I bob my head. “Got it.” Mrs. Griffin arrives early on weekdays so I can leave for work, but I’m Dad’s primary caregiver over the weekends, so I need to be fully up to speed on this stuff.
“Okay, kiddo.” She presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m off. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you, Nora.” I hug her. “I mean it. Thank you for everything. We’re so lucky to have found you.”
When Dad was in the hospital, after his stroke, I had placed signs in a few local stores looking for a caregiver while I figured out what to do about school. Nora was the first woman to make contact, and I warmed to her immediately. Dad did too. And we both knew we didn’t need to interview anyone else. Her credentials were amazing, she lived locally, and we both just got a good feeling about her.
“It works both ways, honey,” she says, returning my hug. “I’m glad to have you and your dad in my life.” She shucks out of my embrace, tenderly brushing hair out of my face. “I consider you family, and I hope you know I’ll always be here for you.”
Because once Dad is gone, I’m all that’s left. Everyone else is dead.
She doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to.
Dad’s words return to me, and I suppose that’s something else Charlie and I have in common.
We’re both alone, because his dad is dead and his mom and sister have moved to Arizona, and, if the rumors are to be believed, he’s not on speaking terms with either of them.
But that is where the similarities end.
On this occasion, I think Dad is wrong, because Charlie and I are nothing alike—except for the mutual hatred we share for one another.
CHAPTER 3
Charlie
“We can always go back to my place if you’re not enjoying it here,” Emilia purrs in my ear while her hand inches higher up my thigh.
“We’re staying,” I grit out, removing her hand before she touches my dick. If she notices how grumpy I am tonight, she doesn’t mention it. I suspect she’s holding out hope I’m looking for more than casual fucking because I’ve called on her a lot more lately. It’s only because I’m low on options and too lazy to actively recruit new fuck buddies. But there isn’t a hope in hell she and I will ever be anything more.
In fact, after tonight, I think I’ll be crossing her off my list permanently. I’ve grown tired of fucking her, and she’s lost all appeal.
Strobe lights crisscross overhead as hypnotic beats bounce off the walls of the club. I’ve never been to this part of town before, and it’s my first foray in here, but I like it. It’s a far cry from the glitzy places I’m used to frequenting with the elite, but I like the industrial-type styling and the grungy vibe in the air.
The clientele is a strange bunch, and I’m sure this place has seen its fair share of fights and deals, but I’m cool with that. It’s tame compared to the shit I’ve seen at elite events and stuff I’ve been forced to participate in at Parkhurst.
“You seem jumpy,” Emilia adds, trailing her hands up my chest. Her long, blonde hair falls in straight lines across one shoulder as she repositions herself on the stool. “And you’re so tense.” She digs her fingers into the corded muscle of my shoulders, and I flinch, recoiling at her touch.
“Stop.” My face is a mask of indifference as I push her hands away. “Sit down, drink your drink, and only talk when I tell you to.” I’m being a total prick, but I don’t care. Her inane chatter is giving me a headache. I should’ve come here alone, but I’m not sure what to expect, and I thought she might come in handy.
Coming to this club was an impulsive decision. One I’m regretting. But I’m here now, so I might as well wait for Demi to arrive.
When I overheard her making plans to celebrate her birthday, I had no intention of showing my face. But I was climbing the walls at home, bored out of my skull, rattling around that large, empty house, and I craved a change of scenery.
I pull out my cell, discreetly checking the app, pleased to see she’s only a mile away.
Adding a tracking device to her private cell is a blatant invasion of her privacy and something that would land me in hot water with the board of directors if it ever got out. But this isn’t my first surveillance rodeo. I know how to cover my tracks, and there’s no way anyone could trace it back to me.
I told myself I installed it so I could fuck with her head a little more. However, she’d have to step outside her front door for me to mess with her, and the woman barely goes anywhere. Work and home are the sum of her existence, so tonight’s excursion intrigued me.
And I want a front-row seat to the action.
My cell pings in my hand, pulling me out of my head as a call comes through. My finger hovers over the mute button until I see the caller ID. Shit timing, but there’s no way I’m ignoring my little sister’s call. She’s only recently started talking to me again.
“Stay put,” I tell Emilia, clicking my fingers at the bartender, gesturing at him to refill her drink.
I pick up the call. “Hey, Lil. I can’t talk here. Give me a second to walk outside.” Her response is drowned out by the noise as I push my way through the crowd toward the main entrance door.
“Are you okay?” I ask the second I’m outside where it’s a lot quieter.
“I’m good,” Lil replies. “Where are you?”
I nod at the bouncers by the door, walking off to the left and wedging myself into the shadowy corner of the building. I cradle the phone to my ear as I flatten my back against the wall. “At a club over on the west side.”
“Mischief?” she asks.
“Yeah, that’s the place.”
“I’ve heard it’s cool. All my friends have tried to get in, but they’re, like, super strict.”
“You will not be getting within one hundred miles of this place, Lil. It’s definitely not suitable.”
I was exposed to way worse at fifteen, but it’s why I go out of my way to ensure Lil is protected from all that.
