It’s not a miracle that my father owns everything in this town and it’s not all hard, honest work either. He likes to bend the rules, fuck with people and their lives as long as he gets what he wants.
Like screwing with their bank accounts so they can’t pay their mortgage. And when they can’t, the bank gets involved. That’s when my father steps up and offers to pay off the debt in exchange for the land.
I have first-hand knowledge about that.
About his business dealings.
About how he fucks with someone’s life. That’s how he got me actually. By fucking up someone else’s life.
I go over to the desk and pick up the file. I recognize the name on it, Henderson. He owns a bookstore in town, I think.
I went to school with Mr. Henderson’s son, Martin Henderson. He was a good kid.
I know it’s not going to make a difference but still, like an idiot, I speak up, “I went to school with his kid.”
My father chuckles. “So?”
“So you want me to destroy someone I know.”
So far I’ve only fucked with people I haven’t known. I try not to think about it too much. But this is new. This is fucking new and I know I won’t be able to stop thinking about it.
“For business only.”
“Yeah because that makes everything so much easier, isn’t it?”
This time I’ve amused him so much that his chuckle turns into laughter and I fist my hands and tighten my muscles again.
Damn it.
His laughter really strangles me to death.
“You’re so easily offended, aren’t you?” he says once his laughter is under control. “Yes. It does.”
“Why can’t someone else handle it?”
“Because I want you to handle it.”
“I think I’m going to have to pass.”
That pisses him off, my refusal.
“Are you sure you want to say no to me?” he asks. “You know how upset I get when I hear that word.”
“Apparently not enough to have a heart attack or something.”
His nostrils flare and all the charm and all the ease that he portrays to his investors at his parties slips even further. He goes from being a posh businessman to just a man from the wrong side of the tracks who managed to own everything that he ever set his eyes on, either by hook or crook.
“You remember what happened last time when you said no to me, don’t you?”
I do.
I do remember it.
“Yeah, last time when I said no to you, you blackmailed me into working for you.”
His eyes narrow. “And whose fault is that? I let you run around, do whatever the fuck you wanted while growing up. You wanted to be a little shithead who hated his daddy, fine. But you don’t fuck with me when I ask you nicely. I asked you to quit soccer, forget about the championship game, that fucking scholarship — like you even needed a scholarship when your father’s loaded — and come work for me. But you didn’t listen. So I had to show you who was boss.”
“And you’re the boss, aren’t you? Always.”
“Yes. Because I always win,” he declares, his features morphing into something harsh, villainous. “I always get what I want. So instead of being an ungrateful son of a bitch, try showing some gratitude that I’m leaving you this company. That I’m going to teach you how to fucking run it, because I’m not letting you ruin my life’s work. And I’m not leaving it in the hands of someone as incompetent as you.”
Yeah, that’s been the whole saga.
My father and his company. How he built it and how he wants me to run it. How he won’t let me escape it. How he’ll do anything to force me to take the reins.
Although in his defense, he did ask me nicely.
In my senior year, he asked me to not apply for a soccer scholarship. Repeatedly. He asked me to quit the team. Repeatedly. And when I didn’t listen, because I was such a shithead who hated his daddy, he gave me an ultimatum the night before the championship game.
He told me that if I showed up to play the next day, he’d make my life very difficult. He would hate that, but he’d do it.
Not only that, he even showed up at the game. Maybe to intimidate me I think.
So to fuck with him, I made sure that I won. Right in front of his eyes.
And well, he delivered on the promise.
He did make my life difficult. So I really have no reason to be angry or frustrated because I brought this upon myself.
But I am angry and frustrated.
I am fucking furious, not because he fucked with me, but because in the process of fucking with me, he fucked with someone else too.
He fucked with her.
The girl whose heart I broke and who stole my Mustang.
***
Tempest calls me as soon as I get into the car after my disastrous meeting with my dad. I’m about to head to the hotel I’m staying at, because I can’t stand staying at this house, but I go alert.
“Pest, you okay? W —”
She doesn’t let me speak. “Did you go?”
“What?”
“Did you?” she demands.
I look at the time on the dashboard.
It’s after 2AM and she sounds wide awake. She sounds like she never went to sleep. “What the — Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Okay, first of all, I’m fine. I’m in my dorm room of course, watching Netflix. You don’t have to sound so freaked out and go into your Big Brother Mode. And second of all, did you go or not?”
I sigh and sit back.
Her calls in the middle of the night aren’t a rarity. Plus to be fair, her calls don’t always mean bad news.
Sometimes my sister just calls because she can’t sleep.
Because she just saw a movie or a show that she really wants to talk about and she chooses me because apparently, I’m her BFF. I think it’s best friend forever or something fucked up like that.
But I’m also her brother, her big brother.
So obviously, I’m going to freak the fuck out if I get a call from her at an odd time.
“Pest, what have I told you about calling in the middle of the night? When it’s not an emergency.”
She mumbles, “You said to not do it.”
“Yes. And why is that?”
“Because it freaks you out.”
“Correct. So what do we do when we get the urge to call Reed? Just for the fuck of it.”
She sighs sharply. “We stop ourselves and we try to go to sleep.”
“Good.”
“Fuck you, Reed. You don’t have to be such an asshole. And just so you know, this is an emergency.”
My lips twitch as I rest my elbow on the window and put my head back against the seat. “What is it?”
“Did you go or not?”
“Did I go where?”
“You know where. Did you go to the bar or not, Reed?”
“No.”