by Ivy Fox
First off, because Emma is not like the other bored out of their minds housewives from the Northside looking to jump on my dick for the thrill of it like Betty Lee was. The woman has class and little tolerance for my bullshit, even if her pretty cunt did drip all over my hand and tongue that night. I knew the deal was a one and done sort of thing, even if my cock still hates me for not insisting on taking things further.
And second, if I breathe a word of that night to Linc, he will have my balls—literally and figuratively. He’d be pissed I threw our best chance of finding more info about The Society out the window just because I decided it would be fun to hook up with my ethics professor. Telling him that when I saw her at the club wearing that little leather dress and fuck-me high heels, all thoughts of The Society and that stupid ass book flew from my mind, won’t win me any brownie points. And it sure as fuck won’t help my case if I admit I have thought of little else but that night in the alley with her either.
“Maybe I should be the one to deal with Harper,” he muses more to himself than to me.
“No!” I slam my palm on the kitchen counter. My quick stern reply added with the impulsive reaction surprises us both, but I quickly rectify the mistake with my usual aloof grin. “Leave her to me. I can handle her.” But just by the way his hand rubs over his chin, I can tell he’s not convinced. “I said, I got it, Linc. You just stick to looking for anything that ties your prick of a father to The Society. That’s what you should be focusing on. I’ll deal with the professor.”
He lets out an exaggerated exhale, but before he has time to argue with me, his phone starts blowing up from his back pocket. I catch a glimpse of a familiar blonde’s smiling face on his screen, the same one who holds the power to relax his stiff demeanor instantly.
Kennedy Ryland—the only girl who can offer my cousin some semblance of peace as well as ensure his hellish torment continues, all in the same breath.
While Lincoln’s body relaxes as he takes the call, mine begins to tense.
Why does he do this?
Why keep her close when it hurts him so much? When it fucks with his head? Does he really think his feelings will change throughout the years if he carries on with this charade of just being friends? Because from what I’ve seen, it fucking won’t. Linc is as much in love with her now as he was when his whole world blew up in his face and his heart broke at sixteen.
I don’t get it.
Is it the masochist in him that needs to be a part of her life somehow?
Is it the martyr in him?
What?
For the life of me, I can’t wrap my head around why my cousin prefers a life filled with pain, guilt, and anguish when he could be perfectly content having someone else in his arms. He could pick anyone else to make him forget the one girl who is completely off-limits to him, and yet he does nothing. I know he’s tried plenty of times before, hooking up here and there, just to get Ken out of his head, but he always ends up making fucking excuses why those girls aren’t for him. Lies he feeds himself as well as me. He should just push her away and be done with it. That’s what I would have done if the roles were reversed. Ken might be family to me, but if her presence caused me a sliver of the same pain my cousin lives with on a day to day basis, I wouldn’t think twice at cutting ties with her. I value my fucking sanity, and Linc has been dancing over that trapeze wire for longer than any sane person could bear.
One day he’ll fall.
And he won’t be able to live with the degradation of it all when he does.
When he hangs up the phone, I level him with a knowing glower, showing him exactly what thoughts are on my mind.
“Don’t start, Colt,” he whispers, shame already robbing the smile Kennedy’s call put on his face.
“You have to stop this shit, Linc.”
His ocean eyes sear me with such despair it hurts to breathe.
“I can’t. God forgive me, but I can’t.”
Love—the ultimate bullet to the heart—is the real reason why he’ll never let her go.
Out of stupid fucking love.
It’s that wasteful feeling that makes him endure the cruelest of torments.
I don’t get it.
Love has always been a foreign concept for me. Sex, I understand fine.
Love, not so much.
I can count on one hand the people I can honestly say I love. Linc, Ken, Easton, and Finn are the only ones that come close to coaxing the feeling out of me. Sometimes my sisters too, but that all depends on the day I’m having. My friends are the only ones worthy of the sentiment, and that’s just because of another feeling behind it—loyalty.
My unconditional trust in them trumps love in my book any day of the week.
They would never betray me.
They would rather die than be disloyal.
That, to me, is stronger than any love I could ever aspire to have or even want.
I just wish I could have the same certainty with every other person in my life as I have with them.
The thing about being a Richfield is that you always have a target on your back, and you never know who will come out of the woodwork to stab you next. Experience has shown me that if you love something, then you make yourself vulnerable for the jagged edge blade of betrayal to do its number on you.
I may not know the first thing about love, but I know a thing or two about betrayal.
And nothing cuts deeper than the wound inflicted by a person you love.
Chapter 6
Colt
Once Lincoln tells me his plan for the night is to go to the Brass Guild to watch Scarlett perform with the rest of the guys, I tell him that I’d rather skip it and do my own thing. Between Finn and Stone never taking their hands off one another, Easton making googly eyes at his new girlfriend on stage, and the mindfuck that is watching Ken and Lincoln together, going to the same elitist club where my father is sure to make an appearance isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, and definitely not how I want to spend my Friday night.
