by S. Ann Cole
“This is…” Caleb grips his hair “This is…oh my God.”
“Sit down, Caleb,” I grit out. “He’s lying. He’s trying to turn us against her.”
“Your mother was acting strange. Erratic, suspicious,” he goes on. “So I hired a PI. I have paperwork of her ethylene glycol purchases. We found traces of it in everything in my liquor cabinet. She did it.”
“So, what?” Caleb demands. “You’re going to turn her in? Is that what this is about?”
“Of course not,” he responds through another cough. “I deserve it.”
I take a step forward. “What do you mean by that?”
With all the casualness in the world, he drops another bomb. “I have two little girls outside of this family. Your mom found out. She didn’t ask for a divorce. As you can see, she had something else in mind.”
“You sonuvabitch,” I hiss through clench teeth.
I lunge for him but Caleb jumps in front me and shoves me back. “Easy, easy,” he says. “It makes no sense kicking a dead horse.” Turning to our father, he growls, “Dad, what the fuck?”
There’s no apology on his face, no remorse. He just sits there with this resigned stance, as if accepting his fate. “I’m not explaining myself to either of you,” he replies. “That’s not why you’re here.”
He reaches for the bottle of Vitamin Water on his desk and takes a long sip. “Caleb and Cammie tested negative for a match for a kidney transplant, and your mother refuses to get tested, for obvious reasons. I’m on the donor list, but fat chances with that one.”
What is this? He called me here to get tested? That’s what this is about? He wants my damn kidney?
“This meeting is to give you a preview of my will, so you can start adjusting your life accordingly,” he continues. “Your brother here has been a sycophantic lap dog since you left, but he has a gambling addiction and is currently over two million dollars in debt. I’ll die before I leave my legacy in his hands.”
Caleb jerks back as if he’s been slapped. I don’t know why he’s acting surprised. This was his biggest fear when he opened that door and saw me there.
“You don’t know it, but you’ve been running the company for the past two years,” he says with pride. “Just like you were meant to. There’s no one in the world I trust with this legacy but you. In your hands, it will bloom and grow and expand. Fight it as you might, but you were made for this, Collin.”
I’m confused. What does he mean I’ve been running the company? “What are you talking about?”
“Trular Inc. The company you’ve been advising and directing for the past three years, it doesn’t exist.” And there goes another bomb. “It’s a front name I created for Capshaw Holdings.”
Son.
Of.
A.
Bitch.
He’s been stalking me this whole time? How did I not figure this out?
Unless its KFC, no company has as many fast food branches in as many locations worldwide and is booming, except for Wings Chaudes and Red Dime Pizzas. Two multi-billion-dollar fast food chains founded by Capshaw Holdings. This “Trular” company came out of nowhere with the same stats and numbers as Capshaw Holdings and I didn’t think to look into it? I’m disappointed in myself.
“That’s right.” His smile is victorious. “You’ve been working for me for the past three years. We needed help. We needed you. And since I wasn’t dying yet, that was the only way to get it.”
“I don’t want it,” I tell him. “I’m not interested. I’ve never been interested, and I’ll never be interested.”
“Tough luck. My lawyers already have their orders. You will inherit Capshaw Holdings,” he informs me in no uncertain terms. “If you try to pass it off to your brother, your sister will lose her inheritance. If you try to sell it, your brother, sister and mother will be stripped of everything I left them, and it will all be given to my two daughters and their mother.”
“You heartless son of a bitch,” Caleb whispers with quiet disbelief. “How could you do this?”
“I am not doing anything,” Baron wheezes out. “Your mother killed me. And now all your fates are left in the hands of this ungrateful piece of shit.”
He leans forward, forearms on the desk, and takes deep breaths in and out. He’s struggling, on his last leg, and all that has done nothing to change his cruel heart.
“I don’t understand you, Collin,” he breathes out heavily. “You’re brilliant, talented, with an inherent business mind and the qualifications to match, yet you choose to let others pay you squid to help build up their businesses instead of running your own? I offered you a multi-billion-dollar company and you turned your back on it, to do what? Be someone else’s bitch dog?”
A few moments ago, I was livid, resentful, indignant. But now, as I stare down at this corpse, all I feel is pity for him, and gratitude on my part. Gratitude that I am nothing at all like him.
In a soft, calm voice, I tell him, “I hope you rot in hell.” Then turn and stride out of his office.
When I’m halfway out the door, he lets out a cough-punctuated laugh. “I’m already there!”
Once I’m in my car, I drive straight to the private medical center the Capshaw family uses and get tested.
I’d rather give up a kidney than give up my freedom.
Twenty - One - Kholton
“Run, white boy, run!”
Santa Monica, Los Angeles
“So, what’re you gonna do?”
“What can I do?” I shrug and take a swig of beer. “If I do what I really wanna do, the rest of the family suffers.”
Facing away from the ocean, I’m leaning back against the glass barrier of Brock’s beach-front house, cold beer in hand. The Cage brothers are my true brothers. I crash with either of them whenever I’m here. There are no secrets. They knew the whole truth about me from the get go.
