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Twenty-Eight

Sebastian

Oppressive silence wraps me as I stare at my phone. I usually love my office. The quiet, distraction-free space lets me focus on my algorithms for hours at a time—sometimes days—taking breaks only for the necessities.

Now, though, the quiet is a weighted blanket dragging me further and further down into useless rage. What the fuck does that asshole think he knows about Maggie?

I reach for calm, but it’s slippery, and I can’t grasp it. This is probably a trick to force me into doing something stupid. Harrison and Maggie weren’t friends or even acquaintances. There’s nothing he could know about her.

Still, all the what-if’s tumble through my brain as the time slowly ticks down.

Right on the dot, I hit the link.

I’m placed in a waiting room and spend the next five long minutes pacing. Such an obvious, pathetic power play. But it works, and that pisses me off even more. I’m getting more riled up by the second, and that’s not what I need for this call.

Calm. Calm. Calm .

The screen changes, showing Harrison Calder seated on a chair in a bare room. He’s only my age, but time isn’t treating him well. It’s already obvious he’ll look like crap in his thirties.

He has the puffy face of someone who likes booze and cocaine far too much, and he must have gained thirty pounds of flab since high school. So much for the athletic guy who kicked the shit out of me.

He smiles, a wide, shit-eating grin that makes me want to throw the phone. “Sebastian. You’re looking well.”

“Can’t say the same for you. Get to the point, Harrison, I don’t want to keep your sister waiting.”

Childish, but it has the desired effect. His grin slips, revealing a flash of savage rage. “Whatever you’ve done to her, I’m going to do to you. Ten times over.”

I raise a brow. “Really? I didn’t think you swung that way, but I’m not one to judge. Now, did this call have a purpose, or did you just want to chat?”

He smirks, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever this is, he’s looking forward to it, and that can only mean bad news for me.

“Why did you choose Ophelia? Plenty of other girls out there. I know all about your sordid little Brotherhood. Hiding in the woods with your captive sluts. Why her?”

“I’m not here to answer your questions,” I snap back, but of course, I can’t stick to my own rule. “But you know why. Maggie.”

“Hmmm. Revenge, then? I bet it makes you feel better about yourself, doesn’t it? You couldn’t just take a girl because you fucking wanted her, like a man. No, you had to give yourself an excuse. Pretend you’re doing something good. Still the same self-righteous little prick you were in high school. ”

Unnervingly accurate. My skin grows clammy, even though the AC is cranked up. There’s a niggle at the edge of my mind, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

“Why I chose her is none of your business. I’m glad I did, though. She’s incredible in bed. So enthusiastic.”

I shouldn’t feel as satisfied as I do when he flinches, but what can I say? I’m an asshole, too. It’s short-lived, though. Harrison shakes his head.

“You really are naive. You think Maggie killed herself over a few childish pranks? You think she slit her wrists in your hot tub because Ophelia shoved her head in the toilet? You might be that weak and pathetic, but Maggie wasn’t.”

“You don’t fucking know her.”

Don’t lose your cool. Don’t.

It’s too late. The night I came home and found Maggie is etched onto the deepest layers of my psyche. It took months before I stopped waking up, heaving my guts out, as I relived it in my dreams. His words brought it all back, and now that image is in the room with me. It’s shredding my self control into nothing.

“Don’t I?” That self-satisfied smirk is back. “I knew her, Sebastian. A lot better than you did.”

“Bullshit.” I force the word out, though my throat is constricting. The edges of my vision waver, blackness edging in.

“It’s true. My dad and I kept Ophelia locked down tight, but you never set rules for Maggie, did you? No one bothered to keep a leash on her. She did what she wanted, and we had plenty of fun for a while.”

“She was fourteen!”

It can’t be true. It can’t. But dice are rolling in my head, probabilities clicking into place, and the picture they’re painting is bleak .

Harrison shrugs. “And I was sixteen. Big deal. I’m pretty sure you were the only sad virgin at that school. Girls that age are hot little sluts if you play them right.” He whistles. “And boy, did I. I still remember the night I broke in her tight virgin—”

“Shut the fuck up! She wouldn’t have looked at you.”

He scoffs. “Please. A lonely girl desperate for her daddy’s attention? All I had to do was pretend to give a shit about her. I spent a couple of weeks listening to her pathetic problems and—” He makes a swooshing motion with his hand. “—boom. It was so easy. Too easy to be fun, if I’m honest. I got bored pretty quickly and moved on.”

Sometimes I wish I could turn off my brain and bury myself in comfortable lies like most people do. But I can’t help seeing the plausibility in his words. It could be true. But it could also be horseshit designed to provoke me. “And, what? You’re saying she killed herself because you dumped her? She was smarter than that.”

There’s a look people get, playing poker, when they know that whatever you do next, they win. That look, that smug look, spreads over Harrison’s ugly fucking face, and my stomach turns over.

“You’re not wrong there. A smart kid, your sister. But, as you say, she was only fourteen, and girls that age panic when they get pregnant."

