn’t give him anything. He was in no position to take. His company was failing, so I invested in it. Eventually, it failed altogether. He needed a job, so I took him in.” He climbs out of the vehicle and stares up at the massive building with pride. There are no labels or markings that indicate the company name. Just a big building.
“Wow, so generous,” I utter. Heath is anything but generous.
“Come,” he grumbles, ignoring my comment.
I follow him into the building. It’s quiet aside from a few people working in offices. We find one at the end and it’s larger than the rest. The placard on the wall says: E. Lincoln.
“Where’s your office?” I ask.
He smirks and motions with his head. “I let him use mine.”
I frown because nothing about this seems legit. I know Heath too well. He does nothing out of the niceness of his heart. It means he has this man by his balls.
Twisting the knob, he saunters right into the room. A man, slender and with similar features to that dickhead Theo I met, stares back at us with his thin lips parted in surprise. His brown hair is graying and thinned out on top. He stares at Heath, but my attention falls to the pictures on his back credenza. Pictures of her. Cat. A smile tugs at my lips as I glance at each picture from when she was young to her senior pictures. She’s so fucking pretty.
“Good afternoon, Elliot,” Heath says in a cold tone.
“W-What are you doing here?” Elliot demands, his hands shaking.
Heath strolls into the room and sits in the chair opposite of him. “In case you’ve forgotten, this building is mine. This office is mine. Everything in it is mine.”
Elliot freezes and looks down at his lap. “I’ve done everything as asked.”
“Hmmm,” Heath mutters. “I suppose. I check up on your work and you do a decent enough job.”
“So why are you here?” Elliot rasps out.
“I’m here to talk about my son,” Heath snaps.
The room falls deadly silent as Elliot flinches in horror. “Well, we don’t know for certain and—”
“He has my eyes,” Heath snarls.
Despite him never having seen Theo, he uses this tidbit of information against Elliot. I have to agree, they do have the same eyes.
“But I wasn’t sure…” Elliot trails off.
“We both know he’s mine.”
Elliot’s head hangs, defeated. “Just leave him be,” he pleads.
“Absolutely not,” Heath growls. “I was denied knowing his existence all these years. But you knew. You knew and you kept it from me. Tell me, Elliot, was the money you borrowed the past couple of years to help take care of my boy?”
“I, uh,” Elliot utters.
“Or maybe you used the trust you were left when Catrina died. Is that what you did? Did you use the money she received for giving you that baby to hide mine?”
“Heath, please…”
“I want you out by the end of the week,” Heath snaps. “You’re done.”
“What?” Elliot bellows.
“I want you out of my house,” Heath seethes. “I want you out of my building. I want you off my payroll. I want you out of my life. Give me my motherfucking kid, pack your shit, and go.”
“You own Cat’s house?” I ask, dumfounded.
Heath doesn’t humor me with an answer, but Elliot’s trembling gives me what I need to know. Irritation swells up inside me. He’s just going to kick them out over this?
“Heath, maybe it’s not that big of a deal—” I start, but Heath pins me with a murderous glare.
“Let the adults talk, orphan.” He makes an irritated sound and snaps his fingers before pointing to the door.
Like the trained dog I am, I grumble and huff from the room. I stalk along the hallways and burst out the doors, eager to go kick a fucking tree or something. I hate Heath. When I slam into someone, they bounce off me and hit the pavement with a thump.
“Ah!” a familiar, feminine voice cries out.
When I glance down, I realize I’ve smashed into her.
Cat Lincoln.
She no longer looks wild and free like when I’d seen her earlier today. No, she’s taken the time to fix her hair and apply makeup. Her dress is fancy and expensive, but what has my dick growing hard is the way it’s pushed up her hips, exposing a silky flash of pink panties between her creamy thighs. I stare for a beat too long before I look into her green eyes that are glassy with tears. Her bottom lip, pink and glossed up, trembles.
I kneel in front of her and pull her dress down over her thighs to cover her up, our eyes locked in a heated battle. “You okay?”
She swallows thickly and nods. “I think I skinned my hand.” She holds one of her hands up.
