Page 112 of Falling in Reverse

Yet, Wallace has no problem keeping things as is.

And it’s probably because Emilio is still breathing and walking around.

“You gonna keep talkin’ over me?” I say with zero confidence that he’s going to allow me just that. “Or are you gonna man up and listen?”

“I’d rather you fuck off.” I shrug, finger already skimming the waistband of my jeans as I reach my own 9mm. “You’re armed, we know.”

My lips heave at how perceptive he is. “And I’m not gonna waltz away like a bitch with you giving out orders where I run the show.”

“I see it end up in your hand, Black, and I’m blowin’ your head off.”

“Don’t,” Bay orders me, eyes pinned seriously on me, and she must know something I don’t.

And I take the opportunity to appraise her body once more because, damn…such a fucking waste.

However, Torin is on her case. Reeve has a bad episode of puppy-love going on right now.

And I’d rather not with the whole situation.

“Plan something against me, Wallace,” I warn flatly. “And I promise you, I’ll take everything you love, want, and hold dear…and I’ll let Torin and Reeve fuck it.”

I swear I see Bay release a shattered exhale, but that’d be stupid, wouldn’t it?

She’s not scared of me. However, naive and stupid that may be.

“Keep her out of Wharf Bay, too,” I tack on. “That should be a given, right?”

Levi tsks. “You don’t own it yet. Your daddy does. And he’d never fuck with me.”

“Then you better make sure you keep the day count until I am.” I steal one more glance at Bay because I’m through playing nice with this girl. She lured me here and I’ve let her go several times.

However, that’s exactly what she allows me to do when I walk off to my car to report what happened to Torin and Reeve, but not before issuing out to my new rivals with my back turned, “You got five minutes before a new wave of men come this way and your asses are shot.”

THIRTY

torin

Through my black-rimmed glasses, the bruised and battered hardcover of Hard Times by Charles Dickens takes me out of my current world and settles me into one that involves just me in an armchair with nothing more.

It is and was until I hear the mutters of a feminine voice through the thick door of the library my stepfather built for me at twelve—when he actually liked me. And why I come to this house every Friday night to eat dinner with him as if it’s a tradition he gives a fuck about is beyond me.

It was only one of two things he kept the same when he divorced my mother and sent her packing with an alimony check that she uses for high-end fashion and pills.

I hear the female voice again, and I know it’s not a maid. They avoid Emilio like the plague and barely speak to him unless absolutely necessary so my interest is piqued. And if he has that dumbass Marissa broad who practically drools after him here, I’m dipping out of this Friday’s dinner.

Rising from my chair and carefully placing my novel back amongst the other books that never get looked at or touched by anyone else but me, I slowly take myself out of the dark decor of bookcases and furniture and step into the foyer. My leg is throbbing from lack of pain meds because I refuse to take them on a regular.

No, I want to feel what that little shitheaded, perfect as fuck, Bay Astor did to me.

And what I’m finally going to do to her.

The normal navy-blue walls greet me under an overly large crystal chandelier and white marbled floors. The smell of fresh roses fills my nostrils which is the second thing Emilio kept was Mom’s rose garden in the backyard.

What isn’t normal is Bay Astor standing next to my dad in a tight black dress that hugs her thick thighs and curvy waist, dipping deep in a V that barely covers her generous tits. That raven-colored hair is straight and long, flowing freely down her body when light blue eyes center in on me as I mindlessly catch myself eye-fucking her as I walk inside what is now dubbed a war zone.

My immediate displeasure makes her cocky, her plush lips quirking into a smirk as Emilio stands idly by in his normal pressed suit, pawning her leather jacket to a maid as I steel myself against the immediate question of what the fuck is she doing here.

“Torin,” my stepfather quips, stealing a glance at me. “This is my daughter, Haven Wildes. She will be joining us for dinner.”

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