Instead, I find myself going to the one place I usually try to avoid spending any time at, and that, of course, is my house—the original Richfield Estate. Considered to be Asheville’s crown jewel, it boasts sixty thousand square feet and eighty-acre surroundings, making it one of the country’s largest and oldest family homes. The over the top mansion where I lay my head at night is every historian’s wet dream.
I almost gag whenever I hear such compliments.
This place is not a home.
It’s a fucking prison, and the Richfield name is the iron shackle that binds me to it.
Luckily I can roam around most of this place without running into one of my parents—a small joy in exchange for living in a cold museum of a house.
Feeling restless since I’ve conceded to spending my night here, I decide to put on my trunks and go for a midnight swim in our indoor Olympic pool to clear my head. Lately, my mind has been overwhelmed with problem after problem, and I would rather enjoy the tranquility of swimming through chlorine-infested waters than spend another minute being drowned by my murky thoughts. Between The Society’s impending letter, the sheriff’s visit, and Ken still determined to see her engagement through, I’ve thought of little else.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
Golden whiskey eyes and pouty, red lips have also kept me up at night, but entirely for different reasons—more pleasurable ones at that.
If I had half a brain, I would have made the two-hour drive to Charlotte to see if the good professor was in the mood for a repeat of our alley encounter. Unfortunately for the past month, whenever I did make the drive out, Emma Harper evaded me by not showing her pretty little face at the club. The only time I do see her is when I go to class, and I can’t exactly have my way with her there when she’s trying to do her damn job as well as pretend to ignore my presence in the room.
As I pass my father’s study on the way to the pool, the memory of Emma’s supple lips on mine is interrupted by t
he loud growl coming from inside.
“I’m warning you, Turner. Stay the fuck away from my son!”
Well, well, well. What do we have here?
I lean in closer to the door, the small gap in between giving me a perfect view of Richard Price slamming his fist against my father’s precious eighteenth-century oak desk.
That will definitely leave a mark and devalue the damn thing.
Too bad Price decided to break a piece of the expensive furniture and not my father’s face.
“You’re being irrational,” my father retorts, sounding almost bored.
“Don’t fucking patronize me! I’m not stupid, you arrogant prick.”
My father rises to his challenge by taking a sip of his bourbon and leaning comfortably back in his chair. All of him screams that he doesn’t give two shits about Price’s threat. I have to give it to my old man since Easton’s stepfather looks like he’s about to go on a murderous rampage.
“I’m fucking serious, Turner. Don’t mess with my family. You know I’m not one to let bygones be bygones.”
“Oh, believe me, I know that.” My father smirks. “And if I recall correctly, so do the men who harmed your wife once upon a time. I’d love to ask them but I can’t, now can I? And why is that, Richard? Why can’t I ask them to what lengths you would go to teach your enemies a lesson?”
The eerie silence that transcends the room can be felt from way over here in the corridor.
What the fuck are they talking about?
“Are you threatening me?” Price spits out.
“We’re friends. Why would I threaten a friend?”
“We are not friends.”
“Yes, we are,” my father deadpans, never once raising his voice. “You’re a good man, Richard. And because I know that about you, I’m going to forgive such an accusation.”
“You are one condescending piece of shit. You know that?” Price growls through bared teeth.
“Tsk, tsk.” My father wags a patronizing finger at him. “Now, is that any way to talk to me?”
Jesus, my father’s an asshole.
Well, it takes one to know one, I guess.
Whatever he’s gone and done now, I wish Price would just lose it already and slap the smug grin off his face.
Come on, Price. Grow a pair.
“Just keep the hell away from my family!” he barks out instead, disappointing me.
“That won’t be possible, and you know it. Not now anyway,” my father mutters the last part more to himself than to Easton’s dad before taking a sip of his drink.
“Ah. You mean Scarlett? I can protect the girl. She doesn’t need you anymore.”
The sound of a loud fist slamming onto the top of his desk has me frozen in place. My father rises up from his seat, no longer capable of keeping up with his aloof demeanor.
“Listen here, Price. I have been more than patient with you. But no one, and I mean no one, can protect her better than me. And neither you nor your son will keep me from her. Do you understand that?!”
Price throws him a disdainful sneer, while my father tries to recompose himself back to his stoic form.
But it’s no use.
My father has just shown all his cards.
Little does he know Price isn’t the only one who had a peek at them.
“You really are something, aren’t you? Your wife is probably upstairs blissfully sleeping in your bed, completely unaware that you’re here threatening me about my son’s girlfriend. Who by the way will be my family soon enough, therefore my responsibility—not yours.”
“She’s in love and free to choose who she wants. That doesn’t mean she is no longer my concern.”
“Always with the riddles.” Price scoffs. “You might be able to play these little games with everyone else, but not with me, Turner. You forget I grew up in this town, too. I know all your dirty little secrets.”
“And I know yours. Just because you’ve stepped away from the fray doesn’t mean a damn thing. Don’t forget who you really belong to.”
“I belong to no one!” Price hollers, his face fuming with rage.