Beer dangling from his fingers, Brock rocks back in a lounge chair, face to the ocean. “Yeah, I get that.” The sonuvabitch’s voice is so deep that if you’re not used to him, you’ll have a hard time understanding what he’s saying half the time. “But, they did abandon you simply because he told them to. If the roles were reversed, you think they’d give a shit about you?”
They wouldn’t. None of them would risk their freedom or inheritance for me. It’s messed up. But family is family and I can’t turn my back on them.
“Think it’s savage what your old lady did to your old man, though,” Brock says through a reverberating laugh. “Mama Capshaw wasn’t playing around, my man.”
Savage indeed. Also hard to believe. I’m still not convinced he’s telling the truth. Why would he sit there and do nothing about it? Not turn her in? It certainly can’t be because he loves her.
He knocked up another woman twice.
This is just another sick, twisted way for him to torture her even while in the grave. I can’t be—
“Hey, isn’t that your girlfriend?” Brock punches through my racing thoughts.
I chuckle and take another swig of beer. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“The redhead. The rich one. Isn’t that her?”
At the word “redhead”, I’m already twisting around. I shade my eyes from the sun and spot her in a nanosecond.
Just like that, I’m hard as a rock.
Strappy red bikini top. Tiny, ass-riding jean shorts. Lush red hair spilling all around her shoulders. Sunglasses on, sandals dangling from her fingers.
She’s like a fucking wet-dream, this girl.
Throwing her head back, she laughs at something. That’s when I notice she’s with someone. Some ginger-head douchebag who’s smiling down at her like she’s the solution to world peace or something.
He looks well-bred, cultured. The type of guy Serena Bentley would go for.
Who the hell’s this tool?
“Looks like someone’s moving in on your action,” Brock digs.
I clench my teeth and splash some of my beer on hi
m. “Shut the fuck up.”
He rumbles with laughter.
Casting one last look down at Serena and Ginger-Douche walking along the beach and laughing without a care in the world as if they’re soul mates or something, I stalk off the balcony and through the house.
“Run, white boy, run!” Brock calls after me.
Asshole.
I’m downstairs, out of the house, and on the beach in record time. Braking on the pathway that leads to the beach between houses, I take the time to calm down.
I have to play this cool. Smooth. Random run-in. Even if what I really want to do is punch Ginger-Douche in the face and shove his jokes back down his throat.
Hanging back, I wait until they’re close to passing the gap I’m at before I walk out on the beach. Keeping my attention on the horizon, pretending as if it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
See me. See me!
“Khol?”
Hell, but I love it when she says my name. Her voice is a mixture of throaty and raspy. Like sex. Yes, that’s what her voice is like. Sex.
I pretend as though I don’t hear her, dodging when I spot a Frisbee coming at my head. Two skinny chicks come chasing after it, throwing apologies at me. I flash them my player smile and tell them it’s fine.
“Kholton!”
I jerk around this time, making a show of searching for the voice.
Her grin is as wide as the Frisbee as she jogs toward me, as though she couldn’t have been happier to see me. My attention drifts to her toned midsection, her bouncing tits.
Halting before me, she sweeps her sunglasses on top of her head. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
I don’t smile at her. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“We’re here on business.”
“We?”
“Yeah.” Her tone says I’m asking the obvious. “Daddy and me.”
I pointedly arch a brow at the punk who comes up behind her and places his hand on the small of her back.
She jumps at his touch, almost as if she forgot she was with him. “Oh, um, yeah. This is Paul. A business associate.” She looks to Ginger-Douche. “Paul, this is my, er, Kholton.”
Real damn cozy for a business associate.
Ginger-Douche sticks his hand out. “Hello. Nice to meet you.” His breath stinks of pomposity, his accent of affluence. This is the kind of man Aaron wants for his daughter. Not one from a screwed-up family, where a father disowns his son and the mother slow-murders the father, while a secret family stands on the sidelines.
I ignore his hand, lest I break all his manicured little fingers. To Serena, “Nice seeing you.”
I turn and start in the direction of Brock’s house. This way, she knows exactly where to find me. She’s got some kind of sick fascination with me. I know her. She won’t be able to help herself.
“Give me a moment, Paul,” I hear her say. “Khol, wait up.”
I don’t.
She catches up and grabs my arm. I stop and stare down at her, waiting.
“Hey, what was that?” she demands.
“Who the fuck is that guy?”
“A business associate.” And there goes the chin lift. “What do you care anyway? You don’t want me, so screw your jealousy.”
“Right,” I say and stride off again.
She catches up. “Why are you here?”
“Family business.” I’m assuming she’s here on business, but I won’t ask for confirmation. I’m not supposed to care.
“Family?” There’s shock in her voice. “As in your real family?”
“As opposed to the fake one?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I don’t have to look down at her to know she’s chewing her lip. I know her. “Is this where you’re staying?”
“Uh-huh. Brock’s place.”
“The big guy?” she asks. “Brian’s twin?”
“Yup.”
“Serena,” Ginger-Douche calls from behind us. “Mr. Bentley is on the phone.”
“Better get going, princess.”
That gets her. “Eat shit, Khol.”
“I’m surfeited with it,” I rejoin. “I’ve got a taste for something new.”
