Page 8 of Revenge On Her Dad's Best Friends

Arg.

Frantically, she searched for something—anything to help her out—and sighed in relief when she found a nail clipper with a nail file attached.

It was not her finest moment, she said to herself as she cut her way through the fabric, but life returned to her in stages the more skin she revealed. When she was finally completely naked, in their bathroom, breathing just fine, thank you very much, she realized she didn’t have a plan B.

It was okay.

Plan B was her friend. Something would come up.

Right. She was going to take a shower, in their shower, some things just had to be done, and then she was going to go to the walk-in closet she saw on her way to the bathroom and find something. A T-shirt or something. Everything would be fine because nothing was going to take away from her revenge plans.

She took a shower, scrubbed off the talc and lube with their shower gel, and washed her hair with their shampoo. Then, standing in a towel, she roughly dried her hair with a blow dryer and went and found herself something to wear.

And it wasn’t as if she were on a deadline or anything.

Her dad’s best friends were not going anywhere anytime soon, anyway. They would just have to wait for part two of her revenge speech.

Chapter Eight

Reece Fischer always prided himself on being the voice of reason, the calmer one, but fucking, fucking hell.

They’d done a stellar job of minding their own business. Doing their damndest avoiding all contact with her for reasons they were not ready to face themselves, and now she was here. She’d circumvented their rather foolproof methods and mechanisms by somehow getting Lady Night on her side, not an easy feat to achieve.

Calista Ann Saunders. Their best friend’s little girl. The little girl they promised they would take care of now that Hank wasn’t there to fill the role.

Fuck.

There was no denying their collective hearts had missed a beat at the sight of her, standing in their penthouse, dressed in black latex from head to foot. Did she think the mask would conceal who she was from them?

They’d spent half a decade evading her, trying to forget every single curve of her body, and failed. If they were blind and only had their hands to guide them, they’d still be able to pick her out from a sea of other women.

It had started around five years ago when Hank had died, but now, almost five years later, avoiding the fucking pesky feeling that had settled into their blood niggled more insistently.

Recently, they found it harder to stop thinking about her.

Hank’s daughter. Hank’s little girl. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She hadn’t grown up around them, so they saw her maybe a handful of times. While Hank made time for them, coming to see them regularly no matter what, they’d been too busy taking over the world.

But the moment before Hank could pass away, he made them promise to take care of this little girl and to always look out for her.

What did they know about taking care of a nineteen-year-old girl? They knew nothing, so they did the best thing they could. They deposited ten million dollars into her bank account and made sure she had zero problems in three areas of her life.

She owned the house she lived in, so no one could tell her what to do. They owned the company she worked at, and all the right people knew that, so no one would give her shit without putting their lives on the line. And if she ever got into trouble with the law, on either side of it, they’d make her problems disappear from the sidelines.

That was all they could do for her. End of story.

They never got into contact with her. They made sure she didn’t get into contact with them. She tried though, and every time she was blocked. Again, why would they want to see her? They were in their forties; they had no idea what to do with a nineteen-year-old. Okay, she was twenty-four years old now, but the samerule applied. Their worlds were completely different. She was too innocent for them. Always would be.

Hank wanted them to take care of her. That’s what they did, from a distance. As far as they knew, she was happy. She had her best friend, who they also made sure stayed alive. She loved her job from what they could tell, and she loved her house. She didn’t have any boy trouble; well, she didn’t have any boyfriends, because they took care of that as well. She was not going to be dating any young, dumb, full of unnecessary cum, fucktard bastards—Zach’s words, to be precise, although he and Bradford agreed with his vocabulary.

The truth remained: no one would ever be good enough for her. Ever. They were very much okay with her dying a virgin.

But she was here now.

“KittyHotStuff69?” Zach asked incredulously. “Is that what she called herself?”

“Apparently so,” Reece said.

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