Page 6 of Wicked Spite
Suddenly, a loud and forceful knock echoes through the apartment. The sound jolts me. My heart pounds as I quickly slide under her bed, my body contorting into the narrow space. The floor is cold against my cheek, the smell of dust invading my nostrils, like a coffin tailor-made for nosy fuckers.
Clearly, she’s big on fucking cleaning.
Frustration bubbles up inside me. I swear to fucking Satan if this is a Netflix n’ Chill situation, Graham can’t hold me accountable for my actions. The thought makes my blood boil. If I have to witness that shit, I’ll kill them both and it will be bloody.
I hear her stomping around in the bathroom and then the door creaks open, and there she is—Reagan, dripping wet and wrapped in an oversized t-shirt and leggings. Her hair cascades down her back, still damp, the scent of her shampoostronger now. She’s bitching to herself, her voice tinged with annoyance.
The struggle to maintain control over my unstable, ruthless side is like holding back a tidal wave with a damn cocktail umbrella. Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait under this fucking dusty deathtrap of a bed. How the fuck does she even fuck anyone on this rickety ass thing?
“Who the fuck is knocking at my goddamn door this time of night?” she growls, stomping toward the offending wood.
That’s what the fuck I want to know also, slipping my hand into my pocket to retrieve my knife. The blade catches a glint of light as I pull it out, its tip cold and unforgiving. I run my thumb over the steel and feel it knick me just a bit. This is going to be messy, and I wish I was somewhere else where I could really get creative. I’m definitely going to need my dad to help cover this one up.
I justloveowing him favors, but I’d rather it be me than any of my brothers. It’s my cross to bear.
The door creaks open, and Reagan melds into the dim glow of the hallway. Her form tightens with visible irritation and then tension lines her whole body.
It only takes a minute for her to start walking backward, and that’s when I see who the fuck interrupted my night of murder.
John St. Pierre. What the actual fuck? Old money, dirty bastard, and corrupt as they come.
One wrong move could screw everything up. St. Pierre might be trash, but he’s also useful trash if handled right.
My blood begins to boil as I watch him invade her space so blatantly every instinct screams at me to act.
“Reagan, my darling daughter,” he says in a sickly sweet voice that sends my gag refluxinto overdrive.
Fucking daughter.
Goddamn it, Reagan fucking St. Pierre.
I knew Smith was a fake ass fucking name. This fucking explains so much and yet now I really can’t fucking kill these two.
I feel a headache coming on. I need them to hurry up so I can get the fuck out of here and go the fuck for a ride.
Chapter 2
Reagan
My father is standing in front of me, visibly angry. His eyes are dark and stormy, burning with rage; his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might shatter. The tension in the air is palpable, like a heavy fog suffocating everything around us.
My heart races, and for a moment, I feel paralyzed by fear. But I shake it off and cautiously cross my arms over my chest. A defense mechanism, I’m sure.
“What do you want?” I demand, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart.
The first step is to confront my past head-on, and that means dealing with my father. Even though he’s been saying one thing, I’ve known him long enough to see the groundwork he’s laying regarding my little sister. She’s safely tucked away at Wellington Academy. But in my gut, I know it won’t be that way for long. He’s going to do the same thing to her that he did to me, and I can’t let that happen. My bitchy stepsister, Ashley, might be into the whole sleeping with older men thing for expensive gifts, but my little sister, Reese, wouldn’t survive that.As much as I hate to admit it, my father’s actions have shaped who I am today, and if I want to break free from his hold, I need to face him.
With resolve building inside me, I know it won’t be easy, but I’m determined to reclaim my life and protect my sister at all costs. That’s why I’ve been here, living in a shitty studio, working at a dive bar, and overall trying to fly under the damn radar. I’ve always been the one to challenge authority, to stand against my father, and now is no different. He sold my virginity to one of his business partners and pressured me to follow through with his deal. The man didn’t want to keep me, though, because I was too difficult, too mouthy, too disgusted with both of them.
“Did you actually think I wouldn’t find out what you’ve been doing, Reagan?” Dad sneers, his words dripping with venom.
“I don’t find myself thinking about you at all,” I reply coolly, trying to maintain my composure. “Except what toilet I’m going to flush your ashes down when someone you’ve double-crossed finally slits your fat throat. Right after I piss on them, of course.”
My father scoffs at my defiance, but doesn’t back down. If anything, his anger seems to intensify, making the air between us even more oppressive.
“Such a gutter mouth. Nothing more than trash. What would your mother say?”
My heart races as I stand my ground, my father’s irate expression burning into me. I know there’s no escaping this confrontation because he’s fixated on me and that’s one thing about dear old dad, once he latches on, he rarely lets go.