Without hesitation, I grab her wrist and pull it to me. A little scrape with a few tiny beads of blood colors her pink palm. So tiny and soft. Such a stark contrast to my massive, rough, and tanned one. Now that I’m so close, I get a whiff of her sweet floral scent and it makes my dick lurch in my jeans again. Fuck, she smells good.
“You need thicker skin,” I tell her, smirking.
The tears that were threatening in her eyes get blinked away and she glowers at me. “You pushed me down. You’re a big freaking giant. It has nothing to do with thick skin. Maybe if you weren’t so thick-headed.”
I grin at her as she struggles to free her wrist from my grip. Because I’m stronger, I pull her toward me and inhale her tender skin on her hand. “My apologies,” I murmur. “What are you doing here?”
She glances past me. “I came to see my dad. I wanted to talk to him about my mother.” She bites on her bottom lip. “Are there really pictures of her at your house?”
In the closet along with the journals are several boxes of Catrina’s stuff, including tons of photos.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice husky.
“Was she pretty?”
Not as pretty as you.
“She was okay,” I grunt out.
She frowns as though my words offend her. “I want to see her.”
“Come over and I’ll show you.”
I rise to my feet and pull her to hers. Still, I don’t release her wrist. The wind blows and ruffles her silky hair. Without thinking, I tuck a strand behind her ear with my free hand, not wanting her face to be obstructed. Her cheeks blush furiously and it does nothing for the state of my dick.
“How old are you?” she asks, her voice small and shy.
My gaze falls to her lips that are way too tempting. “Too old for you.”
She lets out an exasperated huff. “I wasn’t asking like that.”
I lift a brow. “You’re jailbait, though, right?”
Her cheeks grow impossibly redder. “
I’m seventeen. I’ll be eighteen soon.”
“When you turn eighteen, come over and I’ll show you lots of things.”
She gapes at me. “I just want to see pictures of my mother. I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”
I pull her palm to my mouth once more, but this time, I lick her sweaty flesh, loving the gasp that escapes her. “I think you know exactly what I’m insinuating.”
She yanks her hand away and glowers at me with a fiery glare that does nothing to calm my hard cock. I knew the second I laid eyes on her that I’d been attracted to her. She already starred in one shower cock-fisting fantasy today. Now that I’ve licked her salty skin, I’m going to be thinking of her a lot more until I get her in my bed.
“You’re a pig,” she huffs.
“Wrong animal,” I tell her with a grin. “The ladies usually prefer the word ‘stallion.’”
“I’m not your typical lady, pig,” she retorts before storming up the steps.
The wind blows and her dress lifts, giving me a nice view of her ass in her pink panties. As if she knows I’m checking her out, she turns and flips me the bird.
“Soon, Cat. You can fuck me soon.”
Her squeal of frustration is the last thing I hear before the door closes behind her. With a wide grin on my face, I saunter back over to the Mercedes and climb inside. I turn on the engine to get the AC going but then push the button to let the top down. While I wait for my evil master to ruin his minion, I thread my fingers behind my head and close my eyes. Every thought is filled with her. Full, pouty lips. Wild, fiery green eyes. And pink panties.
Soon, Cat.
Cat
MY ALARM CLOCK GOES OFF, indicating it’s time to get up. Letting out an annoyed huff, I hit snooze and throw my pillow over my face, wishing I could rewind the clock and sleep for another week. I should be excited for today. Hell, I should be ecstatic! For one, today is my birthday. The big one-eight. It’s also the first day of my senior year, which means I’m not only nine months away from graduating, but I’m that much closer to hopefully getting into the college of my dreams—Yale. On top of that, I’ve been named captain of the cheer squad this year, something I’ve been looking forward to since my freshman year when I joined, and our first practice is today. So like I said, I should be ecstatic…but I’m not. Because while all of this positivity is happening in my life, I can’t help but feel like there’s a dark storm threatening to destroy my beautiful sunshine. It’s as if it’s looming over me and waiting to cover my bright rays with black clouds and nasty rain. My thoughts go back to last week after I ran into that delicious asshole Harrison at my dad’s office—well, what I thought was my dad’s office—only to learn everything I ever thought to be true was a lie.