Page 29 of Backfire
He was the one who had a stick up his ass about meals.Fifteen minutes until breakfast.Asshole.
“While I respect a woman’s right to dress how she wants, Devlin has a point.” Angus sat down at the head of the table, spurring the boys to return to their seats. “That is not proper dinner attire.”
When Devlin shot me a cocky smirk, I was tempted to slap him. Instead, I reached across the table, making sure I twisted in a way that displayed my cleavage, and snatched a biscuit.
“Sorry,” I sang while taking a nice big bite. “My ballgown was at the cleaners.”
Angus was obviously displeased with my attitude. Not that I cared. What was the worst thing he could do? Take away my phone and send me to my room. Good, he could have it. I didn’t have any friends to text, anyway.
“I wouldn’t look so smug if I were you,” Magnus snarled at me. “Just because you bear the mark—”
“What mark?” Angus snapped.
The sudden silence in the room made me roll my eyes. “They’re all worked up about my birthmark.”
It wasn’t cancerous or anything. Though I doubt they would care if it were.
“Oh, really?” Angus sat forward and eyed all three of his sons. None of whom would meet his eyes.
What the hell were they so worked up about? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’d just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Except for Devlin. I could hear his teeth grinding.
“Tell me, Sydney.” Angus turned his attention my way. “Is this birthmark on your right thigh?”
Why did that matter? “So what if it is?”
I don’t care how proper he wanted his family to look. I wasn’t getting rid of it. It was my star. Besides, Angus wasn’t my dad. And even if he were, he could kiss my ass.
“I see.” Angus sat back and slowly sipped on what I assumed was wine.
The only thing that could be heard after that were the clinks and clacks of dishes. It was the oddest reaction to a simple birthmark. Rich people were weird.
Whatever… They could do what they wanted. I was going to keep enjoying my food. At least that was my plan, but when I popped a forkful of the sweetest corn I’d ever had in my mouth, Angus broke the silence.
“Have you ever been raped, Sydney?”
I choked on the food in my mouth. “Pardon me?”
Where the hell did that come from?
“There are only two reasons a girl would prance around wearing something like that. They have low self-esteem. Or”—his eyes rolled up to meet mine—“they enjoy tempting fate.”
I couldn’t believe he’d just said that. “What I chose to wear doesn’t matter.”
“I beg to differ.” Angus tipped his chin over my shoulder. “And I think my son would agree.”
“I don’t give a shit what…” All words were lost when I twisted my head and was met with the shadows darkening Devlin’s expression.
Suddenly, my attire didn’t seem like such a good idea. The need to cover up crawled across my skin, but I refused to give in. I didn’t need permission to put on make-up or wear what I wanted.
“Maybe your son should learn how to control himself,” I hissed while glaring back at Devlin.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Angus said.
When Devlin turned his glare onto his father, I thought the argument was shifting to them. I was wrong. Next thing I knew, my elbow was seized, and Devlin was pulling me out of the room. And what did his father do while I was being dragged away, kicking and screaming?
Absolutely nothing.
I was being manhandled by an asshole, and the only adult in the room didn’t do shit other than ask someone to pass him the potatoes.