Mom may want nothing to do with me anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring. I have a team of guys watching my family twenty-four-seven, and they report to me daily. I don’t want to worry Mom, but the elite threat hasn’t evaporated with Dad’s death or the FBI investigation. The new president is rebuilding the organization behind the front he presents to the authorities, and the danger is still ever present.
“Have you forgotten I live in Phoenix now?” Her dour tone vibrates down the line.
“Hardly, pumpkin. I miss your ugly face.”
I can almost feel her smile down the line. “I miss your grumpy ass too. I hate this, Charlie. Isn’t there anything you can do to make her talk to you?”
I sigh, rubbing at the sudden sharp pain in my chest. “I can’t force her to forgive me.”
“If I can forgive you, so can she,” she blurts.
“I killed the man she loved, Lil. She might never forgive me.”
Initial silence greets me. “You didn’t kill Dad, Charlie.” Her voice is low. “That murdering bastard did, and I hope he’s rotting in hell.”
“I made some bad decisions, and I’m living with the consequences now,” I admit, kicking at a few loose stones on the sidewalk with the toe of my sneaker.
“She’ll come around,” Lil says. “She has to, because I hate this. I hate living with Aunt Marie and Uncle George. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes, and he creeps me out.”
My spine turns rigid, and my entire body stiffens. “Has he—”
“He hasn’t touched me,” she says, cutting across me, “but he looks at me funny sometimes, and I don’t like it.”
That makes two of us. I make a mental note to call Knox, the guy in charge of the security detail in Phoenix, and request another check into Uncle George’s background.
When Mom announced she was moving back to Arizona, to live with her older sister and her husband, and that she was taking Lil with her, I had full background checks conducted on both of them to make
sure it was safe for my family to move there. Nothing out of the ordinary stuck out, but I want to take another look. I don’t like the sound of this guy, and if he dares lay a finger on my sister, I will kill him with my bare hands. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken a life like that, and I wouldn’t waste any sleep worrying about it.
Now, more than ever, I need to find a way of repairing my fractured relationship with Mom. I want them back home where they belong. Where I can keep a personal watch over them and ensure they are safe.
“Promise me you’ll call me if anything happens,” I say, as the sound of tinkling laughter greets my eardrums.
All the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I whip my head around, spotting Demi as she rounds the corner. She’s linking arms with a girl with long purple hair, and they’re both laughing at something the two guys behind them are saying.
A burning pain rips across my chest wall and a muscle ticks in my jaw, as I stare at the two inked, pierced degenerates, wondering which asshole is Demi’s date, and what fucking hole he crawled out from, because she is always at work or at home, so when the hell did she have time to meet the prick?
“I promise,” Lil says, dragging me back to the conversation. “If you promise to come visit soon.”
Irritation prickles at my skin while I watch the small group joke around as they walk toward the entrance to the club. The guy with the dark faux hawk puts his hand on Demi’s lower back as he steers her around a puddle on the ground, and a flare of something close to jealousy burns hotter in my chest. “I’ll try my best, pumpkin. Look, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”
“Just one last thing!”
I drag my eyes up and down Demi’s shapely form as she draws closer, lust stirring in my loins at the sight of her long, slim legs encased in skyscraper stilettos. Her lightweight jacket is open, revealing the short, tight black dress she’s wearing. It clings to her body like a second skin, and my dick surges to life behind the crotch of my jeans.
“Charlie!”
Lil’s shout brings me back into the moment. “I’m listening,” I say, pressing back farther into the shadows in case Demi should happen to glance this way. “What were you saying?”
“Mom’s freaking out over the invite. What should she do?”
I watch Demi disappear through the doors of the club as my sister’s words register in my brain. “What invite?”
“Were you even listening to anything I said?” she huffs, and her pout carries down the line.
“I got distracted for that last part, but I’ve been listening, Lil.”
“Mom got an invite to that elite ball.”
I frown even though she can’t see me. I haven’t heard anything about any event, but if formal invites have been issued, I guess mine is sitting in the mountain of mail piled high on the kitchen table.
“I’ll handle it,” I reassure my sister, because there’s no way in hell I want Mom anywhere near those sick bastards.
It’s challenging though, because she’s the widow of a man from a founding family, and as I haven’t ascended to full status within the order yet, she is still duty bound to fulfill a role when called upon. My father successfully shielded her from the worst excesses of elitist life when he was alive, and I fully intend to continue keeping her away from that world.
If everything hadn’t gone down the way it did in Wyoming, I’d be a full member now that I’ve graduated high school and I’m nineteen. But everything has been in limbo within the order since things were exposed, and I’m just waiting to find out what happens next. There’s no doubt the new president will rectify things in due course.
“Tell her you’ve spoken to me and she’s not to attend. I’ll RSVP on her behalf with an excuse.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” Her relief is palpable.
“Anything, pumpkin. You know I’ve got your back.”
“Call me tomorrow?” she asks.
“The second I wake,” I promise, and we say our goodbyes. I slide the phone into the pocket of my jeans and make my way back inside the club.
