Page 62 of Sugar Baby
“Like he’s doing now.”
“Exactly. I wanted to give him a home and place in our pack. I wanted him to try to move on and be the alpha I knew he could be with a bit of guidance.”
“I get it.” It actually hurts me to know how bad Cain had it. Yeah, my childhood wasn’t perfect, and I’ve learned my dad was a complete and utter sick pervert, but he never once raised his hand to me or treated me like anything but his son.
“Do you want to be part of this pack, Atlas?”
The out-of-the-blue question catches me off guard.
“The way I see it, you have two choices,” he continues. “You can leave and be a lone wolf for however long that lasts, or you can accept what I’m offering you and maybe find a home and family like your brother did.”
“Can I think about it?” I ask, not sure how to react to this.
He snorts. “Yeah, take your time.”
He picks up his pen and goes back to scrawling on the paper in front of him. I glance upwards and see a pretty, ornate wooden box about the size of a bread bin on the shelf near the window.
“Nice box,” I murmur.
He grunts his response.
Backing away, I know I just found what I’m looking for without even trying.
Now all I need is the key to open it.
Making my way back to Sophia, she is about to leave when I catch up with her. “Sorry,” I say. “Your dad is a talker.”
“Pah,” she snorts. “Now I know you’re lying.”
I grin, and she returns it. So far, so good. I hope she holds onto that when I tell her who my dad was.
“Sit,” I say, pointing to the wide doorstep that leads into the private part of the residence. “I need to tell you something.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
We both sit, side-by-side, and I briefly clench my hands into fists before I relax them. “My dad was Christopher Philips.”
It takes a moment for the name to register with her, but when it does, I feel sick.
Her green eyes widen with fear, and her face pales as if she has been punched in the gut that has somehow gone through and come out the other side.
“Oh,” she mutters.
“I didn’t know what he did to you. Cain and your father have filled me in since coming here. I want you to know that I hate him for that, and I’m glad he’s dead.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say that. It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
“Hmm. The thing is, I have been watching you for some time, Sophia. I was going to use you to get to your father. I was at the bank that day with Natalia, the lookalike, to get into your safety deposit box. My source told me you had what I wanted.”
“What was it?” she asks, eyes narrowed.
“A cameo brooch.”
“Trent has it,” she says immediately, surprising me. “Enzo took it from the smashed-up van and gave it to him.”
“Uhm…” I frown, taking that in. “Interesting.”