It’s a punch to the gut. A sledgehammer to the back of my head. The numbers click into place, the dice land, and I can see the truth of it in plain black and white. Memories assault me, one by one.

Our housekeeper, bringing in a stack of her patented waffles with cherry sauce. Maggie’s absolute favorite. Maggie, pale, shaking her head.

Maggie wearing a frumpy one-piece on a trip to the beach .

Maggie sobbing in her bedroom. Swiping at her eyes when I go in to comfort her. “It’s just some girls at school. Real bitches.”

My father refusing to let me speak to the coroner after the autopsy. “It’s grown-up business. Keep out of it.”

I never pushed further. Why would I? She was dead. I can now, though. I can access the coroner’s records at the touch of a button. As soon as I’m off this fucking call, I’ll find out the truth once and for all.

As if he’s read my thoughts, Harrison says, “I’m sure you can check with the morgue.”

He could still be bullshitting me, trying to make me act without thinking, but that possibility is a shrinking needle in a haystack. He knows I can check, and he knows I will. If he’s making this up, he’ll look like a fool.

“She rang me, of course. So scared of your dad finding out. She wanted my help, but I wasn’t about to let a stupid piece of ass ruin my reputation. I told her if anyone ever found out I was the father, I’d kill her myself. That shut the little bitch up.”

He’s calculated every word to upset me, but there’s more to it. He’s enjoying the memory of Maggie’s pain. I can tell by the way his fat tongue flicks over his lips. My stomach cramps, and I have to breathe deep to keep my breakfast down.

“I didn’t think she’d kill herself. She could have just made up a story to save face. Said she got raped or something.”

His shoulder lifts, a dismissive little twitch, and I’ve never known hatred like this in my entire life. It boils up from a dark place in my soul, turning every nerve in my body to ash.

He’ll pay for this. He’ll pay.

All this time, I’ve been torturing the wrong Calder.

That realization slams into place, bringing with it a suffocating wave of guilt. Ophelia didn’t kill Maggie. I’ve taken her, and used her, and she wasn’t to blame .

“Looks like I’ve given you something to think about. If you want to have this out, I’m at 14 Layman Avenue. If you come with an army, I’ll be gone before you get there. Come by yourself, and we’ll settle this like men. What do you say? You want to avenge your sister, or keep hiding in your Compound like a bitch?”

My vision swims, the blackness creeping further in. It’s a trap, of course. An obvious trap, but I can’t make myself care. I keep a gun in my bedroom, and I’m going to shoot Harrison Calder right in his smug fucking face.

First, though, I need to get past Jacob. I’m not bringing him, or anyone else any deeper into this shit.

“I’ll be there.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Harrison smirks as he ends the call.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I pace my office, trying to calm down enough to think. To get to the point where I can fake calm, even though I’m nowhere near feeling it. I’ve always put on a good show. Always managed to portray exactly what I want to portray to get what I need. It’s a game, and one I’m very good at.

Usually.

I force myself to stand still, hands pressed on my smooth wooden desk. It’s thin and practical, not luxurious like Kendrick’s office or my apartment. I trace the wood grain with my eyes, moving from one end to the other, until my heart rate slows from its full racing gallop. Until my hands stop shaking.

First, check his story. I wake my computer and set to work. Ten nauseating minutes later, I have my answer.

That bastard. That fucking bastard. I picture Maggie laughing over some stupid joke I can’t remember, and a dangerous wave of misery threatens to sweep away my resolve .

Don’t think about her. Just move.

Good idea.

I set off, making myself walk instead of run. Jacob has a bloodhound nose for trouble, and he’ll be suspicious already. I need a story to get him out of my way, fast. By the time I reach my door, I’ve come up with a plan.

Showtime.

Three pairs of eyes land on me as I open the door. Ophelia, Quinn, and—to my surprise—Jacob are all settled on the sofa. Quinn grins as I enter. “Hey! You’re just in time for the good part. Ophelia loves horror movies, too.”

My smile feels painted on. “Good. Jacob, could I have a word?”

His brow creases as he gets to his feet. “Sure thing, mate.”

He follows me into the corridor. “What’s happened?”

I press my hand to my forehead. “I…it’s just…” I clench my fists and take a deep breath. “I’m really fucking this up. She’s never going to be ready for the ceremony. We’ve hardly practiced, and I’m freaking out. I can’t do this.”

“Fuck that shit.” Jacob grips my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You can do it mate. Get to work right now. Spend the afternoon practicing with her.”

I glance toward the door. “I don’t know. She’s having fun with Quinn.”

“Doesn’t matter. Plenty of time for that later. We’ll get out of your hair so you can get stuck in. You’ll be fine.”

I nod. “You’re right. Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Come on. Let’s break up the party.”

Minutes later, the door shuts behind Jacob and Quinn. I wait, counting in my head. Give it time. Make sure they aren’t coming back .

“Sebastian?” Ophelia’s nervous voice is a knife in my chest. “What is it?”

I turn to face her and ask the question that’s been burning me up. “Did you know? Did you know what your brother did?”