by Rose Harper
“I do get laid.”
“Yeah? When? Because I was just at your place a few months ago, bro. You know, the same time you surprisingly had to skip out on when you made that run or whatever the fuck it’s called. If you work so much, how do you find the time to pick up women?”
The simple answer to that is, I don’t. I pay women to be at my beck and call for that very reason. No strings, and I get all the pussy I want—when I want. It’s the perfect arrangement, if I say so myself. But, I can’t help the tinge of truth I hear in his words. It has been a long while since I’ve had my cock thoroughly waxed, and now I’m feeling the effects of it.
“Don’t count out my game quite yet, cuz. I get pussy just fine. Don’t need anyone like you helping me out,” I retort.
“So, what brings you by the old homeplace?” he asks, changing the subject. He knows just as well as I that I’m here only because my parents would pitch a fit if they knew I’d been around but didn’t come to visit them. It’s the only reason I dragged my happy ass out of bed this morning.
“Fancied a visit is all.”
He gives me a look that screams he doesn’t believe me, but thankfully, he doesn’t call me out on it. Instead, he pushes me toward the front door, following me. I raise my hand to knock, because doing anything else doesn’t feel comfortable, and Jason gives me yet another look of confusion.
Stepping around me, he simply pushes open the door and makes his way inside, leaving me standing there on the front stoop twiddling my damn thumbs.
It doesn’t feel right to just walk into my parents’ house. Especially since I haven’t seen them in so long. In truth, I feel as if I’m an intruder, a stranger to them now. And a stranger doesn’t simply walk into someone’s home uninvited.
“Are you going to stand out there all day or come in?” another voice projects through the door. Tilting my head, I eye him , wondering who the fuck he could be. He looks like me, but I’ve never met him before—or I just don’t remember if I have. It’s fucking uncanny the resemblance to me.
The same dark hair, only shaggy where mine is short. Same devilish molten brown eyes that are more mischievous than angelic. The only difference between us are our statures. Where I’m tall, regal, and muscular—he’s short, thin, and looks a little disproportioned.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask before thinking.
“We would ask who—”
Another boy, identical to the one already standing in front of me, comes out from behind him, starting where the other left off as if they’re magically connected. “The hell you are, but we—”
“Think we have our answer,” they both finish simultaneously.
Jesus Christ, I’ve stepped into a twilight zone.
My eyes flick between the both of them, noticing they are i-fucking-dentical. There is no difference, even down to the clothes they’re both wearing.
“I’m Ryker.”
“I’m Luka.”
Then at the same time, with their matching little smirks bestowed on them by Hades himself, they say, “Nice to meet you, bro.”
“This is fucking weird.”
“Tell us about it,” they say at the same time once more.
“Stop doing that.”
“Stop doing what?” they ask, their smiles growing as my frown deepens.
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration, then tunnel my hands through my hair when it feels like my head is about to become unglued. “Stop saying the same thing at the same time; it’s fucking weird.”
“You’re weird,” they reply.
I’m just about to let loose the cussing storm of all cussing storms when someone behind them chastises them for fucking with me.
“Jesus, give him a break. He hasn’t seen you all in so long, of course he doesn’t know you’re the twin devils that terrorize this house.”
Now that voice, I know. It’s one I would remember even if I didn’t hear it for the rest of my life. It hasn’t changed, not one bit. However, the man that steps around the twins has. More graying hair now peppers his head instead of just the temples like the last time I saw him. He seems shorter, if that’s even possible, and he’s not as muscular as he was when I graduated high school. If anything, he looks feebler.
“Father.”
“Son,” he offers with a smile. “God, it’s been too long.”
The smile that stretches across my face is genuine, even though the emotion churning inside of me is anything but happiness. Clasping hands with him, he pulls me into a tight hug, as if he’s scared he’ll blink and I won’t be here when he opens his eyes.
I hate that he thinks even the smallest actions will cause me to run in the other direction, but I can’t bring myself to be upset by the fact. I’ve done nothing but show my family my back as I hightailed it out of here to run my father’s less-than-legal side business.
“Just running things in SoCal, Dad,” I say, breaking the hug.
Nodding, my father turns his head as he blinks watery eyes. “Yeah. Don’t be a slave driver, son. You need to take time off to visit every once in a while.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, if you do the same.” I give him a smile, both of us knowing it won’t happen.
I’m too loyal to the business. I have to know what’s happening and when. It’s been that way since day one because of my obsessive tendencies. If I have even an inkling that something is wrong, I have to begin right then and there to figure a way out of it. There’s no time waiting, because I refuse to fail at the only job my father has given me.
He’s made me the man I am today, and I will make him proud.
“Your mother …” my father starts, then trails off sadly.
I detest that she’s turned into this shadow of a women none of us can recognize. Frankly, it hurts me to know I’ll never be able to have that version of my mother again, and it’s all because of greed.
She hungers for the power to have everyone under the heel of her stiletto.
And what I hate even more than her drastic change is the fact she’s forcing my father along with her antics. It’s clear, just from this brief interaction, he doesn’t want any of it. The only thing that confuses me is why he’s still here if it’s clear this relationship has a lasting effect on his health—and not a good one.