I don’t return to the bar, heading up the side stairway to the upper level, finding a perfect spot in front of the railing to people watch. I scan the room below, watching Emilia flirt with some guy at the bar with mild amusement, while my gaze continues roaming in search of my prey.
I find Demi, swaying her hips in time to the beat of the music, in the middle of the dance floor with her friend with the purple hair. Her limbs are elegant, her moves sophisticated, as she dances, oblivious to the attention she’s garnering from various men surrounding her.
And I get it.
Demi is a beautiful woman, and she carries herself with grace. She’s not one of those women who works hard to look sexy. She exudes sex appeal without even trying. And the fact she’s blissfully unaware only adds to the attraction.
I know what Drew or any of the guys from my old circle would think if they saw her. That she’s the fucking image of Abby with her long, wavy, dark hair, smoldering brown eyes, pouty lips, and slim frame. I can’t deny they share similar physical traits—with the exception of her tits, because Mother Nature was generous with Demi in a way she wasn’t with Abby, but it’s more the shared characteristics I’m drawn to.
Guess I have a type.
Demi is comfortable in her own skin. She doesn’t let anyone tell her how to be. And she’s got backbone. She’s a lot less mouthy than Abby, but when pushed, she knows how to push back.
I’ve tried to pinpoint exactly when Demi became a source of intrigue rather than irritation, and I think it’s the fact she had ammunition to blackmail me and she chose not to.
I know her father needs constant care, thanks to his stroke, and I doubt there’s much left of the generous severance package the company gave him, so I wouldn’t have faulted her for exploiting the situation to her advantage, but she didn’t do that.
If she had come to me, when I still believed I was married to Abby, and threatened to expose what happened Christmas night in the office, I would’ve written her a blank check on the spot. Because I was terrified for weeks that Abby would find out exactly what’d gone down that night and I would’ve done anything to stop it.
A grudging respect for Demi sprouted then although I hide that fact behind cruel words, sneering looks, and a generally abrasive manner.
Because it’s better than the alternative—admitting to myself I’ve traded one obsession for another.
CHAPTER 4
Demi
The room tilts, and I grab on to Xena’s arm to steady myself. Compared to what I used to drink on a night out, I’ve barely touched alcohol tonight, but I’m out of practice, and I’m definitely feeling a bit tipsy. But it’s a happy buzz, and I haven’t felt this relaxed in ages. “I’m gonna grab some water,” I shout in my bestie’s ear.
“I’ll come with,” she shouts back, but I shake my head, pushing her at her boyfriends. “Dance with your men. I’ll be right over there.” I point at an empty stool at the far end of the bar.
“We won’t be long,” she hollers, smacking a kiss to my temple.
I fight several pairs of grabby hands as I make my way toward the bar, giggling at the attention because it feels good to be desired, even if it’s only superficial, and I have zero plans to indulge any man tonight.
I haul myself up on the stool, using the footrest to balance myself as I lean over the bar to snag the bartender’s attention. I order a water, and I’m just about to sit back down when fingers brush against the back of my bare thigh. I swivel around, ready to punch the sleazy douche in the face, when I’m stopped short.
My eyes widen, and my mouth gapes open. “Isaac?!”
“Surprise, babe.” My ex lifts me off the stool by the hips, reeling me into his strong embrace. The familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood surrounds me, and I breathe him in, relaxing against him for a few seconds.
I ease back, keeping him at arm’s length, as I peer up at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to wish you a happy birthday.” He produces a slim, rectangular box from somewhere behind his body, handing it to me.
“Isaac. I can’t accept this.” I give it back at him. “We’re not together anymore.”
He shoves the gift into the back pocket of his jeans before tilting my chin up with his finger. Earnest blue eyes drill into mine. “That’s something I was hoping we could fix.”
My shocked gaze is locked on Isaac, so I don’t notice the guy in the dark-fitted shirt until he slams into my ex, almost sending him tumbling to the floor. But Isaac has sharp reflexes, honed from years playing football with the Black Bears, and he grabs on to the edge of the counter in time, stopping his backward trajectory.
“What the hell is your problem?” he snaps as he straightens up.
“My bad,” a familiar voice says, turning the blood in my veins to ice.
I jerk my head around, staring at Charlie with suspicion.
“Bumbling. Fancy running into you here,” he says, wearing his trademark devilish grin. The one he usually puts on when he’s gearing up to insult or humiliate me.
“You know this jerk?” Isaac wraps a protective arm around my shoulders, shooting daggers at Charlie.
“Not by choice,” I admit. “He’s my boss.”
“Charles Barron the Third,” Charlie says, introducing himself without invitation while glaring at my ex.
What a pompous ass.
“And I’d be careful what you say—unless you want Bumbling here to lose her job.” He pins the full extent of his dark glare on me. “What a shame that would be.”
“Why does he call you Bumbling?” Isaac asks, scrubbing his free hand along his smooth jawline, as he peers at Charlie, trying to figure out his game.
“He thinks he’s amusing,” I reply, deliberately ignoring Charlie even though every molecule of my body is finely attuned to his presence. “Bumbling as in bumbling idiot.”
Charlie Page 4