Page 65 of Wicked Scorn
She blinks rapidly, like she’s fighting off tears or worse, total shutdown. And damn it, the sight of her trembling lip and those fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress—it does something fierce to my heart.
“Hey.” I breathe out, closing the distance between us in two long strides. My hands find her shoulders, gentle despite the thunderstorm raging in my chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Oakley’s gaze lifts to meet mine, vulnerability naked in her eyes. “You’re right to be mad. I just got scared, and?—”
Her breath hitches, eyes glistening with unshed tears. I pull her against my chest, tucking her head under my chin. She clings to me, her slender frame trembling against my body.
“It’s okay, baby,” I murmur, stroking her silky hair. “I’ve got you.”
On the inside, I’m fucking raging. Someone is fucking with her, toying with me, and it makes me want to put my fist through a wall. No, worse than that. I want to find the sick fuck responsible and bury him alive with a camera so I can watch his panic.
Footsteps thunder in the hallway, cutting off my darkening thoughts.
“Jeremiah!” my dad’s gruff voice bellows. “Where the hell are you, son?”
Oakley stiffens in my arms at the sound of him. I shoot her a reassuring look, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“In here,” I call out flatly. No fucking way am I telling him about any of this shit going on. He’ll just make things a thousand times worse.
Robert Blackwood storms into the kitchen, his face like a thundercloud of doom about to add to the bullshit that is my day. I straighten to my full height, keeping Oakley tucked against my side.
“Didn’t expect to see you today, or ever without a summons,” I say, injecting a casual note into my words. “To what do we owe the honor?”
“Can’t a father visit his son?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes sharp, missing nothing.
“Of course, but you and I both know ‘visits’ aren’t really our thing. What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” I sneer, unable to resist riling him up. Oakley squeezes my hand in silent warning, but I barrel on. “Did you lose a deal because they couldn’t put up with your ego?”
“Watch your fucking smart mouth,” Dad growls, dark eyesnarrowing to slits. “Your brother went and got himself arrested for assault so I don’t have time for your shit.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw. “I don’t see why you’re here throwing a fit with me, Dad.”
“I swear, you boys will be the death of me.” Dad rakes a hand through his silver-streaked hair, letting out a blustery sigh. “I swear, you boys will be the death of me.
His gaze shifts past me, landing on Oakley, and I feel her stiffen. “Miss Ashford,” he says, his voice dripping with a politeness that doesn’t quite reach his cold eyes. “A pleasure.”
“Mr. Blackwood,” Oakley replies, her voice a tremulous whisper that somehow still carries the weight of her courage.
“Robert,” he corrects with a hint of command. “We’re practically family, after all.”
“Practically,” I echo, the single word laced with a lifetime of unspoken battles. I’m not about to let him rattle us—not here, not now.
“Jeremiah,” Oakley whispers, her fear a tangible thing pressing against my side.
“Everything’s under control, Oakley,” I assure her, though the tension coils tighter within me, ready to spring.
“Good to see you putting those protective instincts to use,” Robert comments, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. His mouth curls into a sneer. “Of course, the two of you would be joined at the hip. The end of the world wouldn’t have kept the two of you apart, would it?”
White-hot anger surges through me. I open my mouth to unleash the storm brewing inside, but he just keeps going.
“The Ashfords,” he drawls from the doorway, lips twisted in a smirk that could curdle milk. “Always had more dollars than sense, didn’t they? But I suppose crushes—or whatever you kids are calling it these days—know no bounds.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My fingers curl into fists as his sneer crawls under my skin. He’s always known exactly how to needle me, and mentioning Oakley, sweet, innocent Oakley, in that tone…it’s a low blow even for him.
“That’s enough,” I say, voice low but firm as steel. I arch one eyebrow at my father. “If you’ve got a problem with me, say it to my face instead of dancing around with petty insults. She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“You need to learn some fucking respect, boy!” he roars, rounding on me again.
“Jeremiah!” Oakley cries, darting forward to put herself between us.
