Page 12 of The Way You Hurt Me

Adrian leans back on the counter, chuckling. "Look at how the tables have turned. I knew I'd enjoy seeing you on the receiving end of that nonsense."

Camden shoots his father his middle finger without ceasing to glare at the kid; neither of them blink. I think they could be at it for the rest of the night.

"Hey, little man," I say, "wanna come see if Father Christmas hid an early present somewhere?"

That catches his attention. "Present?"

He's not yet two; his vocabulary isn't extensive, but he perfectly understands “present.”

"Early presents are only for good boys who go to bed on time, though."

"Me! I a good boy."

Cameron holds his arms up to me, jiggling to get out of Camden's hold and into mine.

"And that's how it's done," I tell Cam, winking.

"That's called bribery, and all it does is spoil him," my godson grumbles.

"He's a firstborn, currently only child, heir to the Hunt fortune. Spoiled is a given."

It's not my first time putting Cameron to bed; I find my way easily enough, stopping by my room on the way to "find" a present—the bedtime book I picked up. I start to read it to him, and the overexcited kid's down for the count before the lion catches the antelope.

Jeez, kids’ books are unnecessarily violent. I guess it prepares them for real life.

As I make my way downstairs, I stop by a closed door, finding myself frowning as I push it open.

It's tidy, and a little bare, but there are clues whom this space belongs to. A custom computer, opened up, with two gigantic fans. A lab set on a desk. There's no teddy bear or frilly little girl things. Not that Willow's a little girl now. She's twenty. But she's never been one for superfluous belongings; maybe because they could never afford pretty things for no other reason than wanting it. The bedding's royal blue, with white curtains billowing around it. There's a plush white rug on the floor, and a great sound system. The walls are bare, painted lavender, and the furnishings, white.

Willow has her own room in every Hunt house: Valentina's, Adrian's, Morgan and Cam's new villa here on the hill in Thorn Falls, and the one in Boston, too.

All of them look like this one; impersonal, barely lived in. If I didn't know better, I'd say she has issues with her family, but her dorm room on campus was exactly like this. Now, she's sharing an apartment with two roommates in the Upper West Side, and while their shared space is lively, hers is still tidy, bare. Like she doesn't feel settled enough to put her stamp on it.

And yeah, it's slightly concerning that I know exactly what her room looks like, but I've long stopped trying to check my behavior as far as she's concerned. I'm not one for pointless endeavors.

Knowing exactly what she's up to, who she's with, and how safe she is at all times is a habit. A compulsion. A need.

I shut the door softly, stepping back.

She should be here.

Absentmindedly I reach for my phone and open my text conversation with her. The last one is two years old, sent the day before her eighteenth birthday.

One picture of her lying back on her bed, pouting at the camera, those baby blue eyes smoldering. There's a hint of cleavage that suggests she's not wearing anything at all.

Brat: Come wish me a happy birthday tomorrow?

My jaw tightens. So does my cock.

Fucking brat. I should have gone right there and taught her another lesson.

But I didn't.

I lean back on the wall, sighing before my fingers fly over the keyboard.

Me: When will you stop pouting and get your ass to family dinners?

I hover over thesendbutton, hesitating. But I end up deleting it.

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