Wheeler (Four Fathers Book 4)

by Ker Dukey

  The old man looks in the direction I gesture to and frowns. “What lady?”

  Fucking idiot.

  “The lady who was just there.” I narrow my eyes.

  “I don’t know, sir, but you can’t be walking the corridor without permission. You need to go through the office and get a visitor’s badge.”

  “No, I don’t. Here,” I tell him, handing him the bag.

  He harrumphs when they hit him in the chest and he almost drops them, not expecting the weight to be so heavy. I march down the corridor and out into the parking lot. Tonight. Tonight I will go to her.

  It’s his house she returns to after work, but he’s late coming home and she takes an hour swimming in the sea after the sun has set. Has he never told her about the dangers of being alone on the beach at night, especially swimming in the water? Thunder rumbles across the sky, igniting a fire inside my chest.

  What if she disappeared while swimming? Lost to the current, her body dragged out into the open ocean…she could wash up anywhere—or nowhere because she will be with me. But with the evidence suggesting she went for a late-night swim left on the beach, the house open, and a wine bottle drained…Trevor would be left to believe she went drunk swimming. And even if there were an investigation, without a body, there isn’t a crime, and they would look at him before ever casting their eyes my way. It’s perfect. No illness required.

  I watch her run back up the beach, grabbing her towel and bolting into his house.

  Creeping up to the house, I spy her inside checking her cell phone, then she turns to something behind her. Trevor. He’s home. That’s my cue to leave.

  Chapter Seven

  Jax

  Psychopath red flag

  #8

  They are emotionally shallow

  Rowan and I are like passing ships as of late. The last weeks of school have kept her busy, and when she’s not at school, she’s spending time with the Pearson boys. My threats and plans to keep them apart are failing. If I weren’t so caught up in my old obsession, lovely Lucy, I would put Rowan on lock down.

  My daughter is eighteen now and will soon be off to college. I won’t be able to protect her from the predators of this world and that thought alone leaves a pain in my gut like I’ve swallowed a stone and it’s just sitting inside me.

  But it’s fact.

  She will fly the nest and leave me to my own devices.

  My sneaking around and watching Lucy will be something I can give my entire focus to. Everything is evolving and changing. Rowan is turning into a woman with hopes, dreams, and a future at her fingertips. And I have my urges that grow more intense by the day.

  I pick up dinner from a takeout health deli Rowan likes, but come home to an empty house. I place her food in the fridge and go over to my computer to input the data I’ve collected, updating Lucy’s routines, her swimming preferences and frequency.

  With the house she now lives at being on the beachfront, it’s heaving with people nearby during the day and evening times, so I’ve had to spend a lot of time calculating the average visitors to the beach at night, which are almost none. Occasionally, kids will sneak down there, but farther down away from the houses, they’re usually too busy drinking and fucking each other to even notice my presence.

  The most difficult thing about my sweet Lucy that nearly sends me into a rage of exploring Trevor Blackstone’s blood and brain matter is they’re a couple. Well, he’s trying his best, but she’s not fulfilled. That much is evident. If she were, she’d be wearing his ring, last name, or carrying his fucking kid. But she’s not. She’s waiting for me while passing her time with him. That sandal wearing idiot is a fling. Lucy is probably just being kind knowing he’ll kick the bucket at any time since he’s an old motherfucker. Just like his friends, he thinks his dick has magic powers and will keep a perfect woman like Lucy forever tethered to him. He’s been around Eric fucking Pearson far too long.

  Why did she have to be with one of those Four Fathers’ fuckers? I’ve planned out a hundred different ways to kill Trevor, but it’s all too risky. When a man of his wealth dies, it automatically raises suspicion. Instead, I will work around him and use his neglect of her to my advantage. The more she’s alone, the more time I have to fulfill her.

  Lucy is mine and the plan is still in play.

