Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Oh, fuck you,” I spit out.
“Princess has claws.” Mockery invades his stare.
“Only for assholes.” My words escape through clenched teeth, but it only seems to entertain him some more.
He basks in my misery.
“You never answered the question.” His tone is light, but I know this is the big unknown plaguing him. “Did you spread your pretty little thighs for Daddy?”
“That’s disgusting.”
He makes a noise at the back of his throat. One I can’t read. I’m unsure whether he believes me, but if I had to guess, I’d say no with a capital N.
The light turns green. Trent starts to drive again.
This time, as the car moves, neither of us speaks, and this time, I’m completely okay with it.
I’m not going to say anything to break the silence.
I have no desire to hear what this man has to say.
He’s vile . . .
But . . .
I shake my head.
No, don’t read into it.
Don’t read into the depth I see in his eyes when they aren’t filled with hate toward me. When he makes other people smile, and it brings one to his face in return.
The thing is, no matter how hard I try not to, deep down, I can hear the hurt that lives inside his voice, and I wonder more about how it got there.
I need to find my sister.
There is so much more to Ronald than I know, and I’m starting to wonder if she knew the real him or not.
And I’m afraid of the answer.
22
Payton
* * *
I’m not going to class today.
I should go, but no matter how much I try, I can’t get past the mystery and drama surrounding Ronald Aldridge. I need to know how much my sister knew.
Did she know about what he did to his daughter?
Why he was in jail?
Did she even talk to him about anything of substance?
The only thing she told me came the day before the funeral and will reading. She admitted, point blank, with no remorse, that Ronald Aldridge had a family. It sounded like she’d known about them for a long time. That I was the only one left in the dark.
Instead of taking the train to where I normally get off to go to school, I take it one extra exit to where my sister’s house is located.
This is the house she moved into after Ronnie stopped paying her bills a few months before he died.
I haven’t been here since he died, come to think of it. I haven’t really been here very much since I found out the new scumbag showed up. He was in prison for his hand in some scheme, and God knows what that was really all about because Erin won’t talk. Finding out she had known him through her ex―Tony―is enough for me to never want to get to know him, though.
Seems like a pattern . . .
I walk up the driveway to the door and knock. It swings open.
My sister looks like a mess.
Her normally beautiful blown-out hair appears greasy.
Her face has sunken in.
Is she eating?
Is she sick?
I hate myself for the instant pang of worry that festers inside me, but she’s my sister. No matter how she treats me, I can’t help but worry.
“What brings you here?” She narrows her eyes at me.
“Can’t I just want to stop by to visit my sister?”
“You haven’t given a shit about me since you found out all the money is going to be yours.” She huffs as she lifts her hand up to rub her nose.
Is she using again?
My sister has been clean for years, but she’s been spiraling ever since Ronnie cut her off, so it does make sense.
“Can I come in?”
She rolls her eyes but steps aside, allowing me to pass.
There are empty bottles of wine, beer, and vodka everywhere. If I didn’t know better, I would mistake this place for ground zero of a rave. After the lights come back on, and the people left with the mess realize how utterly fucked they are.
Erin might not be doing drugs, but she certainly is drinking. The scent of alcohol invades my nostrils. I can’t even pinpoint a single type. It just smells like the air is eighty proof.
Brad’s lying on the couch in the living room. No shirt on. Beer in his hand.
Charming.
This house looks like a squatters’ paradise. Not the beautiful, seven-figure home Ronnie once purchased.
“Why are you here?” Erin glares at me, temper flaring.
“I want to talk about Ronald.”
“What about him? Isn’t it bad enough that he left me nothing?” Her voice sounds shrill, reminding me of nails on a chalkboard.
He gave you a home for years. Money for years. Food and safety, too.
It’s more than most people ever have.
She’s forgotten so much of our past, so much of what it felt like not to have a roof over our heads, that I want to point it out. I also want to live, and in the interest of self-preservation, I pocket the comment.