Page 9 of Forbidden Deviant Games

Dean ducks away from my hand, his brow creasing with irritation. “Yeah? How the hell would you know?” he demands.

I chuckle. “I know a lot more than you, kiddo.”

“I fucking bet you do,” he grumbles, turning towards the front door.

Oh, hell no. In the next second, I’m on him like a leech, wrapping one muscled arm around the boy’s neck and latching him into a headlock. “What was that?” I ask, holding him tight even as I reach out and slap my file down on the nearby foyer table.

Dean drops his bag onto the floor and shoves up against my arm, trying to break free, but all I do is tighten my hold. “Oh? Is that all you got?” I taunt. “Little brat like you thinks you can be all angsty teen on me?”

“Fuck, man!” Dean curses and then surprises me when he stops fighting and drops his weight, nearly slipping out of my hold. I barely manage to keep him locked into my side as he wraps his own arms around my middle and drags me sideways.

“You got something else on your mind, kid?” I persist. “Maybe you wanna tell Big Bro about it?”

“You’re not my big brother, dickwad! We’re not even related!”

I laugh. “You know as well as I that loyalty don’t got nothing to do with blood, boy,” I reply.

That shuts him up and after a few more failed attempts at escaping, he finally releases a harsh breath and slaps my arm twice. “Alright, I concede,” he huffs. “I was being an ass. I’m fucking sorry, okay?”

I release him without a second thought. “As long as you know it,” I say, straightening my shirt as he scrambles away from me—red-faced and panting. Even with the irritated look he shoots my way, though, at least now the darkness in his eyes has receded.For the time being anyway.

My chest tightens at that thought. No matter how much I try and fight for this kid, he’ll always have that darkness in him. He’s a Carter. More than that, he’s an Eastpoint heir. Loyalty may not always have anything to do with blood, but love does. Love and loyalty is something that Nicholas doesn’t have between his generation of heirs, but Dean is different.

I’ve seen him with Abel and Braxton. What they have is far different than what their fathers did or do. If anyone can escape this cycle of damage their families are locked into, it’ll be them. God, I hope it will be them.

“What’s the attitude about anyway?” I prompt, reaching for the file I set aside. I fold it up and then quietly stick it into the inner pocket of my jacket as Dean retrieves his fallen gym bag. “It can’t just be about your old man. Got girl troubles or something?” He scoffs and I know I’ve hit the mark right on the money. “Want to talk about it?” I offer.

Dean’s quiet for a moment, his head tilting towards the front door as if he wants to run away from this conversation. I never push him, though. I just stand there and wait—letting the silence stretch between us. For some people, silence is uncomfortable, but between us, it never is. It’s an opening. An invitation. If he wants to talk, I’ve got ears and I’ll listen.

“I’m just fucking tired,” he finally confesses.

“Yeah?” I watch him carefully. From the tightness in his shoulders to the way he grips the strap of his bag until his knuckles grow white. “‘Bout what?”

“They fawn over me,” he says.

I snort. “Never heard a teenage boy talk about how hard it is to be liked by members of the opposite sex before,” I say with a small chuckle. “You might be the first one, and from what I hear Abel has it twice as bad as you.”

Dean doesn’t immediately respond, but when he does, it’s with a forced tone that mimics boredom—which, for him, can only mean the opposite. “Yeah,” he admits, “he does. But it’s not about being liked. It’s the fact that I know they only like me because I’m a Carter.”

“Ahhh,” I nod slowly. “I see.”

Dean’s head jerks up and he looks at me almost hopefully—as if all of his problems could be solved by whatever comes out of my mouth next. Unfortunately for him, though, I don’t have a quick fix for this. Hell, I don’t even have a long-term fix. The fact is—he’s right. I’m not surprised that he’s recognized it already. People will want him, not because of who he is, but because of what he is.

“Listen, kid,” I start, stepping up to him and swinging my arm around his shoulders. “This world is full of people who are going to try and take advantage of you. This is true for everyone—regardless of gender or race or status or wealth. It’s part of human nature. It’s not something you can control.” That just bites him in the ass. If ever there were someone more of a control freak than Nicholas Carter, it’s his son, but I don’t say that.

“You’re a sun, Dean, and you’ve got all these planets revolving around you—me, Abel, Brax, your dad. A sun doesn’t get distracted by meteors flying by. A sun just keeps doing what they’re doing—providing light.”

He scoffs. “Me?” he snaps, looking at me sideways like I’m crazy. “Provide light?”

“Okay,” I admit. “Maybe that wasn’t the best metaphor for you. What I’m trying to say is, yeah, people will want you because of what you have. Money. Infamy. The Carter name.” I poke him in the chest. Hard. “But one day, you’ll find someone who comes along who doesn’t give a shit about any of that. All she’ll care about iswhoyou are, who you prove yourself to be.”

His brows draw down low over his eyes and he frowns. “When the hell is that gonna happen?”

I laugh, pulling my arm away. “Hell, kid, I don’t fucking know. I was a psychology major, not a damn psychic. There ain’t no way I could predict the when or where or even how you’ll meet her.”

“Then how do you even know I will?” he demands.

“Because it happens for everyone,” I say. For Nicholas, it’d been a friend—a fellow Eastpoint heir. For me … the image of a fiery brunette with a ready scowl and paint splattered fingers comes to mind. “You’ll find them, someday,” I promise. “And when you do, you better hold on tight. Don’t let them get away.”

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