Page 104 of Wicked Spite
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I growl, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know there’s truth in them. Robert Blackwood has never been anything other than a calculating son of a bitch.
“Your actions, however…are somewhat interesting,” he muses, almost to himself. “But then, you’re a Blackwood. We don’t do things by halves, do we?”
“Save the philosophical bullshit,” I spit. “I did what had to be done.”
“I see your emotions are playing peek-a-boo,” he says dryly. “Maybe rein that in.”
“My emotions are fucking fine.”
“Indeed,” he says, dismissively returning to his papers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to.”
I grit my teeth. The urge to punch something, preferably his fucking face is simmering just beneath the surface. “Oh, of course. Can’t keep the empire waiting.” The sarcasm in my voice so fucking thick we could choke on it.
Robert doesn’t even look up, just casually flips through another document. “Oh, Penn. It’s adorable that you think I haven’t anticipated your little outbursts.” He finally locks eyes with me, a thin smile playing at his lips. “You did me a favor, whether you realize it or not. John was an idiot and neverupdated his living trust. Everything he owned now belongs to Reagan. He couldn’t have done me a better favor.”
The realization hits me like a freight train. “You’re saying everything John St. Pierre touched is now hers?”
“Which means,” Robert continues, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, “it’s Blackwood property now.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it, just a cold, bitter irony. “So that’s what this is about. Just another goddamn business deal.”
“What did you think this was?” He stands up and adjusts his suit jacket, every motion calculated and deliberate. “This was always about securing more power and influence.”
“I hope you choke on it,” I mutter under my breath.
“No, I don’t think I will, son,” he replies smoothly as he walks past me toward the door. “I’m practical.” He turns back briefly, his gaze piercing through me like a blade. “And if you were half as smart as you think you are, you’d realize I’ve just handed you an empire on a silver platter.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient?” I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You get to play puppet master yet again, pulling strings and watching us dance to your sick little tune. Must be nice. Real nice.”
Robert’s eyes flicker up from his desk, the cold calculation never leaving them. “Your sarcasm is noted, Penn. But it changes nothing.”
“Of course not,” I scoff, leaning back against the doorframe. It never does.
I watch him move with infuriating calmness as he collects his coat from the rack by the door. “I do have other good news,” he says almost cheerfully, like he’s discussing the weather. “Graham took some steps before your dramaticentrance. The doctors believe he’ll make a decent recovery... though his football career is still uncertain.”
Just what I wanted to hear—a silver lining wrapped in barbed wire.
He tosses his coat over one shoulder and turns to face me fully, a commanding presence that stills the surrounding air. “Now, be a good son and drive me to the hospital so I can visit my youngest.”
“Sure thing,” I reply with exaggerated enthusiasm, giving him a mock salute. “Happy to be your goddamn chauffeur.”
Robert quirks an eyebrow but says nothing more as we head out the door. We walk in silence to my car because I don’t have anything else to say to him. Could I have told him to get fucked? Yeah, of course, but I’ve already crossed lines and I’m praying he doesn’t take it out on anyone else.
As we drive through the dark streets toward the hospital, I can’t help but hope my father keeps his fucking mouth shut because I’m just a trigger finger away from shooting him.
“You know,” Robert says suddenly, breaking the silence but not looking at me, “for all your faults and there are many, you do have a certain knack for getting things done.”
It takes everything in me not to swerve off the road.
“Gee, thanks for the glowing review,” I reply dryly.
“But don’t let it get to your head,” he warns. “Remember who taught you everything you know. I made you and I can take you the fuck out.”
How could I ever fucking forget?
His words grasp like a pair of hands tightening around my neck, and I grip the steering wheel. Memories flood back, unbidden, from that summer when Robert pulled me away from the camaraderie of my brothers’ and home and thrustme into a hellishtrainingprogram that made boot camps look like summer camps.
It was in a remote cabin nestled deep in the woods just on the other side of Wraithwick, far from any prying eyes. The air there tasted different—thicker, tinged with the metallic scent of blood and sweat. The mornings began before dawn, with them barking orders before the first light crept over the horizon. Sleep was a luxury afforded only to those who had no ambitions.
