Page 50 of Wicked Spite
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stay here,” I tell Oakley, the organ behind my ribs swelling and making my chest feel crowded all of a sudden. “I want to be here for Penn when he comes out.”
Oakley nods, understanding etched on her pretty face. “I get it. Just let us know if you need anything, alright?”
“Will do,” I respond, offering a faint smile before they disappear down the hallway toward the cafeteria. I’m left with the sterile scent of the hospital seeping into my very bones as I stand here, waiting for my fake husband. My fingers drum against the wall, a restless energy coursing through me.
“Reagan St. Pierre,” a voice calls from behind me, dripping with condescension. I turn to see Mr. Blackwood, Penn’s father, striding down the hallway like he owns the place. Nota wrinkle of a worry line marring his expression. He’s here to throw his weight around, I’d bet, not because he’s concerned about his son. Any of his sons, I’d venture to guess.
“Mr. Blackwood,” I greet him cautiously, my body tensing at his mere presence. He’s an imposing figure, the kind of man who thrives on intimidation and control but none of the actual finesse of his son.
“Quite a surprise to find you here,” he says, his eyes scanning me with disdain. “You’re really leaning into the dutiful wife role. I’m just surprised that it’s working on my son. He’s not usually one for domestication.”
I bristle at his words, but hold my tongue. Now is not the time to let my anger flare. “I’m here because I care about Graham and Penn,” I reply evenly.
“Is that so?” he sneers. “Well, I suggest you keep your faux sympathy to a minimum. It’s not very becoming.”
My fists clench at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. I want nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face, but I know it’d only cause more problems for Penn and the rest of us. Instead, I force a tight-lipped smile and say, “I’m not going anywhere. Penn needs me right now, whether you like it or not, and I’m family, after all.”
“Such loyalty,” Mr. Blackwood mocks, his gaze raking over me like I’m dirty. “How touching. But don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re important to this family. You’re just another distraction, and we both know how those tend to end.”
My pulse races, anger boiling beneath my skin. Yet, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me crack. “You don’t know the first thing about me,” I retort, my voice low and dangerous.
He’s stepping closer until his imposing figure towersover me. “You’d be surprised what I know about you, Miss St. Pierre. If you’re smart, you’ll stay out of my way.”
Something inside me snaps at his threat, a primal instinct to protect what’s mine. I stand my ground, refusing to back down. “Penn is not your property,” I snarl, my eyes locked on his. “I know you did something to him to make him the way he is. You broke him and shaped him into your own personal weapon.”
“Remember that defiance when it comes time to pay the price,” he warns, his tone icy. His dark gaze lingers on me, a chilling warning in his eyes. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Mr. Blackwood sneers, his voice dripping with disdain.
“Excuse me?” I snap, my patience wearing thin. His presence alone is enough to make my skin crawl, and his insinuations only add fuel to the fire.
“Watch yourself, Reagan,” he warns, his voice cold as ice. “You may have weaseled your way in with my son for now, but don’t think I don’t know every little thing about you. Your father has a long reach, but mine is longer, and you’d do well to remember that.”
“Stay away from me,” I hiss, clenching my fists at my sides. “And both you and my father can go straight to hell.”
“Sweet as always,” Mr. Blackwood smirks, clearly amused by my anger. “But you’re playing with demons, girl. And when you get dragged to hell, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Your threats don’t scare me,” I retort, glaring daggers into his cold, unfeeling eyes.
“Is that so?” He raises an eyebrow, challenging me to continue, and I feel the heat rising inside of me, a desire to stand my ground and prove him wrong.
I snarl, straightening my spine and standing tall, despite the tremble in my legs. “No man owns me—not you, andcertainly not my father. I make my own choices, and I’ll face the consequences head-on.”
“Brave words,” he concedes with a sardonic smile, stepping back. “But bravery won’t protect you from anything, Reagan. Remember that.”
As he turns to open Graham’s door, I watch him go, my heart pounding in my chest. His words echo in my mind, but they only serve to strengthen my resolve. I refuse to be controlled or manipulated by anyone ever again—especially not him.
Chapter 19
Penn
The waiting room reeks of antiseptic and fear. The chairs are hard, the air too cold. I fidget, bouncing my leg, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t control. Reagan sits across from me, her eyes fixed on some imaginary point in the distance. God, she looks like she wants to slit someone’s throat. Maybe mine. I’d let her just to stop fucking sitting here, doing nothing and not knowing what the fuck is actually happening with my brother.
He looked like himself but also not laying in the bed and connected to all those fucking machines. I could barely fucking stand it.
“How long can this take?” Lincoln mutters, his voice a strained whisper. His fingers drum relentlessly on the armrest. The hospital’s fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over his pale face.
“Longer than we want,” Jeremiah replies, not looking up from his phone. He hasn’t stopped glancing at Oakley every few seconds, as if making sure she’s still there. As if she would go anywhere withouthim.
Ramsey paces near the vending machine, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “This place is a fucking torture chamber,” he says, glaring at the machine like it’s personally responsible for Graham’s accident.
