Damaged 2

by Ward, H. M.

  "Jackass!" Peter says proudly, "You came!" Peter's got his brother in his arms in two seconds. They slap each other on the back and then on the face, like they've done that since they were kids.

  "Of course I came. When you said you were giving her a ring, I wanted to make sure she didn't eat it by accident. Who puts a ring in a muffin?" Sean shakes his head in disapproval, like it was a stupid way to propose.

  "Are you ever polite?" I ask and fold my arms over my chest, glaring at him.

  "Are you seriously asking me that question?" Sean tries to hide a smile as he walks toward me and hands me a little box. "Here."

  I glance around. "If Mr. Turkey's heart is in here on a pillow—"

  "Just open the box, wiseass." Sean turns away, but the hostile looks he's getting from Dad and Aunt Beth make him turn back again.

  I pull away the paper to reveal a little black box. Honestly, I'm afraid to open it. I glance at Peter. "Do you know what it is?" He shakes his head and steps closer.

  "People typically find out the answer to that sort of question by removing the lid." Sean's gaze catches mine. His expression is almost daring me to open the box, which totally freaks me out. I look around for my turkey, seriously concerned this time. "For God's sake." Sean reaches forward and lifts the lid. There is a pillow inside the little box. Attached to the pillow is a little bow that's holding a brass key in place.

  I untie the bow and lift the key. "What is this?"

  "The little house with the white picket fence, minus the two kids, because I'm not doing that with you." Sean's snarky tone makes Peter reach out and smack his brother on the back of the head.

  I stare at the key. "You bought us a house?"

  "Yeah, I thought you'd like it." I shake my head and try to hand him the key, but Sean steps back, saying, "No returns, Sidney."

  "Well." I don't know what to say or what to ask. The gift is way too much and extremely unexpected. I think of a hundred reasons why I can't accept it, but something about the way Sean's standing lets me know how hard this is for him, that he's really trying to patch things up, but he knows that he completely sucks at it. The whole situation is awkward. Sean's been a prick since day one. I don't know what to do with this version of Peter's brother.

  I swallow back down the discomfort and ask, "Where is it?"

  "Far from here, at least four of five blocks that way." Sean points and the corners of his lips twitch like he wants to laugh. "I heard that second chances are hard to come by and I wanted to make sure that you guys got yours."

  "You bought us a house?" Peter finally says, and sounds as shocked as I am.

  "Why is everyone looking at me like I'm crazy? Where were you going to live? You needed a house, right?" Sean looks at Aunt Beth for confirmation, expecting her to agree.

  Her eyebrows have crept up under her curled hair. She uses a tone that let's Sean know he bought the wrong thing, but she's gentle with him, like he's five years old. "Engagement gifts are usually cookie jars, dear. Something small. A house isn't small."

  That makes everyone laugh. Sean smirks and lets the laughter roll off. "Fine, I'll buy them a bigger house for the wedding."

  "No, no! One house is plenty." I'm standing in front of Sean, looking up into his face. For a second I think I see what Avery sees when she looks at him, but then the walls shoot up and it's gone. "I thought you didn't like me."

  "I never said that," Sean replies.

  "Uh, yeah, you did. You said something along the lines of 'I loathe you.'"

  He shrugs his shoulders like it doesn't matter. "Yes, well it turns out that I was teasing. You have more backbone than most men, which is something to be admired."

  "You admire me?"

  "I didn't say that." Sean grins and turns away from us. He speaks over his shoulder as he walks off. "Take care of her, Peter. I'll be in the city for a few more weeks trying to wrap things up and save Jonathan from himself. That kid is going to get disowned at the rate he's going, and I don't want them trying to throw the whole heir thing back my way. Anyway, come visit whenever you want and bring your fiancée."

  Sean disappears around the side of the house. After a few moments we hear a motorcycle engine rev as he takes off. Until that point, everyone was staring at each other like Sean was some sort of demented Santa Claus.

  I let out a breath. "Well, that was unexpected and a little weird."

  "Very. Sean hates everyone, but you won him over." Peter pinches my cheek and laughs as I swat him away. Making nice with Sean is too weird.

