“Yeah,” he grumbles.
“Talk to me, Kippy,” I bark.
“Drank a bunch last night. Dad’s expensive shit. My fuck you to the bastard,” he says. I can practically see him shrug.
“Kip, that’s not you. Don’t let him turn you into someone you aren’t. His actions do not have any bearing on you,” I say. He grunts.
“He had six other fucking kids. Six, Sloane.”
“I know, and he’s a fucking piece of shit, a bigger piece of shit than I imagined. He knew about them; to what extent, I’m not sure I ever want to know, but you know what?” I ask.
“What?”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you are Kipling Huntington, a man who has been accepted into Harvard; a man who will do great fucking things without Sloane Huntington, II. You make me so goddamn proud, Kippy. Every day, I wish that I could be half the man you are,” I admit.
“Sloane,” he moans.
“I’m serious. You’re driven, you’re fucking smart as shit, and you’re going places. Do not let that asshole drag you down. Don’t fucking do it. You do, and you’ll wake up one day like me,” I whisper. “You’ll wake up having wasted twenty years of your life on drugs and whores. Hurting a woman that you love with all of your being for almost fifteen fucking years, for no other reason than drugs and daddy issues. Don’t do that, man.”
We sit in silence for a moment and I can tell that my words have hit him hard. Kipling has known and loved Imogen his entire life. I know that the past three years, as he’s grown closer toward manhood, he realizes how I’ve treated her. He knows, in general, what I’ve done, and he hasn’t liked it. His many angry letters that were delivered to my prison cell stated just that.
“I love you, Sloane, but I don’t want that for me,” he whispers.
“No fucking shit, Kippy. I don’t want that for you, either. Why do you think I’m being a dick?” I chuckle.
“You’re not being a dick. I’ve been drinking and feeling sorry for myself,” he admits.
“Mom situated with a new place?” I ask, changing the topic.
Kipling tells me that she’s found a place, he hired movers, and that all of dad’s clothes and useless shit are out of the house. He says they’re going to keep all of his office documents and anything that looks important to go through later.
“So mom’s situated. I think you need to head to Harvard on Monday,” I announce.
“Sloane,” he murmurs.
“Not fucking with you, Kip. I want your ass there. Dad’s paid for the first semester, I’m paying for the rest. You’re fucking graduating. Don’t let mom’s anything keep you from it. I’ll take care of her, make sure she’s settled.”
“But you don’t live here,” he points out.
“Little brother, it’s not like I live in another state. Not a fucking hardship to check up on her,” I state.
“Okay,” he relents.
“Serious as shit. I’ll be making your flight arrangements, and you’re going.”
We end the call and I turn around to see that Imogen is standing in the living room with a smile on her lips. She looks sexy as shit in a pair of holy tight jeans, some fancy flowy top that she’s got tucked in, and a jacket.
Her hair is down and wavy, just like I prefer it, and her makeup is minimal—again, how I prefer. I grin when I see that she’s got a pair of sexy as shit heels on her feet. A perfect mixture of the society girl meets Old Lady.
“You’re a good big brother,” she whispers as she walks up to me.
“How much of that did you hear?” I ask, wrapping my hand around her hip.
“Enough to know how amazing you are. Enough to know that when we get home from the store I’ll be on my knees sucking your cock,” she exhales.
“Goddamn,” I grunt, moving my hand to her ass and giving it a squeeze.
“I love you, Sloane Huntington,” she breathes as I lower my face to hers.
“Mmm, I love you, Imogen Huntington,” I murmur against her lips before I take her in a gentle kiss.
We kiss for only a moment and then I clear my throat and tell her to take her sweet ass to the car. I think about taking hers, but I’ve missed driving mine, so we’ll go in muscle car style to the city and buy her fancy as shit, expensive as fuck, groceries.
Once we arrive, I grab the cart and follow her to the candy aisle. I swear, I feel like we’re teenagers again, standing in the candy aisle with my girl.