She huffs and jogs off.
Making a U-turn, she jogs right back to me and tips up on her toes to hiss in my face, “FYI, I got wet the second I spotted you. Down there is one hundred percent yours. Asshat.”
Then she’s gone again. I watch her take the phone from Ginger-Douche and put it to her ear, and I notice her hips are swaying a little more than usual.
Ginger-DoDoHead places his hand over her lower back dimples again, but she steps out of his touch.
I smirk. That pussy is mine alright.
I get my phone out and pull up Brian’s number.
Kholton: Got eyes on the Bs here in Cali. Great alibi for me. Think you can execute the steal without me?
Brian: They don’t call me Panther for nothing.
Kholton: You have eyes on the place? What’s security looking like?
Brian: Yep. The head’s not here so the guards are lax. Say the word.
Conflicted, I throw a glance over my shoulder, watching the source of my misery sashay up the beach without a backward glance.
Sorceress.
Screw it. I’m a professional, and professionals don’t let their dicks get in the way of business.
Kholton: Get it. Update me.
Brian: On it.
I’m Kholton Sharpe and I’m a con artist. And con artists never get their hearts involved.
Rule unspoken.
Twenty - Two - Serena
“You want me to be?”
I press the doorbell and step back.
It’s late, and I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t help it.
I fought long—fifteen minutes—and hard—halfheartedly—not to come knocking, but here I am. Actually, I might have been here sooner if it wasn’t for that bland dinner party with the Webbers that I was obligated to attend.
Okay. So, I didn’t fight at all.
Seeing him today was like sunrise. Paul is nice. But he’s no Kholton.
Kholton is in a category all by himself. He lights up my body, ignites my soul. He makes me feel butterflies like a teenage girl. All without touching me.
The door jerks open and Brock’s big frame stands across the threshold. Clad in all-black and steel-toe boots, he smells good, too. “Yeah?”
“Hey,” I greet. “It’s nice to see you again. All is well?”
He just stares at me, waiting. Okay, then. Maybe he doesn’t remember me? It’s not as if we had exchanged words. I highly doubt it, though. He’s probably just a jerk like his twin.
“Want something?” he prods.
Yep, he’s a jerk. “Seriously? You don’t know why I’m here?”
“Who am I? Nostradamus?”
“I see being a dick runs in the family.” I roll my eyes. “Khol. I’m here to see Khol.”
“S’all you had to say.” He steps aside, holding the door open for me to enter. “Upstairs. Second door on the left. Think he’s out cold, though.” He snags a jingle of keys off the side table by the door. “Let him know I’m out for a bit.”
“Where—” I start, but am shut up by the door slamming shut.
These men are some real unmannerly assholes.
The beach house has a nice open layout and is as modern and clean on the inside as it is on the outside. Lots of white and squares, with a few masculine touches here and there.
A box of pastries in one hand, my oversized handbag stuffed with running gear and toiletries in the other hand—just in case I don’t make it back home tonight, fingers crossed— I slowly make my way up the staircase to the second floor.
The door is ajar, so I gently push it open. It’s dark, but I can make out the shape of his long, lean frame stretched out on his back, one arm loose over his abdomen, the other bent awkwardly above his head. His audible snoring indicates he’s in deep slumber.
Entering the room, I switch on the bedside lamp, set the box of pastry on the nightstand, and dump my bag on the floor. Sandals off, I climb into bed next to him.
I lean over and sniff him. He smells like the beach, with an undertone of alcohol. He’s been drinking.
I’ve been high on adrenaline since I saw him earlier, so I’m far from sleepy. I want to wake him and ravish him, but I’m not sure what kind of day he’s had, what with him being here on “family business” and all. Which is confusing as hell, since as far as I know, he’s been expelled by them.
Arching over the edge of the bed, I get my iPad from my bag on the floor, then lean back against the headboard and open my Kindle app to my current read.
About an hour has passed with a 43% dent in my reading progress, when I glance over at Kholton and find him watching me. I got so lost in the story that I didn’t even realize his snoring had stopped.
I sit up from my slouch against the headboard. “You’re awake.”
“Is that smut?” he asks, voice sleepy, hoarse.
I laugh. “Nope. It’s about a storm-chaser. Two sisters and a boy with white hair, like you.”
“Hmm. When did you get here?”
I close out of the app and set my device on the nightstand. “About an hour ago.”
Quick as a flash, he reaches out and grabs me, hauling me to him. He buries his face in my neck and breathes me in. “What took you so long?”
I shudder. Light my body up. Ignite my soul. “Some boring dinner party.”
“With the gingerhead?”
When I don’t answer, he pulls back and stares down at me. “You were with him before you came to me?”
“It’s not what you—” I sigh. “Look, I’m just playing nice, okay? We’re trying to land them, the Webbers, for a big project. Paul has been obsessed with me since forever. If I make him think he has a chance, we could get the deal. That’s all it is. Business.”
“You do that often?”
“Do what?”
“Use your beauty and sexuality to get what you want.”
I gaze up at him, his features shadowed in the dim glow of the lamp. “When it’s absolutely necessary, yes.”
