Page 19 of Wicked Spite
“I’ll be there in an hour.” I roll my eyes, my tone oozing sarcasm.
“Twenty fucking minutes, Penn. Or else.”
“Sure thing, Robert. Can’t wait,” I say, but the line’s already dead. Figures.
I stuff the phone back into my pocket, my mind already churning through the shitstorm that’s about to hit. Robert doesn’t call unless it’s business, and it’s always business. We aren’t about to play a round of family golf for a father-son bonding moment.
Forty minutes later, I stroll into the Blackwood mansion.The air’s thick with the smell of leather and old money. It’s so fucking ostentatious. Robert’s pacing, already fuming.
“You’re late,” he snaps, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to drill holes into my skull.
“Traffic,” I shrug. “What do you want now?”
“Save the excuses,” he snaps. “We need to talk. Now.”
“Lead the way, Satan,” I say, following him down the dimly lit corridor. Each step feels like marching toward my doom.
“Don’t call me that,” he bites out, not even looking back.
“Why? It fits you so well.”
He finally stops at his study door, swinging it open with a force that makes it slam against the wall. The room smells of leather and cigar smoke, an aroma that’s as comforting as it is revolting. He takes his throne behind the massive oak desk, leaving me to stand like a schoolboy summoned to the principal’s office.
“Sit,” he commands, nodding to the chair. I don’t move.
“Suit yourself,” he says, leaning back, the leather creaking under his weight. “I’ve been hearing things, Penn.”
“And just what have you heard?”
“Cut the crap,” he snarls, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’ve been following Reagan St. Pierre.”
“Reagan?” I feign ignorance, fiddling with the brim of my cap. “Who’s that?”
“Don’t play dumb with me! You think I don’t know what goes on under my nose?”
“Well, considering how much time you spend with your head up your ass, I’d say it’s a miracle you know anything at all.” I wince in my mind; I’m going to fucking pay for that remark.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he hisses, his voice dangerouslylow. “I’d hate for something to happen to your brothers or one of their whores.”
My fists curl tightly at my sides. I can feel the blood rushing to my head. The room closes in on me—suffocating me in his presence.
“Leave my brothers and the girls out of whatever fucking shit you think is going on,” I snap, my voice barely controlled. “You got a problem with me, take it up and out on me.”
His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flickering as he leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin. “Oh, I intend to,” he says softly, too softly. “But you see, Penn, I need leverage with you. Your brothers and their…distractions are perfect for that.”
I want to leap across the desk and throttle him. Instead, I take a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. That’s exactly what he wants, and I can’t give it to him so easily.
“She saw something,” I say, leaning against the ornate desk. “Something she shouldn’t have. Went to handle it, but then her dad showed up.” I smirk, loving how this is pissing him off.
“Jesus Christ,” Robert mutters, rubbing his temples. “What the fuck did she see?”
“Look, we may have taken a little trip to go pay some guy a visit. Jere may have gotten a bit carried away, but ya know he loves little Ashford. Rapist got what he deserved and just so happened the chick was walking by and saw it play out.”
“You’re a bleeding heart just like Jeremiah,” Robert says, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fucking hell, I’ve been too soft on all four of you.”
“Yeah, Robert, you’re a real inspiration,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Maybe if you had half my backbone, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” he growls, leaning closer. “You shouldn’t havegone after that frat boy because of what he did to Oakley. Now look at you, paying the price.”