  "He probably bought us a shack with an outhouse."

  Dad speaks up for the first time during this conversation. "Last I checked, there weren't any hobo-style houses over on Sycamore. I think the guy really bought you a house."

  Peter takes my hand and presses it to his lips. "Do you want to go see your new house, Future Mrs. Granz?"

  "Totally. I need to see it to believe it. If Sean likes me, my whole axis-of-evil theory kind of got fried since Sean was the overlord." It makes me wonder why Sean erected so many barbed walls around himself. It's like he doesn't want anyone to give him a second glance, never mind get close.

  The entire family follows us as we drive over to the address on the inside of the box. Sean had it written on the lid of the box in a fancy script. When I opened it, I didn't realize what it was. I thought it was the store where he got the key, not the address of our new house.

  When Peter and I stop outside the house, it's so cute that I can't contain my excitement. It's a little Cape Cod, painted gray and white, with a big blue bow on the door. The front yard has been manicured with flower gardens like my mother had. Shasta daisies, impatiens, and big leafy hostas are everywhere. It looks like Sean copied her gardens exactly and put them here. I press my lips together as hard as I can, afraid that I'm going to start crying.

  Peter pulls me from the car and walks hand in hand with me up the slate sidewalk to the front door. "The key, Mrs. Granz." I hand it to Peter, and he unlocks the door.

  I glance back at the flowers and the fresh paint. "How did he do this so fast?"

  Peter shrugs. "It's Sean. How does he do anything?" Peter takes my hand and puts it around his neck before sweeping me off my feet. I yelp as he picks me up.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Well, this is going to be our house. I have to carry you over the threshold. Or would you prefer to carry me?" Peter grins at me.

  "I'll carry you on our wedding day."

  "Deal." Peter carries me inside and stops. The house is beautiful and fully furnished. My jaw drops, and there's no way to take it all in fast enough. "Wow." Peter turns slowly, still holding me. There's a new kitchen, decked out with stainless appliances, granite counter tops, and the cutest bistro set I've ever seen. The dark floors from that room flow into the living room where we are standing. There's a fluffy white couch, built-in bookcases, a corner fireplace, and a huge television. My dad grunts with approval and finds a seat on the couch.

  Peter turns again and faces a narrow staircase that leads to the bedrooms upstairs. "Want to go check it out?"

  "Hell, yes. After seeing this, I want to run up the stairs." Peter sets me down and walks up the staircase with me. There's a small bathroom in the hall and a lovely second bedroom, complete with bed, nightstand, and a comfy chair. "This is so pretty."

  Peter cracks the door to the master bedroom and says, "You're going to love this." I walk up behind him and try to peek around, but Peter pulls the door so I can't see. "While I was talking to Sean, I mentioned some things. I didn't tell him to do any of this. He figured it out on his own."

  I laugh nervously. "Okay, now you're freaking me out." Peter smiles softly and pushes the door open. I stand frozen in the doorway. "Oh my God, it's beautiful." Everywhere I look is perfect. The room is soft colors, a very pale blue with big fat white moldings. The dark floor is stained with a gloss that's so shiny I can see my reflection. A big bed is against one wall with a padded headboard that has little jewels
nestled in the tufts. A downy white bedspread is on top, and sheer fabric flows from the ceiling to the floor, draping the head of the bed. In the corner is an antique record player. I walk toward it slowly, thinking that it's a reproduction of an old Victrola, but when I'm standing over it I do a double take. I point at the record player. "Oh my God! That's real!"

  Peter is walking around in the closet—at least I thought it was a closet, but his voice echoes. "Read the record label."

  I glance at the black disc and squeal. "It's Benny Goodman! How did he find this stuff?" I turn the player on, careful not to scratch the record, and hear one of my favorite songs. "Oh my God, Peter. Could this be more perfect?"

  "I don't know. You haven't seen this room yet." He sticks his head out and says, "Come take a look."