  The front door opens and closes, and I watch from the corner of the room as Rowan sneaks inside and up the stairs. The urge to hammer her windows shut and bolt a lock on her bedroom door is strong. I know she’s seeing Brock for more than friendship or teen dating. There’s a change in her. One I see in the eyes of other women. It boils my blood. I wish it were different with her. I wish I could feel less, like I do with every other aspect of my life. But it’s like what I lack in emotion with everything else has forced me into feeling an overwhelming amount of adoration for her. Just her. My daughter, my blood, my miracle. Before her, I thought I was broken, born wrong. I’d never felt love until her finger wrapped around my thumb and her lungs let out the most perfect cry I’d ever heard.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  From her first breath, until her last.

  I could pack our shit up and reinvent myself. I’ve done it before. But she wouldn’t be willing, and that is where it would all crumble down. Keeping her away from those boys will mean killing Eric and his sons and fleeing this place with my precious daughter, but it’s out of the question, so I need to learn to let this play out. Let her get her heart broken by the bastard who’s too much like his father, then pick up the pieces.

  She will always come home to me. I’m her daddy. Maybe now that she’s getting ready for college, a move is in order. I could rent this place or just leave it closed up and empty. Buy something with no neighbors nearby.

  I open my work emails and filter out the junk. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the office putting in appearances. I make a note to do just that and schedule it around Lucy’s life. I end up Googling Trevor Blackstone, because one can never know too much about their enemies, and roll my eyes when pictures of him and Eric at corporate events flicker over the screen. Trevor appears to shy away from the cameras, whereas Eric lives for the limelight. His bought smile is wide in every shot. I power down the computer when I hear movement outside the kitchen window.

  Grabbing a knife, I creep over and peek out. A half-naked female darts across the lawn, followed by Nixon giving chase. He catches her with ease and lifts her up and spins. She giggles, and he covers her mouth, shushing her. She wiggles from his hold, but doesn’t flee. Instead, she turns to face him and bites her lip. He says something I can’t make out and she shakes her head no. With a push on her shoulder, he directs her to her knees. She fiddles with his shorts, but it’s obvious what’s happening. I march toward the front door and open it silently.

  Just as I step out onto the front step, I notice him reaching behind him for something tucked in the back of his shorts. A glint of silver catches the illumination of the street lights lining our properties.

  “Nixon,” I bark, my mind reeling with what I’ve just seen.

  What would he have done if I hadn’t come out?

  He’s only sixteen for fuck’s sake.

  Part of me wants to know so badly what he was about to do, but the other part knows I can’t afford him spilling blood on my property.

  Is he like me, just like I thought?

  He doesn’t startle and make a dash for it. He just looks over, staring me directly in the eye while the girl screeches and jumps to her feet before running back to the Pearson’s house.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I demand.

  He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he smiles before he darts off. It’s so eerie, I question whether I made the whole scene up in my head.

  Going back inside, I lock the front door, and for the first time since living here, I lock the back doors too.

  Chapter Eight

  Jax

  Psychopath red flag

  #9

&n
bsp; They are impulsive

  Work is easy to avoid when I have Lucy to spend my time on. We went shopping together this morning. Though she didn’t know I was with her, it was still special, seeing all the brands she likes. She invites eyes to look at her with the skimpy shorts she’s always wearing, but I’m not complaining—not when she bends over to load up her car with groceries. The curve of her ass cheek is a work of art. I’m going to lick her there. There and everywhere. I follow behind her until she turns off to go toward Trevor’s house. His car is there, so I continue on, deciding to do lunch at home and come back later when Trevor isn’t around.

  As soon as I enter the house, I notice Rowan’s bag discarded on the foyer floor. I hate untidiness. It’s lazy and unnecessary, and she knows it. I’ve been teaching her her entire life how to keep things neat and tidy.

  “Sweetheart,” I call out as I pick up her bag and place it on the hook before walking up the stairs to her room.

