Page 76 of Wicked Minds
He stops, gaze snapping to mine. “What?” he barks. “Why?”
“Why? Are you fucking kidding me? There are a million reasons why, the least of which being that the last time we were in the same room together, you knicked at my skin with a knife while fucking me and ignoring my protests for you to stop.”
“You didn’t,” he argues indignantly.
“I did.”
Frown lines bunch along his forehead. “You didn’t mean it.”
“You were being a psycho, Grayson!”
“You didn’t!” he practically yells. “I wouldn’t…” His eyes dart back and forth before a thought catches and he barks a shattered laugh.
Untangling himself, he steps back so abruptly that I’m left scrambling as I struggle to steady my feet beneath me. His previously lustful stare has hardened to granite as he sneers at me. “You wanted it,” he hisses. “Just because you can’t come to terms with that doesn’t give you the right to place the onus on me. But thanks for the reminder of exactly what type of girl youare.” Giving me a disgusted once over, he turns on his heels and strides away.
Hands coiled into fists at my side, I watch him disappear, wondering how the hell I can go from lusting after Grayson Van Doren to wanting to throttle him in the span of mere seconds.
24
ROYCE
Logan
Can you grab me potato chips while you’re out?
Rolling my eyes, I swipe away from Logan’s notification and instead pull up my chat with Riley—my non-existent chat with her. Staring at our last messages, the night after I punched her asshole boss, I try to think of something to say but come up blank.
Why is this so hard?
I want to talk to her, except I’m not the talkative type, and all I can think of to ask is if she’s okay, where she is, and what she’s doing… which all sound a tad stalkerish, even for me. I hate not knowing what she’s doing, yet I also don’t know how to engage in a text message conversation with her that doesn’t come across as weird as hell.
Logan does it so easily—flirts and messages back and forth. He’s constantly chatting to her when they aren’t together, and especially when they are. Yet, I struggle to piece together a single sentence.
I’m not used to initiating this shit. To voluntarily put myself out there, but I want to try… for her.
Feeling like a total idiot, I stare down at my phone at a loss for words before giving up and stuffing the damn thing into the cup holder.
Forgetting about it, I pull on a pair of black leather gloves, flexing my fingers against the fabric as I do a final sweep of the quiet suburban street before sliding out of the truck. I take the time to silently close the heavy door behind me before slipping unseen into the night.
It wasn’t hard to find Lydia’s address once I tracked her down online and discovered the woman wasnever home. From my quick scan of her social media, she’s a vapid narcissist who careswaytoo much about what people think. Her socials are filled with selfies taken at high-class restaurants and bars with fake friends, at the spa, and on dates. In every single photo, she was wearing a different outfit, dripping in jewelry, and her hair and makeup seemed professionally done.
After everything Riley had said about her mom, I’d decided I needed to do a little research on her for myself. Find out what sort of a bitch keeps a kid from her own daughter.
Apparently, the type perpetually suffers from a mid-life crisis where they pretend to be twenty years younger than they are. Meanwhile, Lydia is out living her best life, and her daughter is slaving away—attending college, studying, working, and doing everything she can to provide for herself and to keep up with her mom’s ludicrous demands.
Seeing her mom’s extravagant lifestyle splashed out before me only infuriated me more and sent alarm bells ringing. Riley mentioned that her mom comes looking for money every month, but from what I can see, she has plenty of it.
Riley might get paid well to dance at Lux, but she doesn’t get paidthat well. If she did, she certainly wouldn’t be throwing her cash at her mom.
Which makes me wonder if Riley is even aware of her mom’s galavanting. The extent to which she’s burning through money. The entire situation is bizarre, yet I do fully appreciate that Riley is simply trying to do the best she can.
However, I’m here now, and I don’t fucking like the setup with her and Auroraone little bit.No mother should be forced to be away from her daughter, and it truly sickens me that it’s Riley’s mom who is standing in her way.
Walking casually down the street, I glance both ways before heading up the drive to Lydia’s house. I watched Lydia unceremoniously dump a half-asleep Aurora off with the neighbor before climbing into an expensive-looking sedan, dressed to the nines and looking as though she wouldn’t be back until morning.
Still, it is with calculated steps that I creep steadily closer to the small bungalow. The thin black Henley I put on does nothing to diminish the bitter winter chill, but it, along with my black jeans and boots, enables me to blend seamlessly with the night.
Pulse steady, my movements are fluid as I crouch beneath a window at the side of the house and pull a set of tools from my pocket before sliding the necessary ones into the lock. My fingers work deftly, the latch unlocking with a softclickbefore I push it open.
