Page 9 of Wicked Attraction

There was no way this asshole had gotten in and out of the Green Zone without being picked up by any cameras. “Even the ones that don’t exist.”

In her infinite wisdom, Sadie had offered to pay for new streetlights, all of which came with several high-def cameras, because she wanted to be able to see what was going on in the Green Zone. All day, every day.

Cal acknowledged he heard me with a nod, but otherwise, he still remained silent.

It was starting to piss me off. I opened my mouth to speak, but Kat spoke first.

“We all need to try to visit Ma regularly. If not every day as a group, then at least one of us shows up every day. She would never admit it if she were awake, but she needs us now more than ever.” A sob escaped and Kat wiped at her eyes. “I’d hate for her to die all alone in there.”

“Sadie isn’t gonna die, Kat,” I said quietly. “She’s too stubborn for that.”

She would never let herself be taken out by a bullet unless she was on her knees with the gun aimed right at her head. As long as there was a fight left in her, Sadie would fight.

“But I agree, everyone visits at least once a day. Talk to her. Make sure she’s well cared for.”

Not that I had a doubt. It was my hospital. Well, I owned the majority stake, which came with a certain amount of deference. So far, Sadie was treated like a VIP because she was.

My chair slid back as I stood. “Anyone have anything to add?”

A chorus of “No,” went around and with a nod, so I left the dining room. It was second nature to head to Sadie’s salon because that was usually where we retired after a family meeting or Sunday dinner. But, I kept going and took the rear path to my suite of rooms.

It was time to call Jameson to see what, if anything, the cops had on the shooting. Law enforcement in the area were no fans of the Ashby family, but they knew the best chance to stop the violence that was to come was to find the shooter before I did.

CHAPTERFOUR

Mo

I balled myself up under the covers. That would keep the monsters out. Eyes squeezed tight, I curled into a ball as heavy footsteps creaked down the hall that separated my room from what used to be my mom and dad’s bedroom. Mom was gone, and had been dead for a few years, leaving just my father and me.

The doorknob jiggled, and I sucked in a breath, held it for what felt like a whole day to see if he would step inside tonight or head to the kitchen for another beer first. My answer was the telltale sound of the rusty door hinge on top as it scratched against the wall.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

The bed dipped beside me, and a large hand landed on my back. I let out a gasp. It was a mistake to respond. Some nights I pretended to be sound asleep, and he would go away, drink himself into oblivion and pass out on the sofa, where I would find him in the morning.

“Good. You’re awake.”

I said nothing, but I felt the cool air hit my skin as he stripped away the blanket. I squeezed my eyes together even tighter.

If I didn’t look at him, didn’t see him take off my clothes, and push my legs apart, then I could pretend it didn’t happen. That it wasn’t my father, just a faceless monster doing terrible things to my eleven-year-old body while the hot tears streamed down my face.

I sat straight up in bed with a start. And looked around the room with wide eyes, chest heaving, the fear so visceral I pulled the down comforter around my neck before my surroundings came into focus.

The flat-screen television was mounted on the wall across from the bed. A beautiful cherry wood dresser just below the TV with a matching chest of drawers to the left of the bed and an armoire near the window. The walk-in closet was next to the main bathroom, filled with designer brands.

I was home. My penthouse condo in Emerald Isle.

I was safe.

“Son of a motherfuckin’ bitch!” It had been months since I had a dream about my previous life.

I hadn’t thought of those years in a long time, those awful years that started at age eleven when my tits sprouted up overnight, and they hadn’t stopped until I ran away from home, the day before my sixteenth birthday.

It was the only way to stop the nightly fuck-fests, the only way to get a good night’s sleep. And from that moment forward, it had been me against the world.

But damn, that dream was so fucking real that my skin was coated with sweat, and my heart still raced with adrenaline and fear.

I got up and made my way to the kitchen, appointed with a small wine fridge, a top-of-the-line coffee and espresso maker, a six-burner stove even though I didn’t cook, and my favorite, a subzero fridge that kept my late-night booze nice and cold.

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