My eyes dart to the bar, where a couple of girls in distressed jeans and cropped T-shirts are standing, staring. A man in the corner has his phone propped in his hand, angled perfectly at us.
They’re always watching. Waiting for the next moment they can document my descent into depravity.
Months ago, I had no say in my very public falling out as Aplana and Tom Primrose’s angelic socialite. Liberties were taken, and Preston Covington played his hand immediately in order to absolve himself of his debts.
Debts I’d agreed to help him pay off, though not the way I ended up doing so.
The assault wasn’t even the most traumatizing part of it all, but what came after with my father.
A choice was ripped from me then, too, and while the media rejoiced thinking they’d witnessed my fall from heaven, all they’d really seen was an orchestrated tale of destruction.
But I have a choice right now. Sort of.
It’s not an ideal one, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to force Daddy’s hand the way he’s always done me.
Aligning myself with Jonas Wolfe may prove reckless and impulsive, but as I slowly sink to my knees in front of him, the dirty floor grating against my joints, I accept this as my fate.
It’s only demeaning if you let it be.
His face screws up as I blink at him, and his nostrils flare. He looks angry, but I’m not really sure why.
“Please,” I say, my voice steady, though I don’t know if he can hear it over the music. “Please help me.”
11
With a grunt, I straighten my spine, letting the memory foam mattress slip into the platform bed frame. Across the room, Alistair sips from a porcelain teacup, watching me with barely contained amusement.
“I’m glad you find this funny,” I say, hitting a button on the wall. First the blackout curtains swing closed, and then the metal bars I installed on the windows last night follow, locking automatically once they meet.
Fitting my finger against the scanner, I activate the alarm for the master bedroom’s balcony window and move on to the shared washroom across the hall.
Staying at the beach bungalow was a last-minute decision; my mum’s final big fuck you before she ditched my dad and me isn’t a place I frequent normally. Would’ve had it condemned years ago if Alistair hadn’t convinced me not to part with it for “sentimental reasons.”
As if the bloke is capable of sentience himself.
With its cracked foundation and the overgrown weeds barring entry to much of the property, I almost don’t even need to implement a security system of my own. However, I don’t trust Lenny Primrose, and I certainly don’t trust her vile family, so I’m considering the installation an insurance clause.
She won’t find it in that blasted contract she brought over, but it’ll be there, nonetheless.
“You’re looking at the situation all wrong.” Alistair comes to the doorway, leaning against the frame. “It’s another hit, Jonas. You’re just… playing the long game.”
I kneel against the bathtub, reinforcing the padlock on the frosted window above the tile. “Except that no one has any idea when this arrangement might end. It’s indefinite, left up to interpretation, and I don’t know how much of Lenny Primrose I’ll be able to withstand.”
Alistair scoffs. “Right. I’m sure there’s nothing you can think of to help ease your time spent.”
“What, you think I should just hop into bed with her?”
“If that’ll relieve your stress about the circumstances.”
“Sounds like a bloody recipe for disaster.” A delicious recipe, but disaster, nonetheless.
“Or an adventure.”
He’s on my heels as I exit the bathroom and head down the stairs. The small foyer and hallway open up directly into a sunken living area and kitchen on one side, and a home office on the other, and unfortunately, I can see bits of my mum in the rooms.
Unsealed paint cans sit on the light-colored hardwood floor of the office, and a tarp stretches across the room, but it doesn’t appear as though she ever touched the beige walls. Half finished and abandoned, just like everything else in her life.
“I’m not going to fuck her.”
Snapping the strap of his suspenders against his chest, Alistair points at me. “But you’d like to.”
Moving down the hall and into the kitchen, I shrug. “Wouldn’t the whole island like to?”
“If you believe the tabloids, the whole island already has.” When I don’t say anything, Alistair cocks a brow. “You don’t believe the tabloids, do you?”
I don’t want to, but the evidence to the contrary is damning. And the thought of anyone else putting their hands on the little puppet, when she’s only been my possession for a short time, blinds me with fury.
“My beliefs don’t bloody matter,” I snap, pulling the metal cage above the kitchen windows closed. “I’m doing this for you, and that’s all there is to it.”
And because Tom Primrose deserves to pay somehow for the things he did to my father. If not an eye for an eye, I’ll take the daughter instead. Make Daddy think she’s all mine, and strike when the iron is hot.
He studies me as I take a bottled water from the fridge and unscrew the cap, drinking the contents in seconds. “If you say so, brother.”
Later, long after Alistair leaves and I spend too much time pouring over inventory receipts at the pub, Lenny still hasn’t shown up.
She requested I not go directly to Primrose Manor to retrieve her and swore her lawyer brother was more than capable of bringing her to me.
And yet…
I wait until Blue shuts down for the night, and the only thing left to occupy my thoughts is the question of her whereabouts.
Certainly, the little puppet hasn’t given up already. Not when she was so adamant about requesting my assistance.
Finally, around four in the morning, I take it upon myself to investigate. Irritation lodges in my chest as I drive through town, turning down the gravel road that leads to the oceanfront Primrose property.
If I thought she was trouble before, the fact that I’m having to become actively involved in this arrangement does not bode well. For either of us.
A security guard sits in the gate kiosk, and he says something into a walkie-talkie as I pull up. Winding the window down, I swing my arm out and smack my palm against the side of my Range Rover to get his attention.
Eyes wide, the scrawny guard leans to peer through the glass. “M-Mr. Wolfe.”
“Ah, perfect, you’re familiar. Care to let me in, mate?”
“Uh…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. His immediate discomfort makes my blood hum, even though I find the hesitation bothersome. “I’m afraid I’m not able to do that.”
The smile on my face twitches. “Why not?”
“You don’t have clearance.” Flipping through a little notebook on the counter in front of him, the guard cringes. “Actually, I’m supposed to contact the authorities if you show.”
Inhaling slowly, I reach over and uncover the Glock sitting in my passenger seat. “Better get on that, then.”
Smoothing my fingers along the barrel, I bring it to the steering wheel and let it rest, cocking a brow. The guard’s face falls, and he slides off his stool, panic flaring in his gaze.