“Imogen, that’s fifty bucks for fucking jelly beans,” I state as she loads up a bag of candy.
“They’re the only ones I like,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.
“Babe, its candy. What are you, eight?”
“When you’re gone, I usually eat jelly beans and drink wine,” she shrugs. My eyes widen.
“No wonder you’re too skinny,” I grunt.
“What?”
“You heard me, sunshine,” I murmur, wrapping my hand around the side of her neck and tugging her close to me. “I don’t want to come back in a couple days and find you even an ounce lighter.”
“Days?” she asks.
“I’m leaving in a couple days. I’m going to make sure Kip is set up and on the plane to school, and then I have to go.”
“I didn’t know you could leave state lines,” she mutters as she ties a string around her jelly beans.
“I can’t,” I say. When she sucks in a breath, I give her neck a squeeze before I lower my head and whisper into her ear. “I’m not going out of the state, sunshine. I have no desire to go back to prison, not ever.”
She lets out a sigh of relief and together we finish shopping for her expensive as shit groceries. Personally, I’m fine with whatever is found in a gas station for food, but Imogen is an all-natural foods nut; so whatever she wants here, it’s hers.
Walking away from a sleeping Imogen to go on a run is not something I want to do. For the first time, in a fuck’ve a long time, I find myself wanting to spend as much time with her as possible. I’ve had moments where I haven’t wanted to leave her, but nothing like I’ve been experiencing since being sober and back together.
There’s something different about her now, a vulnerability that I feel the need and want to protect. Then there’s her smile, fuck me, I want to put it on her face every day and keep it there. It shines so goddamn bright.
Shaking my head of thoughts of Imogen, I load up some guns into my trunk. “This shit isn’t normal, is it?”
“Not typically, but they found themselves in short supply, and it’s their shit,” Grease shrugs.
“So, just deliver it to Kirill?” I ask as I slam my trunk closed.
“Yeah, deliver it to him, and make sure he doesn’t have anything else he needs from you,” he murmurs before he turns and starts to walk away.
“So, you made Serina your Old Lady?” I arch my brow before he gets too far away from me.
I watch as he turns around and a stupid as fuck grin appears on his ugly as shit face.
“Yeah. Not conventional, I know,” he says.
“You look happy. Pleased for you,” I say, lifting my chin.
“Glad to see you worked your shit out with Genny. Must be fun to fuck the bitch outta her ridged ass,” he smiles.
“You have no idea,” I say, laughing before I walk over to my driver’s seat.
“Glad you’re cleaned up, brother,” Grease says in seriousness.
I lift my chin to him in acknowledgement as I slide into my seat and start the engine.
I head out of the clubhouse parking lot, turning my car toward Los Angeles, toward Kirill, to drop off a trunk full of dope and guns. Probably not the smartest shit to do while on parole, but who the fuck cares. It’s only stupid if you get caught, and since I’m stone cold sober, I don’t plan on ever getting caught again.
Waking up alone, showering and dressing for a day of absolutely nothing is… pointless. I do it, but only because I need to. I can’t even think if I’m not showered and dressed. I d
on’t know how to be that woman who lays around in her pajamas all day with unkempt hair. Sometimes I wish I could be like that. It sounds relaxing as all hell.
I decide to make a batch of brownies, organic and all natural. Tonight, I’m supposed to meet up with a bunch of the Old Ladies for dinner and dessert.
Since they all have kids now, instead of going out to restaurants or bars, they’ve been meeting up at one girls house bi-monthly to just hangout. I’m pretty nervous that I was not only invited but practically begged, by Mary-Anne herself, to join.
My phone rings just as I slip the brownies into the oven.
“You’re coming tonight, right?” Ivy asks in my ear as soon as I answer her call. I make a non-committal noise and Ivy sighs.
“You need to be there. It’s fun, it’s relaxing, and you’ve missed out on a lot of what’s been happening the past three years,” she says.