  “I got done early. I thought we could—” My words fade to nothing and my world stops as Eric’s obnoxious face looks back at me from Rowan’s bedroom. Her bedroom.

  The darkness inside me leaks into my bloodstream, powering me, taking over. I’m going to paint this room with his insides.

  “Whoa, killer. Wipe the murderous glare off your face. I was here to help Rowan. She called, absolutely in tears with fear,” he tells me, holding up his hands in surrender.

  What the fuck? My rage retreats like a receding tide, and in its place fear and worry overcome me.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” I demand, searching behind him for my daughter’s eyes.

  Did Nixon scare her or try something? Would he hurt her?

  “She thought it was an intruder,” he tells me with a shrug, his voice smug. “Turns out, it was a mouse. I almost got the bastard, but he got away.” He gestures to Rowan’s dollhouse, the one I gave her for her birthday, which is now in pieces.

  “I tried to stomp on his ass, but it didn’t quite go as planned,” he adds, and I want to crush his skull using just my palms. It’s quite something feeling the crack of a skull under your grip. My eyes remain transfixed on what once resembled a dollhouse. “If you need help carrying that thing out of here, I’ll send over one of the boys. Rowan is a woman now. She doesn’t need to be playing with dollies.”

  What the hell did this ant say to me, in my home, about my fucking daughter?

  “Get the fuck out of my house, Pearson,” I bark. The anger filters back in, demanding a price for his disrespect and overstepping.

  “Daddy!” Rowan cries out almost in reprimand.

  “What?!” we both snap at the same time.

  Eric erupts in laughter, like it’s the funniest shit he’s ever done. How can anyone like this douchebag? He’s, for lack of a better word, lame. He thinks he’s a teenager, like one of his boys, and it’s tragic.

  “Sorry, I have kids too.” He shrugs and pushes past me, nudging my shoulder as he leaves. It’s not until he’s gone that I want to question this entire story.

  A fucking mouse in my house? Not a chance. I’m the only thing lurking around this house in the shadows.

  Why would she call him? Why does she look guilty? Did she have one of his boys in here and he caught them and is covering for the little bastard? The red lipstick stains on his shirt no doubt came from my Rowan, and it pisses me off that he tried to console her with his sleazy hands as if he were her parent. He isn’t, and I’ll be damned if I let him ever be in her room again.

  “Daddy?” Rowan questions meekly. It’s then I realize I haven’t moved and I’m still staring at the ruined dollhouse.

  “Clear this mess up,” I snap. “It will do for firewood.”

  Her mouth pops open in shock, but I’ve had enough for one day. I slam my bedroom door shut and pull off my clothes. I need a shower and a power nap. Right away, I notice someone’s been in here and messed with my bed. I move over to the pillows and grab one, bringing it to my nose and inhaling.

  Pussy.

  Bile rises in my throat. I want to take a match to the room. Burn the whole fucking place down to nothing.

  Rowan not only is sexually active with one of those little cunts next door, but disrespecting me in such a manner is beyond reasoning. Disappointment is a new feeling for me, but it crashes into me, leaving me discombobulated. I don’t like the changes happening, or the distant feeling I’m having toward Rowan.

  How has it come to this?

  I have to spend more time with her. She’s acting out because I haven’t been giving her time like I used to. I dig out my phone and go on the internet to order a new bed, then shower away the images of my little girl being defiled in my own bed by one of the Pearson shitstains with the taps on scalding.

  Rowan isn’t at the table when I come down for breakfast. I hear voices from the window and make my way outside. Nixon’s eyes flash toward me before he leans in, cradling Rowan’s face and planting a deep kiss on her lips. I’d always assumed she was with Brock, so seeing her with Nixon surprises me. I move closer toward them, and refrain from plucking him by the balls and kicking the ever-living shit out of him. Rowan is eighteen, sure. A woman. Women kiss. And apparently, they do a lot fucking more in their daddy’s bed.

