Page 40 of Smolder

I shivered.

While holding on to his face, Amory pulled him forward, then shoved him toward the house. Dad managed not to fall, although it was several steps before he righted himself.

I’d brought this here. Amory was my fault. If I’d known he was like this or that he even had this kind of behavior behind that charming smile, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him. I couldn’t date a man who was going to end up killing my father. Because it didn’t matter what Amory said to him. When he wasn’t here, I’d be slapped or tossed around some. My dad never truly hurt me when he was drunk. Just some bruises here or there, but he didn’t deserve to be choked to death.

Amory’s gaze finally shifted to me when my dad reached the front door. I licked my lips and straightened my shoulders. A tear rolled down my face, and I wiped it away. Guilt, disappointment, and anger all warred inside my chest.

“Please leave,” I told him.

His gaze softened, but I’d already seen enough. This wasn’t something I had room for in my life. I needed support and understanding, not brutality.

“Royal,” he began, but I shook my head.

“NO! You need to leave. Now,” I shouted, pointing at his car.

Another tear rolled down my face, and I hated that I couldn’t stop them. For a moment, I’d thought I’d found something good in my life. That perhaps I was going to be happy. Not alone. I should have known not to be fooled. All I ever seemed to get was the ugly of the world.

He took a step toward me, and I backed up.

“Amory,” I warned. “I need you to get in your car and drive away.”

Not wanting to stand out here any longer while all the things I’d been wishing for had gone up in a blaze, leaving nothing but ashes behind, I walked toward the house. His footsteps didn’t follow me, and I was relieved, although every move I made farther away, the layers of disillusionment thickened, making the magical time I’d had with him earlier a painful regret.

•Sixteen •

“We fuck the hot pussy. We don’t love it. How many times do I need to remind you?”

Sebastian

I poured my third full glass of whiskey. I hadn’t gone up to the house, but stopped at the stables instead. Other than the horses, the buildings were empty. While I lifted it to my lips to drink it down in one long gulp, hoping to numb the shit roaring inside me, the door opened, and I cut my eyes in that direction to see King walk inside, followed by my brother. I finished the drink and leaned against the bar.

“What’s got you drinking Jack like it’s water?” Thatcher asked.

“I’m gonna toss out a guess here and say she’s about five-seven, blonde, and excellent at pool,” King replied with a smirk as he walked behind the bar.

“The girl you’re supposed to use to infiltrate the Dancastles?”

I didn’t like the way he’d said it or how he’d said it. Grabbing the bottle, I poured more whiskey into my now-empty glass.

“Fuck, if you’re gonna drink it like that, at least drink something better than Jack,” King said to me, sliding the bottle he’d just poured from in my direction.

I glanced down at the five-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch. “Why waste it?” I replied. “It’s not like I’m drinking for enjoyment.”

“He has a point,” Thatcher agreed. “Don’t give him that. But pour me a glass.”

The door opened again, and Wells came walking inside with Teller, his younger brother. He’d just turned twenty this summer, but unlike the rest of us, he hadn’t been pushed into the family workings just yet.

“What the fuck is Teller doing here?” I asked.

“Stellan and Roland were informed that it was time Teller made a decision. He’s a part of this, or he isn’t,” Thatcher replied.

I didn’t have to ask who had informed them. It would have come from the top. Blaise Hughes would have made the call, taking Roland’s decision to let his youngest son finish college like a normal student out of his hands.

Wells slapped his brother on the back. “It’s about time Momma’s best boy got his hands dirty,” he said with a mocking grin.

Teller had always been their mother’s favorite, and it chafed the hell out of Wells. His narcissistic personality didn’t handle it well. Unlike Thatcher, who gave not one fuck about the fact that I was our mother’s favorite.

“Easy, brother. Your envy is showing,” Teller replied with a cocky grin, then walked over toward me—or rather the bar.

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