I’m surprised at how much different she seems from the girl I first met a few years ago. Granted, she’s a married woman now with a baby on the way, but she’s definitely not that shy girl who snuck around behind her brother Grease’s back with her man.
“I think I’ll be there,” I say. She lets out a sigh of obvious frustration.
“Genny, you were a bitch for a long time. We all knew why. We didn’t understand your dynamics with Soar, but we all know now. Nobody will hold your past against you. We’re a family in this club; and believe it or not, you are part of our family.”
“Yeah, okay Ivy,” I mutter.
“If you’re not there, we’re going to come and get you,” she states before she ends the call.
I spend the rest of the day reorganizing the kitchen and moving little things around the house. It’s still clean from a couple days ago, when I got down to business and deep-cleaned it from top to bottom, so there isn’t a whole lot to do. Nevertheless, I still need to feel productive.
A knock on the door surprises me just as I take the brownies out of the oven. I have an hour before I’m supposed to be at Mary-Anne’s, so I was just getting ready to head back to the bedroom to get dressed.
I furrow my eyebrows together, wondering who could be knocking. I answer the door without looking, assuming it’s one of the girls to make sure I’m coming.
“Hello, darling,” Graham’s voice sneers as he pushes his way inside the house, slamming the door behind him before locking it.
“What are you doing here? What do you want?” I ask him with false bravado as I back away.
He doesn’t look the same as he did in that parking lot. He looks much like he did the night he hit me. He appears aloof, but behind his eyes there’s an evil lurking that sends chills down my spine.
I try to back my body toward the sliding glass door, so that I can try to run from him, but Graham is faster than I anticipate. He wraps his hand around my bicep, his grip tight, unwavering, and strong.
“It’s time for you to come back, Imogen. You’ve had your fun, you’ve gained your closure, and now we’re getting married,” he announces with a grin.
“Graham, we’re not getting married. I’m already married to Sloane, and I’m staying married to him,” I say gently, afraid to speak too loud.
“No,” he barks. “This is not how I planned things,” he rambles as he runs his hand through his hair.
He shakes me and then his hand comes out and lands across my face in a hard blow. My entire body moves to the side, but he doesn’t let me fall to the ground, his grip on my arm still, too tight. I don’t get a chance to say anything before he starts rambling.
“Your father promised me. He fucking swore I’d have you. He promised I’d have control over your money, and I had it all planned out. It was a perfect fucking plan, and Sloane fucked me over, again.”
“What did you have planned out?” I ask, trying not to let my tears from the pain fall, or my bottom lip tremble in fear.
“Everything,” he hisses before he throws me across the room.
My entire body crashes into the hard wall, and his fist smashes against my head before I can even blink.
I fall to the floor, and his foot connects with my ribs, taking all of the air out of my lungs. “I was going to have control of your trusts, all of them. I was going to knock you up and then,” he sneers, “I was going to leave you penniless. My final fuck-you to Sloane,” he laughs. “None of that works if I don’t get you.”
“Sloane?” I ask, trying to push myself up. Graham’s shoe connects with my ribs again.
“Yeah, Sloane. You didn’t think that I actually wanted you, did you?” He laughs and shakes his head before he crouches down to my level on the floor. “This was all so that I could win. Sloane has always won, always. He always got the pussy, he always got the attention, and he was always better at everything. I fucking tried, and he was still better. Since we were kids,” he cries.
“Every guy wanted in your cunt when we were in school. Perfect little Imogen. Blonde hair, light brown eyes, and sweet as sugar. We all wanted that tight snatch, but only Sloane got in there. Fucking asshole had already fucked the entire school, and then he got you, too,” he screams.
“Well, let’s see if he wants you after I fuck up that pretty little face,” he laughs demonically.
I open my mouth to scream, but then pain radiates from my face as his fist lands on my cheekbone.
Everything goes black.
“I knew she wouldn’t come,” Mary-Anne murmurs as she takes the casserole out of the oven.