“Dad, why didn’t you tell me it’d gotten this bad?” I whisper.
Sighing, he scratches the scruff lining his jawline. “She means well, Declan. She’s just—”
“She’s just what?!” my mother squawks from the front door.
Her nasally voice causes both of us to turn in her direction. The sight before me causes a sickness I’ve never felt before to churn in my stomach. She looks much different than I expected. Dressed to the nines, with skyscraping heels donning her feet, and her hair twisted into a severe bun. She’s nothing like she used to be.
Where she used to be soft, with curves fit for a homemaker, she’s now encased in nothing but sharp points and fine clothing. No warmth exudes from her person. It’s all frigid ice. Turning her nose down at me, she gives me a once over, piercing me with her jaded green eyes, before returning her attention to my father.
“You were saying?”
“Nothing, dear. I wasn’t saying a thing,” he sighs, resigned.
Why the hell is he allowing this shit to happen?! He’s the one who brings in the money. He’s the one who took us from poverty to living in the lap of luxury. She did nothing except raise us kids, and even then, her parenting skills lacked when it came to Ryker and Luka. By the time they came along, it’s like she’d washed her hands of it all.
“Well, hello, Mother,” I say, taking the heat from my father.
Bringing her eyes back to me, she sneers, narrowing cold, dead eyes at me. “Oh, look. The prodigal son has returned. Let’s throw a goddamn party.”
I know men aren’t supposed to hit women, but I’d be willing to make an exception for my mother. At least, now I know the reason Sparrow has been s
o adamant about keeping Drake a secret. She saw more of my mother over the past years, and Sparrow has every right to fear her if this is how she acts all the time. Motherfuck! She is far worse than I realized.
She’ll fucking ruin Sparrow if she ever finds out about our son. And that’s not something I can ever allow to happen.
Sparrow may have fucked up by withholding the information she did, and I’m still thoroughly pissed off at her, but I would rather cut out my tongue than serve her on a platter to my mother.
No good could ever come from having her find out about Drake’s existence. I’ll die before I see my son turn into a stoic robot with nothing but winning on his mind.
Chapter Six
Sparrow
“Come out, you traitorous, foul beast!”
Ugh, can’t they just leave me alone? Every single person in the house, aside from Darcy, has been trying to get me out of my room all afternoon. They refuse to take no for an answer, which is what I’ve been screaming over and over again. You’d think after the sixtieth or seventieth time, they would get the drift and leave me the fuck alone.
Not this family.
Not my brothers.
If anything, that makes them even more persistent, because apparently, I’ve taken bro time away from them when it pertains to their nephew.
Christ sakes, Derrick didn’t even know he had a nephew until last night, and the twins earlier this morning. How can so much change in just a handful of hours?
I seriously believe if my room hadn’t been secure, Jacob and Caleb would have raced in here and pranked the ever-loving shit out of me just to get me up and pepper me with questions about Drake. It makes me very glad I practically barricaded my door last night—from both entry points. God knows what they would conjure up, knowing I’ve been lying to them this whole time and being a bitch on purpose.
“Not happening!” I yell, frustrated. There’s no way they’re getting me out of here. The only thing I have planned to do today is call Brandy and Drake and give them censored updates about last night’s coming out party. Nothing else matters at this point.
“One for the money; two for the show; three to get ready; and four to blow!” Jacob yells, before something very hard ricochets off my door.
“What the fuck are you two doing?!” I scream, running for the door. Banging the surface with my fists, I grit my teeth through the pain. Those two assholes are going to make even more of a mess than Declan did last night.
“Open sesame!” Caleb bellows just before a loud, floor-quaking sound echoes from the other side of the door.
“Did you two dipshits forget Dad’s reinforced the damn doors for this very fucking reason?!”
“We. Will. Conquer!” Jacob screeches, sounding like he’s a member of a screaming banshee tribe.
They are both thoroughly nuts!
Hell no, the squirrel has already taken their nuts. They’re certifiably insane!
Striding away from the door, because God only knows what else they have planned, I grab my phone off the dresser, double clicking the screen to bring it to life. I’m absolutely dreading this call, but I know it has to be done. Brandy will start worrying, then Drake will worry because Brandy is worrying. My head aches just thinking about it all.
However, the moment the screen illuminates, my stomach sinks. My eyes widen when I see I have thirteen missed calls, and seven unread texts—all rom Brandy. If anyone knows Brandy as well as I do, they’d know she doesn’t call or text that many times unless something is wrong. What the fuck can be wrong?
My eyes bounce through each text message. Slowly, it dawns on me, and my entire world comes crashing down.
Brandy: There’s something you should know, and I would feel better telling you over the phone.
Brandy: Answer, answer, answer!!!! Ring a bitch back!
Brandy: Spar, you really need to call me!
Brandy: At the risk of sounding redundant … fucking call me!
Brandy: This is urgent in case you HAVEN’T realized it!
Brandy: I’m about to hump every piece of goddamn furniture in your house if you don’t answer the goddamn phone!
