Page 90 of Devious Temptation
No matter how hard I try to forget—it’s a miracle I made it home in one piece—the image of them together won’t leave my brain.
Without bothering to remove my shoes, I shuffle through the house, intent on wreaking havoc on the one place he probably had her the most. The one place no one else is allowed to enter—yet he had no problem granting her access toorganizeit for him during our last few weeks of senior year.
Fuck,that’sprobably when it all started.
The door is locked, but it only takes a few sharp kicks before the wood splinters and gives way. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the minibar, I uncap it and take a swig straight from the neck, running my hands along the numerous books and binders that line the shelves.
With a roar, I sweep them all to the floor, taking another pull from the bottle before I tip it over and pour the amber-colored liquid all over the shit now littered on the ground.
“Fuck you, motherfucker…” I bark a laugh. “Guess it’s actuallygirlfriendfucker.”
You’re being ridiculous. She isn’t your girlfriend.
I turn my head to my proverbial angel and tell it to shut the fuck up.
“Whoops…” Another sweep of my hand plows more books to the floor, and I knock over a lamp that shatters.
“AHHH!” I rage, raking both arms across his desk, sending papers and files and a stapler flying off the surface to join the mess. The movement bumps his desktop, and the screen lights up like a beacon.
Slumping into his chair, I kick my feet up, scrubbing my hands over my face. It doesn’t seem like enough. No amount of damage I can do to this office will ever seem like enough of a price to pay.
The screen's glow calls to me—the background is a picture of me, Dad, and River fishing in Florida. A folder labeled ‘X’ sits directly over the fish Dad holds up. I don’t know why I do it, but I lean forward and move the mouse, clicking to open the folder.
Dozens of video files appear—blurred images for thumbnailsand random combinations of letters and numbers for names. I click on one.
What the fuck?
Harsh groans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh fill the air through the speakers.
The whiskey I just guzzled threatens to reappear. It’s a fuckingpornvideo.
A man slaps the ass of the woman he fucks from behind. “Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you? Tell Daddy how much you like that.”
WHAT THE FUCK?
As fast as humanly possible, I click out of the video.
It’s my fuckingdad.
I push the chair back, leaning over to put my head between my knees so I don’t throw up.
Mom always told me that Dad fucked around on her in New York. I know she cheated on him when I was younger, but he forgave her for it—stayed with her—yet this is how he punishes her?
By fucking around on her constantly.
By fucking my ex-girlfriend.
“Seriously, fuck you, Dad,” I whisper to the air as I pull up his email.
I want him to hurt as badly as I do—as bad as Mom has these last few years.
Clicking on a new message, I CC his entire office and slide the video over to attach it. I don’t even pause before I hit send.
Then I throw up all over his desk.
Thirty
Over the next few hours,I keep trying to call Lawson, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. I consider going back to the lake house, but I’m shaking so hard I don’t trust myself to drive.
