Eight

Wilder

Sitting on the hotel bed, I looked out over the Vegas Strip while I waited for Sarah to answer her phone. Today was Oakley’s first day taking Sarah to school and picking her up. I’d been nervous about it. I didn’t like not being the one there to make sure she was safely in and out of the building.

The private school she attended had agreed to my safety measures with Sarah. It was one of the reasons I had chosen that school. No photos of her were to be taken. She wasn’t allowed to be outside without a teacher. She must have a male teacher who was fit and could handle things in case of an emergency. I’d even met with Barry Powell, her teacher, prior to her attending to discuss her security. I hadn’t told the man I was part of the Southern Mafia, but I’d weaved enough fear into my words that he was aware of who he was dealing with if something happened to my daughter.

“Hey, Daddy!” Sarah’s happy voice came over the line.

Damn, it had been a while since she’d answered my calls like that.

“Hey, you. How was your day?” I replied, smiling.

“Awesome! I’m helping Oaky make dinner. We are having cheesy spaghetti and meatballs. And we bought a basket of apples on our way home from school, and we’re gonna make apple pie for dessert.”

Of course Oakley was the reason for my daughter’s joy. I should be thankful she was so damn happy. Not annoyed with the person who was causing it.

“That sounds good. How was school?” I asked, not wanting to talk about her aunt.

School was a safe zone. Oakley wasn’t there.

Sarah giggled. “Good.”

That was it.

“What’s funny?” I asked, curious as to what was amusing her.

“Mr. Powell has a crush on Oaky.”

I heard Oakley shush her in the background. When the hell had Barry seen Oakley? She had to drop Sarah off and pick her up, for God’s sake. Did the woman not go unnoticed by any man?

“Just from seeing her in the car line?” I asked, pressing for more information.

I heard some whispering and more laughter from Sarah.

“He saw her when she walked me in this morning,” Sarah blurted out, then squealed.

Oakley must be trying to stop her from telling me something.

I reached for my phone. I had my earbud in, talking to Sarah, but I wanted to see the camera in the kitchen. I didn’t like this, and I fucking didn’t like the fact that Oakley had done something that she was wanting my daughter to keep a secret from me.

Pulling up the app, I clicked on the camera in the kitchen so that it filled my screen. I had purposely not looked at the house cameras since I’d left because I didn’t want to see Oakley. Now, with her there in my kitchen, dressed in a crop top and tiny red shorts, stirring a pot while shaking her head at my daughter, who was clearly fighting back a fit of giggles as she held her phone, I wished I hadn’t looked.

The scene was one that was going to be hard to get out of my head. My kitchen, my daughter standing on a stool with a large bowl in front of her and a huge smile on her face while the only woman I’d ever loved stood at the stove, cooking, looking like a pinup model.

Fuck.

Jerking my gaze off Oakley, I watched as Belladonna put her front paws on the chair, begging for whatever was in Sarah’s bowl.

Clearing my throat, I quickly put my phone down. Staring at that wasn’t good for me. It was unrealistic shit, and I had to remember the cruelty that woman could wield.

“I see,” I said. “I’m sure you misunderstood the situation.”

“He asked me if she had a boyfriend and if she lived in town, and then he walked me to her car after school and winked at her.”

Not cool, Barry. My hand fisted as I glared at the window. Dammit, Oakley, do you have to cause a fucking scene everywhere you go?

“Tell me about your day. You. What you did today. What was the best part about your day?”

Get the subject off your aunt, who you love and I hate, before I say something I shouldn’t.

“My room! Oaky decorated it. She even got me this furry white beanbag chair that is AH-MAZING! And we are going to paint a mural of Belladonna playing down by the creek at her house. She’s going to draw it on the wall in my room, and then we paint it!”

Scowling, I fought the urge to grab my damn phone and throw it. Oakley hadn’t asked me if she could decorate Sarah’s room and buy her things for it. She sure as fuck hadn’t asked me if she could paint her walls. She was supposed to be babysitting, not redecorating my house.

“I have to finish buttering the bread to put in the oven, Daddy. I need to go. I love you!” Sarah’s voice came over the line, and I managed to respond appropriately.

