Page 71 of Twisted Play

Me

Tristan will notice.

Cole

I hope so.

I pressed my thighs together, hating the secret tendril of relief that wound around my soul at the thought of giving up control to Cole. God, the thought of letting go for just five minutes, of the utter bliss of not having to worry about fifteen thousand things at once, made me ache with longing.

A car door slammed outside. Through the gap in my curtains, I watched Jedediah Carter emerge from a sleek black Mercedes. He tugged on his jacket, straightening a suit that no doubt cost as much as our mortgage. He sneered at the herbs I cultivated out front before his eyes swept upstairs.

I darted away from the window, swearing softly.

My hands trembled as I yanked my dress over my head, praying Carter wasn’t coming to extract payment for the debt. “Dad!” I called out. “We have company.”

Downstairs, I found my father opening the door for Carter, who strode in like he owned the place, taking in the photo frames over the brick mantel, the faded fabric of our furniture, and my father standing in front of him, his body tense and furious despite his broken ribs and nose.

“Good morning, Conrad. How’re the ribs?” Carter’s tones were cultured and modulated, hiding the menace behind them.

My father’s face went ash white. “Mr. Carter, please?—”

“Still bothering you?” Carter’s voice dripped with false concern, as if it wasn’t his employees who broke my father’s ribs. “Funny how these old injuries never quite heal properly.”

I looked between them, catching an undercurrent I didn’t understand. My father wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Shit. How was I going to play this, hide what I was doing from my father?

“Dad, would you get Mr. Carter a drink?” I asked.

Carter’s eyebrows hit his hairline, but he didn’t say anything as my father looked at me suspiciously.

“Now, Conrad,” Carter snapped, and my father hurried out of the room.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Carter turned to me, his expression cold and haughty. “You have access. Use it.”

“I’m trying?—”

“Not hard enough.” He pocketed his phone. “I need Cole’s medical records. All of them. By tomorrow night.”

My stomach churned. “That’s private?—”

“Privacy.” Carter laughed. “Such a fragile thing. Like kneecaps. Like hearts.” His eyes fixed on my chest, where my surgery scar lay hidden. “How is your recovery going, by the way?”

I flinched.

“You have twenty-four hours.” He walked to the door then paused. “Oh and, Eva? Don’t make me wait.”

My father arrived with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, only to find the door slamming shut behind Carter.

Dad collapsed into a chair, trembling. I’d never seen him look so defeated—not when Mom left, not during my surgeries, not even when the debt collectors started calling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

I wanted to ask about the obvious history between the two men, but Tristan would be here in thirty minutes. I still had to fix my makeup, find a way to smile, and pretend everything was fine. God, I was tired.

I eyed myself critically in the mirror. I looked like a fucking snack, and you know what? I was okay with it. And I wore underwear—cute underwear—because fuck Cole, fuck my fear, and fuck trying to climb into Tristan’s Jeep without flashing the entire fucking world.