Page 6

My throat tightens when my eyes sweep over the mansion. I think back to the night three weeks ago when I made the worst decision of my life. That night, I was self-absorbed and not thinking about the consequences of my actions. I never intended to hurt Roan like this, but he hurt me and while I’d love to use my age as a factor, and the fact that I was drunk and not thinking clearly, I’m to blame for the war I started.
Why’d I do it? Revenge, but also, I had been scared to remain a virgin, because in my mind, I thought he wouldn’t want me. Like someone, something inside me had convinced me that if I didn’t have the experience he had, I’d never be good enough.
And when I leave, I’m terrified, but clear about one thing. The fragile trust we had once shared has been shattered. I just hope he won’t out me completely to my dad, because if he does, I’ll never be able to make this right.
What have I done?
I can’t believe this shit. It’s so fucking typical of women.
Ophelia has always been that girl willing to push the boundaries to get a rise out of me. What she doesn’t realize or maybe what she’s failed to see is I’ve put in a tremendous amount of time and energy protecting her from the ugly, invasive, menacing ways of men. And here she went and chose the worst possible one to give it to.
Fuck her.
I bury my head in my hands. I tug on my hair until it hurts. It offers no form of relief.
Footsteps draw my attention, and then the huff of disapproval.
Ricky glares at me as I sit on a bar stool in the kitchen. “What the fuck was that about?”
Ricky is my uncle and unfortunately, is used to this shit between Tiller and me. Our mom left when I was four. Dad died four years later. Ever since then, Ricky gets to deal with us. And when I say deal, I mean, wonder what the fuck he did in life to get handed the triplets from hell.
We’re not triplets, but only three years separate us, so you do the math. We’re too close in age and the competition between us drives a wedge between any healthy relationship. I get along with my youngest brother, Shade, but Tiller, never. I can’t explain it either. We’re just… different.
Tiller was a fussy baby, always crying. To show you how much I hated this kid, he was less than a year old and I took a beer from the cooler at a race, poured it in a bottle and gave it to him. I hear this story from Ricky all the time, but I don’t remember it. I think at the time, I just wanted the kid to shut the fuck up. And he did. Slept the rest of the night from what they tell me.
One might ask the same question as Ricky just did. What the fuck was that about?
I have no idea. But this time, I do know. I know exactly why I want to kill him. But I can’t say anything. Not to Ricky, and certainly not in front of her dad. If he knew the ways I’ve corrupted her, or how many times she’s spent the night behind my locked door, in my bed, he’d kill me.
Keeping face, I shrug and reach for the bottle on the counter. I don’t know what’s in the bottle, nor do I care at this point. I hope it’s strong and knocks me the fuck out. I haven’t slept in two days. “Ask him.”
Tiller tosses the bloody rag in his hand at me, then he smiles, smoothing out his shirt. “Get over it. Ya fucked up. Not my problem.”
I fucked up? He hasnoidea. I twist on the chair to face my brother. I look to the bottle. I think seriously about breaking it and slitting his throat, but he’d probably thank me for putting him out of his misery. I want him to drown in his misery.
You can’t lie and expect the truth, or some form of it, not to come out eventually. Unless you’re me. I’m good at protecting what I don’t want you to know. In fact, I’m the master at it. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. You’ve heard that saying, right?
It goes for your lies too. Keep the truth close and the lies closer. You might wonder what that has to do with this situation? It has everything to do with it.
Carl comes into the kitchen next and stands next to Ricky, their disappointment evident in their stances. I don’t care what problems I cause. I hold my brother to certain expectations, and time and time again, he fails me. He reminds me that he’s an asshole and doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.
Brad, another security guard, bounds into the kitchen, a smile on his face from patrolling for chaos. Believe me, there’s no shortage of that shit in this house and Brad loves working here because every day he gets to deal with the drama of the rich and famous of the motocross world. I’m here to tell you it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
Brad smiles at me, then Carl. “Carl, we have a problem.”
Though he hears this daily, maybe even hourly, Carl groans and rolls his eyes. “What now? Don’t tell me it’s that chick from the pool this morning again. I told her to get dressed and leave over an hour ago.”
“Oh, yeah, well she made it to the lawn at least.” Brad’s grin widens. “She’s making her way out.” Reaching for an orange on the counter, he throws it up in the air only to have Tiller snatch it from his hands. Brad briefly glances at Tiller, then me, as if we have something to do with what he’s about to say. “There’s a man ramming his car into the front gate.” Pause here and check out the expression on Tiller’s face. He knows why. Just wait. “Dude says his wife is here.”
“Where is Zach today?”
“With Shade at Mammoth.”
“Is it the chick on the lawn?” Ricky asks, handing me a shot of espresso he made. He leans in. “Sober up. You have an interview in LA.”
I know I do, and if I could get out of it, I would. I’ve been drinking for the last twelve hours. It’s done nothing but make me angry and indecisive. The last thing I need to be doing is meeting with KTM to discuss representing the USA at the Erzberg Rodeo.
Brad glances over his shoulder, then back to Carl and Ricky. “No, it’s not.”