Page 23 of Wicked

“I’ll see you later, Mia.”

She grabs my arm. “Join us. You’re family.”

I swallow hard, unsure my ovaries can handle watching Remy doting over his grandson. My sick ass self can’t help my mind from disappearing into the forbidden gutter. “I’ve got some writing to do,” I lie because I haven’t put words on the page for months.

Mia pouts. “Okay, well, we’ll arrange that shopping trip soon.”

I smile. “Can’t wait.”

I watch Remy lift his grandson into his arms and carry him toward the kitchen, Mia trailing behind. I need to stop thinking of my stepdad in the most illicit and forbidden way. Mom will be back home tomorrow.

And yet, I can’t stop the dirty thoughts from flooding my mind whenever I’m near him. The only option is to avoid him at all costs, which shouldn’t be too difficult in a giant mansion, right?

9

REMY

Relationships have never been my forte, even when I presumed myself in love with my first wife and the mother of my children.

I don’t think I’ve ever truly believed that love exists.

As I listen to my man explain how my current wife has been found brutally murdered in Las Vegas, I can’t muster an ounce of emotion. I never loved Erin. While she was beautiful like her daughter, there was something rotten about her on the inside. A complete contrast to her daughter, who is pure innocence.

“Find the people responsible and bring them to me,” I say, ending the call.

I have to tell Ella that her mother is dead, but I hate being alone with her. A difficult task as now it leaves her in limbo.

Where will she live?

She can’t stay under my roof, especially now that Erin is no longer an obstacle between us. I’d have her calling me Daddy while I fuck her into oblivion before I could think straight if she lived permanently under my roof without her mom, but she has nowhere to go and no one.

“Fuck,” I growl, knowing that this is the most twisted situation I’ve found myself in, in a long time. My cock is semi-hard in my boxer briefs mere minutes after discovering my wife has been murdered, thinking about her daughter calling me Daddy.

Someone needs to lock me in a fucking mental asylum fast and throw away the key because I fear I won’t be able to control myself around that girl.

I take a deep breath and head to Ella’s room, bracing myself for the task.

The door is ajar, and I glance through the gap to see her sitting on her bed with a book in her hands. Her long blonde hair falls over her shoulders gracefully, and she doesn’t notice as I push the door open further.

“Ella,” I say her name more sternly than I intended.

She practically jumps a mile at the sound of my voice. And then she glances at her attire, blushing as she’s only wearing a skimpy pair of pajama shorts and a top with no bra underneath.

“R-Remy, what are you doing in here?” She crosses her arms over her chest to hide her hard nipples.

Fuck, what am I doing in here?

I should have asked her to get dressed and come downstairs. “I’ve got some bad news,” I say, knowing I should be sensitive about this, but it’s not in my nature.

Her eyes widen. “What kind of bad news?”

“Your mom, she got killed in Vegas.”

The color drains from Ella’s face, and her eyes widen in shock. I can see tears forming behind them, but she’s trying to hold them back in front of me. “How?”

“Someone murdered her. My men are trying to track down who. It was likely a rival trying to get back at me for something.”

Her lip wobbles, and then the floodgates open as she collapses onto her bed, sobbing. A part of me wants to go to her, wrap my arms around her and pull her into my lap, but I know I can’t go near her.

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