Page 2 of The Tangle of Awful

“You don’t live here anymore, leech.”

I refuse to shudder at the name, choosing to glower at him instead. “Where’s Mom?”

His blue eyes narrow, hard gaze boring into me. “How the fuck should I know?”

“I want to talk to her,” I snip. “Now.”

He smirks at me. “Still a bossy princess. Go back home to your daddy. You’re no longer welcome here.” He fists his hand and pretends to wipe a tear from his cheek. “Mommy doesn’t love you anymore.”

His words are a spike in my heart. How he always manages to find my weakness is a surprise to me. I give him nothing, but he peels back my insecurities without me ever muttering a word. Two years and he’s exactly the same. Still lording his power over me.

“I want to tell her I’m sorry,” I mutter, trying a different approach. “She deserves that.”

The last time I spoke to my mom, I screamed at her for loving the Parks more than her own daughter. Told her I was going to live with Dad. I’d wanted her to fight for me. Instead, she looked away and let me walk out that door.

“Do you really think Neena sits around like some pathetic loser wishing for her only daughter to make amends?” He laughs, a vicious glint in his eyes. “She continues to spend Dad’s money so she can live a privileged life, one where she’s free of her bratty kid.”

The truth hurts.

“Please,” I whisper. “I only want to talk to her.”

Begging is more painful than hearing the truth. Pleading with a monster means I’m offering my neck to him—being vulnerable with a man whose teeth are much sharper as an adult.

“She’s gone.” His nostrils flare. “Now you have no reason to ever come back.”

Gone?

Unease roils in my belly. “What do you mean?”

“She took off, leech. Probably fucking her plastic surgeon. How the hell should I know?”

“Where did she go?” I croak out. “Spencer, please, give me something.”

He sneers at me. “Such a needy, needy leech. Always wanting something from us Parks.”

Anger swells up inside me again. I want to shove him and make him fall flat on his ass. Or, maybe I should spit on his handsome face instead.

His eyes flash with something so dark and sinister I barely suppress a shudder. He raises a hand, which makes me flinch. God, I hate him. His long finger points to the road.

“Don’t be a scaredy cat,” he rumbles. “You know I don’t hit little girls.”

Not with his fists.

His tongue, though, is something far more powerful. Each lash of his mean words leaves a bruise that lasts for years to come.

Since he’s still pointing, I follow where his finger is gesturing. To nothing. An empty road. Confused, I turn to ask him what he means.

The door slams in my face.

That’s it.

That’s all I get.

“Asshole!” I yell through the door.

Defeat surges through me and my eyes prickle with tears. I swallow down the emotion, refusing to allow him to get to me. I’m tougher now. His insults and behavior toward me don’t affect me like they used to.

With a huff, I squat to pick up my key, inspecting it once more. His message mocks me. Typical for Spencer Park. Treating everyone, especially me, like we’re beneath him. All the ideas for revenge I’ve had over the years come flooding through me. I had an opportunity and failed to do anything to ruffle his feathers.

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