Brandy: SPARROW ANSWER THE MOTHERFUCKING PHONE!!!
Quickly flicking back to the phone icon, I dial Brandy’s number as a knot steadily begins to grow in my throat. Brandy is never the type to get worked up over anything, so for her to call and text that many times—hell, for her to threaten to hump my furniture—must mean this is very important.
Sweat breaks out across my forehead with each ring. My heart wells up inside my chest, making it hard to breathe. Pick up the phone. Please, pick up, pick up, pick up! I try to steady my heart rate by breathing in through my nose and out of my mouth, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. In fact, it’s making it a million times worse.
When the call goes to voice mail, it takes everything inside of me not to throw my phone across the room. If it were this motherfucking important, then she should answer the call on the first damn ring. She shouldn’t be playing games at a time like this, which is exactly what I know she’s doing. Brandy wants to give me a taste of my own medicine, but now is really not the time for her to be a comedian.
Redialing, I start biting on my thumbnail as each ring sounds through the line. But finally, my attempt is for naught, as Brandy’s frantic voice cuts through the line.
“I lost him! Oh, God! Sparrow, I fucking lost him!”
My entire world closes in around me. My lungs feel like they’re on fire as I drag each painful breath in and out. There’s only one him Brandy could be talking about, and that’s my son. The little freaking human she’s supposed to be watching!
“Brandy! What?! Please, tell me you’re joking! This is one of your pranks you like to play, isn’t it?!” I scream, running fingers through my hair as I grip the strands roughly.
“Does this sound like a fucking joke?! He’s. Not. Fucking. Here! I’ve looked everywhere!”
Without another thought, I grip the phone tightly. Running over to my door, I unlock it and pull it open just as Jacob comes barreling through with his shoulder. I sidestep in just enough time not to get knocked over as he falls to the ground, flailing before he rights himself on his knees.
“Jacob, where’s Derrick?!” I ask in a rush, already taking off out the door.
“He and Darcy are making sure all the vendors are in place for this weekend,” he answers, falling into a steady run behind me.
I have no idea what I’m going to do or where I’m going to go, but there is one thing I do know: I have to find my little boy. I just have to.
“Drake is gone! Brandy, please, please, tell me you have a lead or something?!” I frantically screech into the phone, gripping it so tightly my knuckles turn an unhealthy shade of white.
My biggest fear is coming to pass. My son is gone. He isn’t where he’s supposed to be, and I can’t help feeling that it’s all my fault. Maybe he got tired of me waiting to tell our family about him? Why the fuck did I put my baby boy through this?!
“Um, um,” she stammers, releasing a sob. “Last night he said he wanted to use the phone to call you. He hadn’t gotten his goodnight call yet, so I thought it would be harmless. Yet, when I checked my phone records this morning, just to cover all my bases, my phone record had been wiped clean. Your boy genius deleted everything that could be used to track him!”
“He can’t do that. He doesn’t know how!”
“He’s nine, Sparrow, not two. Nine-year-olds in this day and age are fucking tech gods. He can most certainly do that, because I know I didn’t do it my damn self!”
In the span of just a few hours, things can change so drastically, you never see it coming until it’s too late. It’s the same concept as the poem The Spider and the Fly. The spider tries his hardest to lure the fly into its trap, but the fly is just too smart—until everything changed, and that’s when the spider took advantage.
The situation I’m in now may not be as dire as the circumstances in th
at poem, but they are just as drastic. Whereas, in that poem it was about a spider luring a fly, in my situation—I’m trying my hardest to keep Drake protected. From his family and Declan …
Declan!!!
“I’ll call you right back!” I scream, ending the call.
I’m about to do something I’ve never done before.
I’m about to ask for help from a man I swore on my life I would never turn to for anything ever again.
Chapter Seven
Declan
Now, I know the very reason I stayed in California for so long. It isn’t that I didn’t love my hometown. It’s the people in my hometown that made me run away—my family included.
“What have you been doing in California all these years?” Xavier asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the back of his chair.
If I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it one hundred times already. Everyone always wants to know what I’m doing out there. Only if they would just look at my father and ask him, he’d be able to tell them. It’s not like I’ve been out there on some secret, covert mission, which everyone seems to think. The only thing I’ve been doing is running my father’s side business he picked up about a year into opening his pharmaceutical business.
His very illegal, dangerous, side business.
If you haven’t guessed already, yes, it has to do with unscripted drugs. I’ve been peddling them up and down the West Coast since I was twenty, among other things. It’s not honest work, but it does pay a shit-ton of money. I’ve been able to live in the lap of luxury for the past ten years—buying, selling, and garnering anything I set my eyes on.
No one could ask for a better life. Not even my mother, and money is the main object that fuels her fire.
“Can we stop talking about this already? It’s a dead subject and I do not like bringing it up.”
Sighing, I rub my hands over my face. I would give anything to be able to get out of here right now. It’s not that I don’t love my family because I do. They have provided the opportunities that I’ve taken to obtain my wealth. It’s the fact that every single time I talk to a member of my family, that’s all they ever ask.