She was telling me she loved me. She sounded like she meant it. She was happy.

I should be relieved. Not ready to strangle the woman giving me my daughter back.

Ten Years Ago

Oakley wanted me to react. This was her forcing me to admit that what I felt for her went deeper than friendship. I told myself that I couldn’t give her that. Telling her that I was fucking in love with her and wanted to murder my own cousin for touching her wasn’t going to help either of us.

I put the empty glass of whiskey down harder than necessary as I turned to walk outside. Go anywhere but stay in this fucking house, watching my little cousin—who I knew had cheated on Oakley just last week—act as if she belonged to him.

The smell of berries, pine, gingerbread, and sugar cookies filled the air at Sebastian’s mansion. Their annual Christmas party was always massive and over the top. I didn’t want to be here. My father had informed me in so many words that I had to be. This was family business. We came to all family business. So, here I was, enduring it. Hating every motherfucking moment of it.

I wanted to go inside and snatch Oakley away from Wells. Take her with me. Somewhere our age difference didn’t matter. Where I could hold her, kiss her, tell her that, yes, I loved her. I was infatuated with her. She owned me. All the things I knew she wanted to hear, but I couldn’t say.

The cold night air hit me as I stepped onto the back veranda, covered in twinkling holiday lights, several Christmas trees, and a decorative fire centerpiece. Few people were out here due to the frigid temperature. It rarely got this cold in the winter in Georgia. I ignored the bite of the icy wind and stood with my hands jammed in the front pockets of my dress slacks. The deep green sweater I was wearing wasn’t enough warmth, but my anger was doing a pretty damn good job of keeping me warm.

“I know you don’t fucking smoke, so why are you out here?” Thatcher drawled behind me.

I glanced back at him as he lit up a cigarette he’d just stuck between his teeth. The ridiculous bow tie and tux he was wearing would be comical on anyone else. However, Thatcher held his threatening persona just fine in it. He’d first come down to the party in a brown leather jacket, jeans, and boots. His mother had been extremely unhappy about it, so this was his response to it. The man never did anything halfway. It was all or nothing.

“I needed some air,” I replied, turning my attention back to the fire.

He let out a hard laugh. “Bullshit,” he replied. “You needed to get away from the sight of Oakley Watson and Wells.”

I clenched my teeth and wished like hell I smoked. I could use something right now to take the edge off. He was right, and there was no use in arguing with him. King might be my best friend, but we were all tight. Thatcher was no one’s best friend because he didn’t allow anyone close enough. There was a darkness in his soul that warned you to stay back. Not to dig too deep. We respected it.

“She’s too young,” I said when he walked over to lean against the railing in front of me.

“Yeah, she is. But she’s hot as fuck, and she wants you. That’s hard to resist.”

I inhaled deeply through my nose. It was difficult to hear that her want for me was strong enough that even my friends saw it. I was doing my best to respect her. Just be her friend, but the more she threw herself at me, flirted with me, found reasons to be near me, the more my self-control was slowing chipping away.

“She’s with Wells,” I said, knowing that meant nothing to me. Wells didn’t deserve her.

Thatcher cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, and Wells knows she wants you too. Why do you think he’s fucking other girls? He’s not even being careful about it. He wants her to find out. He’s trying to hurt her because she wants you,” he finished, then stuck the cigarette between his lips and inhaled.

“He’s fucked other girls? I thought it was just the one last week.” My anger turned into full-blown fury. I was going to hurt him.

Thatcher let out a humorless laugh. “Girls, my friend. Many. He’s become a fucking whore. I’d be surprised if Oakley doesn’t already know. It’s not like she’s paying any attention to him in there. All she’s done is look at you all night. The needy look in those pretty blue eyes was making me fucking hard, and it’s not me she wants to crawl up and play with.”

Dammit, I didn’t need that image in my head.

Turning, I headed back inside.

I had to make a decision. If Wells was cheating on her, she needed to know. I couldn’t have her yet, but whoever did was sure as hell going to respect her. Treasure what they had. Or I was going to kill them and enjoy it.