Celeste was the one who helped with that. She made sure I had control over my emotions and taught me how to get what I wanted in a healthy way and when to stop. But here in my world, there are no rules.
With the thoughts of Arloe pushed to the back of my mind, I pummel this piece of shit. Barron uses his arms to try to shield his face, but it’s useless. With every punch I land on his body, his arms move to that spot, giving me an open shot to his face.
I swing again, connecting with the peak of his cheekbone. The same diamond rings that dug into Jude’s flesh hours ago now slice through Barron’s. His skin splits, creating a new stream of blood trickling down his face.
When I rear my fist back again, I feel his blood fling off my rings and hit the side of my neck. For a brief second, it makes me stop and think. I’ve never been this messy with something as important.
And then all of the pictures down the hall make me remember who the fuck this is.
Arloe’s dad.
I step back and wipe my hands on my shirt, ready to voice another threat, but Jude beats me to it.
“I don’t think you realize who we are; maybe now you’ll cooperate.”
“Sign the fucking papers,” I hiss.
The last thing I care about is getting my father what he wants. But I know my brother better than he knows himself. He’ll kill her to prove a point, to piss me off. If this is the only way to keep her safe, then happy early fucking holiday, Dad.
“Okay. Just don’t hurt her.”
I release him with a jerk and snatch the pictures from the desk, stuffing them into my pocket. I don’t stick around to wait for Barron to do the deed.
The second I step into the hall, I punch the wall, unbothered and affected by the pain of my skin splitting around the knuckles. Or by the sight of my blood mixing with his.
Jude exits the room, and I grab him by the collar, catching him off guard when I slam him into the wall. The weight of my thrust against his giant of a frame leaves an indent in the cream-colored structure.
“What the fuck was that?” I demand through gritted teeth.
“A job.”
“You put a camera in my fucking house, Jude.” It’s not a question.
“Naw, I don’t care that much. But, maybe you should close your blinds, brother.” Jude laughs.
As I turn to walk away, I throw my elbow back, letting it slam into his stomach. “Fuck you.”
“And here I thought we were playing on the same team. It’d be a shame to see what happens to Arloe when Dad learns you’ve abandoned your fucking duty. Family before pussy, Easton!” Jude yells at my back, but I ignore him.
Fuck him and my father. They can handle the rest of this shit without me. At this point, I’m done taking orders and I’m done being blindsided with their bullshit.
Chapter Fourteen
Arloe
It’s late.
Greer’s already gone home, and I want nothing more than to do the same. To crawl under my covers as I try to make sense of things. But I can’t, there’s too much to get done before I can get out of here.
I check my phone for the hundredth time today. Still no response from Easton, and it’s driving me up the wall.
He opened up to me last night, let me in. We connected, and then he was gone. After fucking me senseless against that pool table, he went right back to that cold, hardened exterior. He was short, everything he said after was clipped and full of resentment.
We didn’t cuddle or talk about what any of this means. Not that I expect a man like him to hold me, but he could have done something—given me anything other than silence.
He came inside me, tossed me my clothes, and made me leave. And now, he’s yet to return any of my calls. Somewhere around midday, I stopped dialing his number and sending him messages. But it doesn’t stop me from wondering what went wrong.
For fear of coming off as the chick who loses her mind after having sex with a guy, I shove my phone into my purse and push away the thoughts of him.
He doesn’t get to do that.
He doesn’t get to impose on my life, make me feel things I know I shouldn’t, make me forget he’s not a good guy. He doesn’t get to fuck me and forget me.
I’m better than this. I’m better than him, and I don’t need him. I had a life before him, and it is high time I get back to it. My phone vibrates in my purse, and when I remove it to see my dad’s name across my screen, disappointment fills me.
“Ugh,” I grunt out and toss the device back in my bag.
Things are strained with my dad and me. We were close once, then my mother died, and we haven’t been the same since. Then there was the mistress we knew nothing about. While my mom was dying, he buried himself into his work, that blasphemous campaign, which turned out to be more of a lie.
An entire separate life—a secret family. Instead of being with us—me and his real family—he was with her. So fighting is the way we communicate, and right now, I’d rather not. He’s made it clear he didn’t want me to drop out of college and he certainly doesn’t see a future in books. The last time we spoke, we argued, and with my emotions all over the place, I can’t deal with another lecture.
Instead, I busy myself taking care of tasks I’ve neglected or dropped to be where Easton told me to be. Besides, we’re reaching the end of the month, and if I want to get my quarterly taxes filed on time, I need to go through the month-end reports.
Soon I lose myself in my work, knocking out the accounting duties and then put my focus on inventory. After gathering my receipts and zipping them up in a deposit bag, I grab it and my reports to carry them to my office.
The loud roar of an engine steals my attention, my excitement instantly peaking. But as fast as it comes, I slump in disappointment when a couple exit a souped-up Mustang.
Shaking my head, I push out a breath and silently vow to forget about Easton. I reach the back room and lock the day’s deposit in the safe, then scan what printed support I have and settle behind my desk. It doesn’t take me long to email my tax professional, so I snag my clipboard and a pen from the corner of my desk and step out of my office with my attention on the paper in my hand.
There’s no one here but me, so when I run into a hard chest, I scream. I can’t make out the face at first, because I’ve dimmed the lights as I do every night so customers know we’re closed.
“Easton?”
He doesn’t speak, but for some reason, I don’t need him to. His eyes are heavy, his posture rigid, and his breathing bated. Anger is evident on his face, but he still doesn’t say anything. We stare at each other, my own breathing racing to match his. He’s so close that I can smell the alcohol on his tongue.
Easton lets his gaze linger over my hair. It’s down again, and I can already see the disappointment burying in his mind. Somehow, I know there’s a punishment at the end of the night for that. Despite the fact he hasn’t spoken to me all night to even request that it’s up. It’s almost like some unspoken rule between us now—hair up, even if he hasn’t opened his mouth to say so. Because he controls this game, no matter how stubborn I pretend to be around him, he always gets what he wants in the end.
I swallow, and he watches my throat which only makes me sweat. Beads of perspiration line my forehead, and he surely sees it. Easton darts his eyes to the top of my head, using the back of his hand to wipe it away.