  I walk through the small doorway, thinking that it's a storage room or something, and then gape. The attic was converted into a massive master bathroom. A white claw-foot tub sits under a skylight. White cabinets line the walls with big mirrors centered above hammered copper sinks. Tiny pale blue glass tiles glitter within wall niches, and a beautiful huge shower is nestled into the corner of the room. I stand there, staring.

  "How did he have time to do this?"

  Peter walks up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "The obvious answer is that he started this the night he met you, but that seems unbelievable based on the way he behaved."

  "Just a bit, yeah."

  "I told him that I wanted to marry you, that you were the one. He knew from that night forward that I was serious about you." Peter turns me around in his arms. "This is a helluva present."

  I nod and smile. "It means I don't have to leave Dad, and that me and you can have a fresh start, but what about a job?"

  Peter releases me and pulls his phone from his back pocket. He taps the screen as he talks. "Since we'll be sharing a bank account, you should know our financial situation. Here"—he hands me his phone—"take a look."

  I take it and glance down at the screen. I blink a few times, thinking that I'm seeing it wrong. When I glance up, Peter is smiling. "You said you were broke." I don't understand. He's loaded. Peter doesn't have to work if he doesn't want to, like ever. There's more money in his account than what Sean offered me back at the Ferro mansion.

  "I said I wasn't the heir and that I was all right, and I am. I invested my trust fund and did well. I lived off my salary so this kept growing. I'm not as rich as Sean or Jon, but I'm far from broke." Peter grins at me. "I told you that I'd take care of you. Did you really think I had nothing?"

  I nod and shove my eyeballs back into my face. "Well, yeah. Your living room was full of flakeboard furniture. It looked more like a dorm room than a professor's home."

  He shrugs. "It wasn't home to me, so I didn't spend much to fix it up. There was no reason to, not until I met you."

  "So you don't have to work?" Peter shakes his head. "But I bet you want to teach."

  He nods and steps toward me. "Yeah, I liked being in a classroom."

  "We'll have to do something about that."

  "Actually," Peter says and glances up at me from under those dark lashes, "I already have. Remember how I mentioned that Jon's impulsive? Well, he bought something around here a couple years back."

  "What did he buy?"

  "A private school. He was trying to impress a hot girl."

  "Aren't we all?" I can't imagine how that would help Jon impress a girl, but it sounds about right based on what Sean and Peter said about the youngest Ferro.

  Peter laughs and says, "Jonathan Ferro Prep is about an hour from here and needs an English teacher."

  "Is that so, Professor?"

  He nods. "After my mother stormed off, Jon said he'd make me king if I helped him deal with Mom and his latest investment. When I realized where this school was located, I said yes. The only hitch in my devious master plan was if you wanted to go back to Texas or you said no when I proposed. I totally thought the turkey was going to eat your ring, by the way…speaking of the fat bird, come here." Peter moves to the window and pulls back the curtain. "Check it out."

  I glance down and see an enormous perch right next to the patio with a big black bird sitting on it. "Aw, Sean delivered Mr. Turkey after we left."

  "So"—Peter turns me toward him—"are we staying here or moving back to Texas?"

  "It sounds like it's time to start over and this is the perfect place, the perfect house, with the perfect husband-to-be."

  Peter takes me in his arms and dips his head, pressing his lips to mine. When he pulls away, he says, "I love you, Sidney Colleli."

  "I love you, too, Peter Granz. Now give me some of that coffee you're always talking about."

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Thank you to all the amazing fans who love Peter (Ferro) Granz and Sidney! You guys rocked DAMAGED 1 onto the best-seller lists where it stayed for a crazy long time!

  If you love Peter, you should check out two more series with the other Ferro Brothers: THE ARRANGEMENT revolves around the dangerous and devastated Sean Ferro, and STRIPPED is a novel that tells the story of the youngest Ferro brother, Jonathan.

  These three series crisscross at points giving you more of the characters you love!

  THE FERRO FAMILY OF BOOKS

  Three series tell the story of the Ferro brothers. Enjoy!

  _________

  DAMAGED

  (Peter Ferro's Story)

  *

  THE ARRANGEMENT

  (Sean Ferro's Story)

  Volumes 1 - 7 available

  Get The Arrangement Vol. 1 now.

