Page 7 of The Golden Boys

I glance over to the far wall. The obnoxious, gold-framed oil painting hanging just above the fireplace is more than art. It conceals a safe. My dad has no clue I’ve known the code since I was ten, but it’s one of his many secrets I’ve kept over the years.

Only, this one might actually help me, which is new.

I glance in the direction of freedom, and then back toward the art.

“Shit,” I mumble again.

Moving at lightspeed across the room, I flip the painting at its hidden hinges. An array of glowing, green numbers glare back at me from underneath it. I punch in the six digits permanently etched in my memory. The buttons beep with every touch, and fucking Sterling’s anxiety has taken ahold of me now, too.

I press the last digit and … success. For a hot second, I swear I’m 007 in this bitch, before remembering the ticking clock. I peer inside the small space and take inventory.

A silver USB.

One of several pistols he owns.

A box of ammo.

The card I came for, and … a cell phone.

I fully intend to ignore everything except what I’ve been in search of, but I lose focus anyway, zeroing in on the dark screen resting at the back of the safe.

There could be a perfectly reasonable, innocent explanation for why my father—a respected real estate developer here in Cypress Pointe and beyond—has this in his possession. However, in order to believe that, I’d have to pretend not to know the man behind the mask.

He’s cold, manipulative, a shit father and husband—the dickhead trifecta.

Temptation is too great. The phone is in my hands before I can talk myself out of it. Glancing over my shoulder quickly, I power it on. The fifteen or twenty seconds it takes for the thing to get going feel like hours. When it finally does come to life, I’m prompted to type in an access code. It could have been anything, but I didn’t have to try more than once. It was the same six numbers as the safe, the same as the passcode he chose for the elevator that grants access to their penthouse and ours.

My mother’s birthday.

A guilty habit, no doubt.

There aren’t many icons for apps, which means it’s not likely he uses it all that often. I start by scrolling through what seems to be a dummy email account set up for linking it to the phone. Nothing sent, nothing received. I move on. The next logical place to snoop is in the text messages and call log. Whatever may have been there at one point is gone now. So, I move on to the gallery and, immediately, I’m confused as hell.

In a different reality, I would’ve been shocked to find pics of some half-naked chick in my father’s possession, but I’m beyond thinking he’s infallible. Women are his weakness. It’s not even a secret at this point. But somethingdoesknock the wind out of me when I zoom in and have a clear view of her face.

Because I know the girl in the image.

Well, we haven’t met officially, but … I hadn’t forgotten her face.

I’d first laid eyes on her when she stood framed in flames at the bonfire, little over a month ago. She stood there, doe-eyed, innocent. Shit, you’d never guess that now, seeing what I’m seeing.

She’s posed on a white sheet, full lips smiling up at the camera for a selfie, tits exposed and pointing skyward. At the bonfire, I remember wondering what she’d look like naked, sprawled out in my bed just like this. In fact, if Parker hadn’t distracted me with her promise of‘the best head I ever had’, I might’ve found out for myself.

P.S. Parker lied. Her head game is weak as hell, but I digress.

The girl in this picture couldn’t be any older than my brothers and me—eighteen, maybe not quite even. In other words, she’s way too young for my father.

I let my eyes drift lower, down the plane of smooth, tan skin, all the way to her navel ring. I find myself wondering if the frame hadn’t ended there, would I find her completely naked?

Realizing I’m actually lusting after this girl, I shake my head to clear it. When I refocus, my new goal is to connect the dots, determine what might’ve led up to the moment. The context is hard to gauge, though.

Had he been there when she captured the moment?

Was this her answer to a special request he made?

Had she just sent it simply to remind him what he was missing?

My stomach turns and I swear my blood becomes venom, burning me up inside as it passes through my veins. Bitches like this only see one thing when they look at my father.

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