  So, it’s Nixon she’s with. I decide to allow it. If anything, I’m glad it’s not Hayden out here with her. Although him fucking around with some girl the other night doesn’t show loyalty to Rowan, and the whole knife aspect is alarming. If I tell Rowan about the girl he was messing around with, it will crush her and all this shit will be over. I’ll console her, and things will go back to how they’ve always been.

  I’m so caught up in my thoughts, I don’t notice he’s deepened the kiss and slips his hand down to her ass. Little asshole.

  “What the fuck?” I snarl at him from behind her.

  She immediately pulls away, and has the decency to blush and look guilty when she turns to see me standing there. “I-I just w-wanted to see him b-before school,” she trips over her words, looking confused.

  Nixon wraps his arms around her from behind, almost baiting me. He’s more like his father than I thought. I sour at the realization. It’s a shame.

  “We’re together,” he announces, like he’s telling me he’s having an affair with my wife. If I had one, God forbid.

  “Go home, boy,” I snap. “I’m tired of the Pearson’s crawling around my house like fucking cockroaches,” I add, narrowing my eyes at him.

  How many times must I warn these rodents before I can just do the world a favor and exterminate them?

  Nixon doesn’t even blink, my word ineffective. This is what I liked about Nixon; his indifference is so familiar, it was almost comforting to me, but not when he holds my daughter in his grip. I know the possessive touch of a boy—a man. I have one too, and it doesn’t end well for the prey in my hold.

  “See you soon, babe.” He smirks.

  Babe. Oh God, she’s someone’s babe. My daughter. How did I allow this to happen?

  Her face is strained, like she wants to grin at him but refrains.

  She thinks this is amusing, her being groped on our doorstep by a dirty Pearson. She’s forgotten she’s one of many on a very long list of the Pearsons’ walks of shame.

  “In the house,” I tell her, my tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re grounded for a year,” I add, and she scoffs.

  “I love you, Daddy.” She sighs, and it’s such a small gesture. Three words, and I’m putty in her hands. I squeeze her to me, remembering the child I raised and not the floozy the boy next door is turning her into.

  “I love you too, Rowan, but I’m serious about the Pearsons. I don’t want you near any one of those little assholes. Especially Eric,” I add on a whisper. He knows his son is corrupting her, and he no doubt thinks it’s hilarious. Prick.

  Chapter Nine

  Jax

  Psychopath red flag

  #10

  They need control

  I
haven’t been able to give Lucy the time I need to lock down the plans I have for her due to the fact that I’ve been trying to spend more time with Rowan. But now she’s got herself a little babysitting job and is spending more time with her best friend who has the reddest hair I’ve ever seen. I have my time back, and my evenings are spent on Lucy.

  I’m in Trevor’s house, which she now lives in with him, but he leaves her alone a lot since Eric works him to the bone. Just like the night before, she’s alone—perfect setup for me and my lovely to spend some quality time together. She’s made herself at home here, covering every inch with her personality. Her scent. Her belongings. Her mess I find oddly endearing.

  I spray her perfume into the room and ponder taking the bottle with me when I leave. The thought flees as quickly as it comes, and I place it back in its position on her dresser, then pick up her lotion, smearing a dot of the cream on my wrist.

  I double check the tracker app I have on Trevor’s car and let out a sigh of relief. He’s still at Four Fathers, where he’s been all day. That company will suck the rest of the years he has left on this planet in the blink of an eye. How anyone could choose to work late into the night when this beauty is at home waiting is beyond me.

  The moonlight bleeds into the room, highlighting their bed like the moon is her own personal spotlight. I find myself drifting over to the bed and picking up her pillow, brushing my lips over it. It smells like the shampoo she uses, making my dick hard in my slacks. I’m wearing coveralls made for our pharmaceutical labs. They’re uncomfortable and restrict my hands from rubbing over my cock. I make a rash decision to slip it off. I open the doors leading to her balcony and chuck the overalls down to the sand beneath. I’ll collect them before I leave.