Page 144 of Wicked Games

“Areyou sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Killian asks as he pulls up in front of my uncle’s house. “I don’t like the idea of you being out of my sight.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I just need to sign some papers for my trust fund.”

It’s the fourth day of our break, and Killian has barely left my side the entire time. Even the twins are spending most of their time at the house with us, and their concern means everything to me.

No one has ever really given a shit about me or my safety, and I never realized how much I was missing by not having a family I could count on. Now I officially feel like I’m one of them, and I also know what it feels like to finally have people in my corner.

Killian and I had planned to spend most of the day in the pool house with Xave and the twins while preparations for Thanksgiving are underway at the main house, but the text I got from my uncle last night has put a pause on that for the time being. Xave is going to meet us later, but the twins came along on the drive to my uncle’s house and spent most of it bickeringabout Jace milking his arm injury so he can make Jax do pretty much everything for him.

For people who are basically two halves of the same whole and love each other to a degree that’s pathologically scary sometimes, they fight like sleepover enemies and are catty as fuck. And I’m here for every silly barb and childish insult they throw at each other.

Being an only child was lonely as hell, and it’s cathartic to get the sibling experience through them now.

“Why would he have paperwork for your trust fund?” Jace asks from the back of the car.

“He’s the executor until I turn twenty-five.”

“Does he have access to it?” Killian asks.

“Sort of, but he can’t just take whatever he wants out of it. He has to get my permission in writing for whatever amount he wants to withdraw, and he also has to get my grandpa to sign off on it before they’ll release the funds to him.”

Jace makes a thoughtful face at the same time Jax says, “Is he the executor or a trustee?”

“Executor.” I look between the three of them. “What?”

“Nothing, just getting all the details straight,” Killian says. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Not sure, but it shouldn’t be too long.”

He leans over and kisses me. And not a quick kiss either, but a long one full of passion and tongues. I’m more than a little flustered when he pulls away.

“Hurry back.”

“Yeah, hurry back,” Jace says, his voice dreamy and breathless. “I’ll miss youuuuuuuuu,” he singsongs and drags the word out.

I flip the twins off and give Killian a goofy smile as I stumble out of the car. I’m practically floating as I make my way to thefront door, and more than a little distracted when my uncle’s butler brings me to his downstairs office.

“He’ll be right with you,” the butler tells me, and before I can answer, he’s sweeping out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I make my way over to one of the chairs in front of the desk and sink into it. The office is gaudy as hell and looks like someone had a surplus of gold foil they needed to use up when they decorated it. Every other thing is either gold or accented with gold, and from what I’ve seen of the rest of the house, that’s his preferred style.

My dad was the opposite. He was one of those wealthy people who didn’t look rich unless you knew what to look for. He never wore designer labels, but that didn’t mean his stuff wasn’t expensive. His watch collection alone is insured for almost ten million, and his closet was full of suits that cost more than most people bring home in a month of work.

The one thing he and my dad have in common is that I don’t really know either of them all that well. I’ve only seen my uncle a handful of times in the last ten years or so, and my dad’s funeral wasn’t one of them.

I didn’t care enough to ask too many questions at the time, but apparently he was away on a business trip when my dad died and didn’t cut it short to attend the services. My grandfather reached out to me and explained that he wouldn’t be attending because of scheduling conflicts and safety concerns, but he made sure the funeral was paid for and hired someone to do my part of the planning for me, so all I had to do was show up.

My uncle couldn’t even be bothered to read the text I sent him asking for his lawyer’s contact information when I learned about him being the executor of my inheritance.

From what I know, my dad and uncle weren’t close, but it still feels weird that he didn’t make any sort of effort to pay tribute tohis brother or reach out to me at all after the accident and only contacted me about my trust fund.

But it’s not like any of it really matters. Funerals are for the living, and him not being there didn’t affect me at all, so I’m not about to waste my time wondering about his motivations.

The door to the office opens, and I immediately sit up straight.

“Felix,” my uncle says as he comes into the room.

He’s a few years older than my dad, and the two of them look so alike they could be mistaken for twins and not just brothers. My grandmother used to call them bookends, and it’s jarring to see him looking so much like my dad and walking around when the last time I saw my father, he was in a box.

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