  *

  STRIPPED

  (Jonathan Ferro's Story)

  A Novel

  Pre-order Stripped today.

  To ensure you don't miss any of the FERRO brothers, text AWESOMEBOOKS to 22828 and you will get an e-mail reminder on release day, and pre-order STRIPPED today.

  CHAPTER 1

  The night air is frigid. It doesn't help that I'm stuck wearing this little black dress in my crap car. I shiver as I try to keep the engine running at a red light. My little battered car is from two decades ago and stalls if I don't rev the engine while I have my foot on the brake. I'm driving with two feet in a car that's supposed to be an automatic. The heater doesn't work. If I try to turn it on, I'll get my face blasted with white smoke. It's awesome, in an utterly humbling kind of way. At least the car is mine. It gets me where I need to go, most of the time.

  The light flips to green and I botch it. I don't gas the car enough, and it shudders and stalls. I grumble and grab for the can of ether. The cars behind me blare their horns.

  I ignore them. They can go around me. I grab the can on the seat next to me, kick open my door, and walk around to the hood. I shake the can and spray it into the engine intake. The car will start up as soon as I turn the key now, and I can drive away in shame.

  The night air is crisp and filled with exhaust. This road is always busy. It doesn't matter what time of day it is. Angry drivers move around me. Everyone is always in a hurry. It's part of the New York frame of mind. I'm treated to a catcall as a car full of guys blows past me. I flip them the bird and hear their laughter echo as they fade from sight.

  Tonight couldn't possibly get any worse. I put the cap on the can of ether. Then it happens. My night takes a one-eighty straight into suckage.

  As I drop the hood, it slams shut, and I look through the windshield. "Seriously?" I say at the guy who jumps in my seat. He's wearing a once-blue fluffy coat and hasn't shaved for weeks. He turns the key and my crappy car roars to life. He gasses it and takes off, swerving around me. I stand in the lane staring after him. What a moron. Who'd steal that piece of trash?

  Still, it's my car and I need it. After the night I had, I don't want to run after him, but I have to. I need that car. I take off at a full run. My lungs start to burn as I suck in frozen air and exhaust. I run down the shoulder, avoiding trash that's lying in the gutter. My attention is singularly focused on my car.
I push my body harder and feel my muscles protest, but I don't hold back. He's getting away.

  I manage to run a block when a guy on a motorcycle slows next to me. "That guy stole your car." He sounds shocked.

  I can't see his face through the black helmet. It has a tinted visor that covers his face. "No shit, Sherlock," I huff and keep running. My purse is in the car, my only pair of work-acceptable heels, my books—aw, fuck, my books. I paid over a grand for those. They're worth more than the car. I run faster. My dress flares around my thighs as my Chucks help me sprint forward. My body doesn't want to do it. The stitch in my side feels like it's going to bust open.

  The guy on the bike is annoying. He rolls next to me and flips up his face shield. I glance at him, wondering what he's doing. Biker guy looks at me like I'm crazy. "Are you trying to catch him?"

  "Yes." Pointing ahead, huffing. There are three lights on this stretch of road before the ramp to get on the parkway. If he hits a red light, the car will stall and I'll get it back. My lungs are burning, and it's not like I have time to explain this. My car has already passed the first light. "If he stops, the car will stall."

  "You want me to help?" He glances at the car and then back at me.

  I stop and nearly double over. Holy hell, I'm out of shape. I nod and throw my leg over the back of his bike, flashing the cars driving past us. I so don't care. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I hold on tight and say, "Go."

  "I was going to call the cops, but this works, too." He sounds amused. I hold onto his trim waist and plaster myself against his back. He's wearing a leather jacket, and I can feel his toned body through the supple material. He pulls into traffic and zips through the lanes. The wind blasts my hair and plasters my eyelashes wide open. We bob and weave, getting closer and closer to my car. My heart is racing so fast that it's going to explode.

  I see my car. It's passing the second light. Motorcycle man punches it, and the bike flies under the second intersection just as the light changes. I manage not to shriek. My skirt flies up to my hips, but I don't let go of the biker's waist to push the fabric back down.