Page 8 of Submission

“No, I’m sure Hunter has his reasons for sending you two to keep an eye on me.”

Vaughn gives me a knowing grin. “Who said he did that?”

I’m rushing as I grab my tote bag and check my hair in the mirror on my way out.

“I may be younger than you three,” I tell them. “But I’m nobody’s dummy.”

Christian kicks his feet up on the end of the couch, grinning the entire time.

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Chapter 3

Maybe I Should Tell Daddy

Megan

My new neighborhood is in somewhat of a residential area but it’s got quite a few nice cafés to choose from. I select one that’s far enough from my building but close enough to walk, not paying much attention to the flowery decor inside.

My hands are wrapped around a hot cup of coffee as I anxiously tap my foot against the floor. It’s not a very crowded place, and I’m grateful for that because I’m feeling a little claustrophobic right now.

I shouldn’t be here.

I should have deleted the message.

Better yet, I should have just changed my number again.

I hear the bell on the front door of the café jingle as somebody walks in and when I look up, it’s an attractive girl, a few years younger than me. Her fake blonde hair is done up in curls, and her makeup is dramatic, making her brown eyes appear larger and almost doe-like. She looks like the sweet hottie next door.

She isn’t.

From the corner of my eyes, I can see a few men check her out but she doesn’t pay them any attention, walking straight over to me.

“Sissy.” She beams, still using her ludicrous nickname for me. “How’ve you been?”

“Rachel,” I murmur her name, my voice cautious. “Why are you here in LA?”

She sits down across from me, pushing her blonde weave back from her shoulder and smiling. “Aren’t you going to order me something, Sissy?”

I point towards the counter. “This place is self-service.”

“So, then go get it for me.” Her smile still lingers but her tone is hard now.

“I have to leave in ten minutes.” I shift in my seat, ignoring her words that I know were meant as a challenge. “So, make this quick.”

She studies me for a few seconds, and the silence is daunting, but then she finally says, “Seems as if you grew some balls now that you’re out of the house.”

Her eyes are angry as she smiles at me, and it instantly brings up all those old feelings I have for her.

Disdain.

Distrust.

Disgust.

“Tell me what you want, or I’m leaving,” I say shortly.

Rachel is two years younger than me and the apple of her wicked mother’s eye. There was once a time that I truly believed that I couldn’t blame my younger half-sister for how she treated me because she followed her mother’s example. It was only later that I realized that she inherited her cruel streak from both her mother and our father.

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