“I talked to her, she seemed like she was coming,” I say.
I want to be confident that she’ll be here, but she’s almost an hour late, and she still sounded hesitant when I ended the call. I shake my head. “I’m going to go get her,” I announce.
Standing up from her seat, Colleen calls out, “I’ll go with you.”
Once we’re in my jeep, we drive toward Genny’s house. When we turn down her street, I suddenly feel sick to my stomach. I press my hand against my belly, thinking maybe the baby is moving around and making me feel nauseous, which she does do some days; but that’s not what this feels like.
“Do you feel that?” Colleen asks me. I nod. “It’s foreboding. Something is wrong,” she whispers.
We pull up to Genny and Soar’s house, and the feeling seeps into my bones, it’s so bad.
“Maybe we should call one of the guys?” I ask as I chew on the corner of my lip.
“C’mon, I’m sure we’re just overreacting,” she laughs as she opens the door and hops out onto the ground.
I follow suit, not quite hopping, but definitely sliding down until my feet gently touch the ground. Walking behind Colleen, I slowly make my way up the dark walkway and onto the porch.
There’s a light on inside, but as I press my ear to the door, I don’t hear anything. Colleen rings the bell and still—nothing. We both call out her name while I knock, and still—nothing. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and call her, but the phone just rings and goes to voicemail.
Colleen tries the door, and the handle turns. When she opens the door, peaking her head inside, she lets out a cry before she slams it closed.
“Call Camo and MadDog, now. Do not come inside,” she warns. I blink a few times, my mouth opening and closing. “Now, Ivy,” she barks, shaking me from my stupor.
I watch as she goes back inside, carefully closing the door behind her. Then I pull out my phone and I do as she asks. I call Camo.
“What’s up?” he asks, sounding distracted.
“I’m at Genny’s and somethings wrong. Colleen won’t let me in the house, but when she peeked inside she screamed. I think something happened to Genny,” I whisper.
“Genny’s dramatic, you sure?” he asks.
“West, I’m serious. This isn’t a joke. Something is wrong,” I state firmly.
“All right,” he grumbles. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Annoyed with my husband, I decide to call MadDog next. He sounds much more concerned than Camo did and s
wears he’ll be here as soon as he can. I don’t walk inside of the house, too afraid to see what’s on the other side of the door. I hope Genny is okay, but I also know that based off of Colleen’s immediate reaction, she isn’t.
West shows up first and looks irritated as shit that I’ve dragged him away from whatever it was he was up to. I’m surprised when he walks up to me and wraps his hand around my back, lowering his head to press his lips to mine.
“Sorry I was short on the phone, baby,” he murmurs against my lips, his beard tickling me. “You feelin’ okay?”
He presses his hand to my belly, and I get shivers, just like I always do when he’s anywhere near me.
“I’m okay, just worried about Genny,” I admit.
“Let me go inside. You stay here,” he rumbles and lowers his hand to squeeze my ass before he releases me and walks inside.
I watch his ass, encased in his perfectly fit jeans, and I sigh like a teenager, still unbelieving that this man is mine. I don’t care that we’re married and he’s mine forever, I’m still in complete shock that it’s all real. He’s real. We’re real. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully believe it, either.
“Do you know anything?” MadDog asks, taking me out of my thoughts.
I hadn’t even heard his bike pull up. I turn to face him, shaking my head as my answer.
“Colleen and West are in there. I was told to stay outside,” I shrug.
Fucking shit.
Looking down at the bloodied body of Genny makes my stomach turn. Colleen already checked for a pulse, and it’s there. She says it’s weak, but it’s there. So I guess there’s that.
MadDog walks in, and I hear his boots freeze just as Colleen and I are discussing whether to take her into the emergency room, or if we should call an ambulance.
“What the fuck?” he whispers.
“No clue. She’s got a pulse,” I state.
He points to me, “Call an ambulance,” he orders.
Rough & Rich (Notorious Devils Book 6) Page 17
