Page 12 of Fracture

My mother rolls her eyes. “Of course, what else? Just like your father.”

“Hey, it’s all I was ever good at.” I shrug, pouring myself a glass of water. “That old fella downtown, Mario, he’s going to retire. I figured I’d buy his shop from him, keep it going. I’m sure I still have my inheritance kicking around.”

My mother’s lashes flutter for just a split second, betraying the only weakness she has. “Of course, sweetheart, no one else has touched your father’s money. That was there for you. He was… He was very clear on that.”

“Well, great, that’s my plan then.” I give her a grin. “Following in my daddy’s footsteps.”

My mother nods, her throat bobbing lightly. “Yes, that's wonderful. I’m sure Dylan will be grateful for the opportunity. Immigrant kids have it so hard.”

I can’t help but laugh at yet another display of my mother’s snobbery. “Mom, Dylan’s family is probably richer than yours.”

“They’re Polacks.” She stage whispers across the table, eyes darting around as though the FBI is hovering behind one of the palms. “Do you knowhowthey make their money?”

“First of, they’re notPolacks, Mom, his dad wasPolishand his mom was Mexican. And they make their money in microchips and motherboards, for fuck’s sake.”

“Please watch your language.” She folds her hands in her lap. “I’m not saying anything against his family, just that I think money-laundering is a thing that happens.”

“Mom, I swear to god.” I put my hands on the arms of the chair, making to rise to my feet.

“No! Please!” She reaches out, holding up a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just want you to be happy, and safe, and to not violate your parole.”

“I’m not going to violate my parole, and you need to start laying off of the people I care about.”

“I’m sorry, I just worry about you. Stella has, well, she’s caused so much pain for our family.”

I push out of the chair and get to my feet. “I’m done.”

She jumps out of her chair, eyes wide. “No, sweetheart, please-”

“Enough.” I raise a finger and point it in her direction. “I am sick of you trash-talking Stella. It’s disgusting. You should be ashamed.”

I stride across the conservatory, ignoring my mother’s protests and quick steps behind me. Her assistant, Valerie, appears from a side room as I head through the foyer, and raises a hand in greeting.

“Levi, good to see you!”

I ignore her, pushing through the double doors and out onto the steps. Within seconds I’m on my bike, roaring down the drive.

I always hated this house. And everyone who fucking lived in it.

When I get back to Stella’s house, her black Volvo is just pulling into the drive. Stella still hasn’t spoken a word to me since I gave her shit in the garage three nights ago, every time I try she just flips her hair over her shoulder and ignores me.

I can’t blame her.

I kill the engine as she climbs out of her car, iced coffee in hand, a Barnes and Noble bag dangling from her arm. She’s dressed in a pink jumpsuit that shows off her tan, and it sits tight around her ass. My chest tenses as I realize there’s no way she’s wearing panties.

Thoughts I should not be having about my stepsister.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I call out, and she ignores me. I climb off the bike as she walks up the steps, and I rush to catch up with her. The door slams in my face.Fuck she’s really mad. I push the door open, following her into the house. “Stella, come on, talk to me.”

She spins on her heel, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. “Fine, I’ll talk. You and Dylan have until the end of the week to get the fuck out of my house.”

I stop short, caught off guard by the fury in her eyes. “Stella, come on-”

“Youcome on. You and Dylan made it very clear to me that you’re so much better than me, that you’rerealmen, and haven't sold out like me.” She narrows her eyes, dumping her bag on the bench in the foyer. “So that means you’re both more than capable of looking after yourselves.”

“Stella-” I take a step closer, and I’m met with a pointy manicured nail in my chest.

“No.”

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