Page 94 of Blades of Obsession

I clench my jaw, feeling a familiar surge of frustration that fights its way out every time I talk to him. “Fine.” I hang up and turn back to Mr. Adams. He’s almost bleeding out, but I’mnot done with him yet. Hopefully, when I get back, he won’t have died on me already. I want to be here to see the sight of his life leave his eyes.

After washing up, I decide to let Rhett drive since I woke up early this morning to make it to the fashion show building by nine a.m. The drive to my dad’s building takes about an hour, it’s only a few streets away from John’s house. The thing I’ll hate most when I move to Sante Fe after graduation is living so close to him, knowing he’ll start calling for every little thing.

The outside of his building stands tall, at least forty floors. I brought the damn penthouse and this is the first time I’ll step foot in it. As the elevator rises, my mood dampens further. What could he possibly want now? The high-class lobby and pristine hallways scream high society, he’s here living fancy on my dime. Pretending to be one of these rich, important bastards.

The door to his penthouse is unlocked, and I step in. The inside of his unit is a big difference from the rest of the building. He’s been here for what, five months? And he’s already let this place get run down.

I walk into the dining room, following the sounds of glasses clinking. Sure enough, when I turn the corner he’s got five—not one, not two, not three, not even four, butfivewhiskey glasses laid out in front of him. “Fucking typical,” I mutter under my breath.

He looks up from the current drink in his hand, his eyes glassy.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice clipped.

“I guess we’re skipping the hellos. I’ll get right to it, then. Your mother is back in town.”

I stare at him, fucking incredulously. “Thatis what was so important? That could’ve been a phone call!” Not that I would’ve cared, even if it were a phone call.

He takes a slow sip, eyeing me over the rim of his glass. “Well, a phone call wouldn’t have allowed this—” He turns his head and shouts, “Hey!”

A figure steps into the room. I don’t recognize her at first, how could I, but I’m smart enough to figure out she’s the woman who birthed me. My entire body tenses as I look at her. Black hair, blue-grey eyes. She looks like the older, woman version of me. And I hate that. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I don’t want any connection to her, not even looks.

Seeing her, coupled with the sight of my father downing so many drinks, stirs up memories of a childhood that I fought so hard to forget. But I refuse to let any weakness show.

So with a steady voice and no emotion on my face, I ask, “What do you guys want?”

Jackie, what I call her because I’ll be damned if I call hermom, steps forward. “I want my son.”

“I’m not your son and haven’t been since the day you left.”

“I mean my other son.”

“My brother is dead. Maybe if you’d been around any time in the last five years, you would know that.”

“I know that. I mean your other brother.”

I stiffen, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut. “What other brother?”

“He was… a Serpent,” she says, her face twisting with disgust at the word. “He went missing recently. He’s your brother, your own flesh and blood, you have to help him. He left the group, but he may still be in trouble with them. I asked around, and everyone said you were the person to call for trouble with the Serpents.”

Typical.

Everyone always needs something. She didn’t come back to check on me, see how I was doing, she came back only to get something. Just like this drunk pig in front of me always does.

I look at Jackie, feeling nothing when I do, nothing but a cold emptiness. They say you always have a natural instinct to love your mother, because only you know what her heartbeat sounds like from the inside, but right now, I wish I would’ve stopped her fucking heartbeat when I was in her womb and had the chance to. “What’s his name?”

“Jacob.”

I blink uncontrollably, my vision darkening as the world seems to stop for a moment. His name echoes in my mind, and I get angry.

Not only because of what he did to Amelia—which I hope he’s rotting in hell for—but because he knew what it was like to be raised by a mother,mymother, the one who was supposed to raise me. He never had to feel the empty void inside of where a mother’s love is supposed to be.

Fragments of my childhood play like a movie in my head. Every lonely night, every drunken tirade from my dad, every moment I spent wondering where she was and why I wasn’t enough.

So shecouldraise a child, just not me.

I feel a bitter wave of envy wash over me, so powerful it’s almost suffocating. But then I remember—he’s dead, and I’m not, so I have no reason to sit here and think about how great his childhood must’ve been. Because he won’t have an adulthood. He won’t get to grow old and marry and have kids and a perfect house with a white picket fence. And I get to have all that. With Amelia.

Jackie continues, her voice now trembling. “I was pregnant with him when I left.”

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