Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“That was easier when I was twelve,” I mutter as we walk along through the trees. Ahead, the house looms at the top of a slope. I remember sledding down this hill when I was a kid. I’d have to avoid hitting the trees, but it was fun as hell. At least until I messed up and nearly broke my arm.
We approach the house together and pause at the trees. I point out a set of Bilco doors hidden neatly near some decorative plants. “Those are always unlocked. Dad’s lazy and his staff doesn’t care. We’ll go in that way.” The building is a massive modernist structure with lots of glass windows and a sloping roof.
Stefano takes out his phone and makes a call. “Kill the system,” he murmurs, waits a moment, and hangs up.
“Davide all good?”
He nods and stalks forward. “All good.”
I hurry after my husband. He seems totally calm but I’m a mess of emotions. I haven’t been here in a while, and now I’m breaking in through the basement like a thief. My father’s done nothing but try to hurt me ever since I became the heir to the Westbrook fortune, so why do I even care if we’re here to hurt him back?
Maybe because he’s still my father. That’s the sick part of all this. Regardless of what happens, he’s the man that raised me, and it wasn’t always like this. I have good memories in this house.
Stefano hauls the basement doors open. I head down the steps and into the basement. There’s no light and it’s pitch black, but Dad doesn’t really store much down here. There are some antiques covered by cloths and tools stacked along the walls, but it’s easy to navigate toward the stairs.
I go first with Stefano on my heels. I listen at the door, but I don’t hear anything. It opens into a hallway, the walls lined with painfully familiar art. Dad hasn’t updated much since I was last here. The rugs are priceless and the vases should be on display in a museum, not some rich asshole’s second home. A Van Gogh’s hanging above a priceless early American side table in the entry hall.
The place really is beautiful. Lots of stone and natural wood. Dark beams cross the ceiling. The kitchen’s modern and clean. I was the only one who ever used it, aside from Dad’s private chef.
“Nobody’s home,” Stefano whispers.
He’s supposed to be around somewhere, but the place seems empty. Davide swore Dad was here, or at least the motion sensors captured movement. “Let’s check upstairs.”
There’s a light on in the hallway up there. I skip the creaky steps and point them out silently to Stefano. He doesn’t sneak as well as I do, but he does his best, the big bastard. I don’t keep him around for his stealth though. We pause at the top landing and I listen carefully—
A low moan resonates from my father’s slightly ajar bedroom door.
Cold horror fills me. I turn to look at Stefano and he’s grinning huge. He leans in closely. “Think that’s your mother?”
I punch his arm, gritting my teeth. Fucking disgusting. Mom and Dad don’t have this kind of relationship—as far as I’m aware, they hate each other and only had sex once in order to procreate.
But whoever’s in that room with Dad isn’t fucking him out of obligation.
I steel myself. We’re not here to make friends. My father’s a human with needs, and this might be a good thing. If we catch him in a vulnerable position, it might leave him rattled enough to tell us exactly what we’re here for.
“You can do this,” Stefano whispers in my ear. “Should I go first? Call you in when it’s safe?”
I shake my head, lifting my chin and staring down the door. Another moan followed by a masculine grunt. Oh my god, I’m going to puke. I have to swallow back bile. That’s definitely Dad’s sex noise.
“I’m going celibate after this.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I march forward, hating every step. I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want to see. I really, really don’t want to see.
There’s the creaking of a bed and more sex sounds. Moans, girlish and high, getting louder, followed by more slapping. Stefano’s smirking like crazy. I want to crawl into a hole and die.
I kick open the door and step into my father’s master bedroom.
It’s a beautiful space. Lots of carpets, paintings on the walls, a floor made from local tile. A fireplace crackles in the corner. It’s the definition of elegance.
And there, on the bed, is a woman. She’s riding my father like she’s actually enjoying herself. Dad’s wrists are spread out and I realize with sick terror that he’s handcuffed to the bed posts.
The woman is young. She’s got dark hair. A good back. She makes this strangely familiar noise as I march to the edge of the bed, and it’s not until I yank the sheets all the way back that she finally realizes I’m there.