Page 133 of Unorthodox
Eighteen years, and Oliver looks like a man.
But he acts much the same as he did when he was mine to protect. Mine to look out for. Mine to…fail.
Ollie became the very thing my father always hated him for.Weak.
I wanted to kill Jameson.
I still do.
I asked Elliot who took Oliver, wanting him to confirm what my father told me. Wanting him to tell me something else too. Wanting both things at once, so I could hate my father more. So, I could pretend he wasn’t as sick as I remember him to be.
But he is.
Elliot confirmed it was the same man hired by my father to kill my mother. He was also tasked with taking Oliver to an auction and sending my father the profit. As an autistic, non-verbal boy, Ollie was deemed easy to train. Easy to manipulate. Easy to hurt.
My fucking brother.
Rage like fire fills my veins, and I have to work hard not to crush Addison to me.
And I’m sending her to the man who bought a disabled boy. To the man who raped him. Used him. Hurt him.
This is what happens when you play with fire. This is what happens when your hope gets bigger than your fucking common sense.
And Addison has to pay the price.
I hold her closer, feel her stir in her sleep, but she doesn’t wake up.
Her life will be miserable when she leaves here, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Backing out isn’t an option. I can’t leave Oliver.
Not again.
Even if I found a way to keep her, if I murdered Jameson in cold blood, someone would come after me, with the people he’s found an in with.
She’s fucked, no matter what happens.
For now, though, I can distract her. For now, I can try to show her that I’m sorry. That I hate what will become her life. That I do, in my own fucked up way,care for her.Even if, in the end, it means absolutely nothing.
* * *
The house is crowded,most of the party congregating in Luca’s entertainment room. It’s as if no one was shot here a week ago.
Music is pouring through his sound system, making my head throb.
I don’t listen to music, and I don’t appreciate it like I should. In my house growing up, music was used to drown out the screams of the dying.
But this isn’t my home and I respect I have no control over what happens here. For that reason alone, I’m ready to leave. As soon as Luca tells me what he discovered, I’ll do just that.
Evora is at my side for appearance’s sake, and I turn to her, my eyes raking over her tight, bronze dress, the way it flows over her hips, fitting just like a glove.
Her long, shiny brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and she looks good. Tonight, when I leave here, I’m going to take a knife to her throat as I fuck her, and she’ll look even better, covered in blood.
She hasn’t asked about the bruises, like Addison did.
She hasn’t asked, and I haven’t told her.
As a waiter passes by, champagne on a silver platter, I take a glass and chug it.
I’d much rather spill Addison’s blood tonight, but I’ve done enough damage to last her a lifetime. I’ve done enough to get us both fucked up, and yet I can’t find it in me to feel any remorse about the situation. I don’t regret meeting a girl like her, full of fire and feeling, even if I have to send her off to a hell worse than mine.