“Yes, you do. The minute you came to me with those names fifteen years ago, you signed your fate. You knew what it meant, so don’t delude yourself.”
“Fuck you, Turner.”
“Noted. Now, is there anything else you want to say?” my father counters calmly, sitting back in his chair completely unbothered by the unhinged man in front of him.
“If any harm comes to mine, you best believe I’m coming for yours.” Price throws an accusing finger in my father’s direction.
“I gave Scarlett my word that no harm would come to the boy. I have never broken a promise to her, nor do I ever intend to. So don’t trouble yourself with idle threats when I’ve already guaranteed that not a hair on Easton’s head will be harmed.”
Another bout of silence ensues, Price’s shoulders visibly relaxing before my very eyes, while I stand baffled and confused with their heated argument.
“Then why?” he asks, sounding just as perplexed as I am at this point. “What’s the point of all this?”
I try to lean in closer to hear my father’s whispered reply, but to my aggravation, all I catch is Easton’s dad’s huff in contempt at whatever explanation my father just gave.
“You fucking Richfields. You always end up poisoning everything around you. Just keep this little game of yours the fuck away from my family.”
“You’re becoming repetitive in your old age, Richard. You said that already.” My father arches a smug brow, drinking the rest of his liquor.
In true Easton fashion, Price flips the bird in my father’s unrepentant face.
So that’s where he gets it from.
“Don’t make me come back here, Owen. You think you know the lengths to which I would go to protect my family, but you have no clue. I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”
“And you don’t know what I’ve done to protect mine. So let’s stop with the threats, shall we? It’s beneath us. Real men don’t warn. We act.”
Price throws him another disdainful glare and rushes in my direction. When he opens the door and sees me rooted to my spot, there is so much hate in his deep chestnut eyes that I take a step back just in case he wants to unleash hell on the wrong Turner.
“Come in, Colt,” my father calls out as Price clips my shoulder to get the hell out of our house.
“What was that about?” I ask point-blank as I walk into the study.
“It’s nothing that you should concern yourself with.”
“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”
“Believe me, it was. Richard and I have known each other since we were kids, so I don’t take offense when he jumps to unfounded conclusions. I can’t hold it against him since he’s always been headstrong.”
“Easton is like that, too.”
“Yes, I know,” he retorts ambiguously, his smile thin on his lips.
“Why were you talking about his girlfriend?”
“Who?” my father questions absentmindedly as he refills his glass with bourbon.
“I heard you both talking about Scarlett.”
“Did you? I don’t recall her name coming up. She’s Pastor Davis’ niece, correct?” he asks before drinking his chalice in one fell swoop.
His brazen lie makes me want to wring my hands around his neck and make him choke on his favorite bourbon.
He’s fucking lying right to my goddamn face and doesn’t look one bit remorseful while doing it.
“One and the same.”
I cross my arms over my chest, unimpressed that my own father is playing me.
“Hmm,” he mumbles dismissively, placing his empty glass on the coaster in favor of grabbing the coat behind his brown leather chair.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yes. I have some matters to attend to.”
I bite my inner cheek at the gall of him.
“Must be pretty important stuff if
it means you have to deal with it after midnight.”
“Quite,” is his non-committal reply.
Knowing my father, he’s probably going to get his dick wet with whichever bimbo he has for a mistress these days and try to forget that his so-called childhood friend just threatened him and his entire family.
Fucking two-timing asshole.
He’s about to pass me by, only stopping next to me to squeeze my shoulder.
“Have a nice swim, son. It’s a lovely night for it.”
With that farewell passing his lips, I’m left in his study to fume alone.
And this is why I hate spending any time here.
It only reminds me how my whole fucking family is a lie.
The next morning I’m sprawled in my bed, staring at the ceiling recounting what I heard last night in my father’s study.
Why the fuck was Dick Price all up in my dad’s face?
For all I know, dear old dad probably made a pass at Easton’s mom. I wouldn’t put it past him since all of Northside knows what type of player he is.
And let’s face it.
Naomi Price is hot as fuck.
When I was growing up, I wouldn’t have minded playing the whole Mrs. Robinson scenario with her. Of course, the only thing that stopped me from trying my shot with her was the certainty that if East ever found out, he’d cut my dick off and have his stepfather feed it to me. They might not see eye to eye on a lot of things, but when it comes to Naomi, they are always on the same page.
It must be nice to have something in common with your old man. Linc and I got shafted in the father department, so I can’t say I understand what that feels like.
But as I try to recall their cryptic conversation, Naomi’s name wasn’t the one mentioned.
Scarlett’s name, however, was.
But why?
I run my hand over my morning scruff, trying to make sense of their conversation, but all I get is a headache for my troubles.
Fuck this.
I’m not going to spend a perfectly good Saturday morning thinking about my shitty, adulterous father and whatever beef Price has with him. As my go-to move, I grab my cock and close my eyes, thinking of anything that will get my mind off my father’s wandering dick and focus on my own. It should be the only one that matters to me anyway.
