NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 10
Amirah told me they were going to give me half a million to shut up. When I was dragged out of the bedroom, I literally knew I could kiss that idea goodbye. I wasn’t offered a black suitcase full of money but a new location to shack up in this house. All equipped with thick oval-link chains bolted to the cement walls behind me, wrapped and locked around my wrists and ankles, cooler temperatures, and a serene brilliance of sheer blackness surrounding the space.
I highly recommend it for anyone who wants to be kept against their will and provoked by whacked-out females.
I was hoping the little shit with beautiful green eyes would prove me wrong. The sweetness in her voice, the apologetic persona that she painted on so well should earn her an Academy Award for her performance. Odette and Solange aren’t that hard to figure out.
Shit, they wear their nasty persona like Odette is rocking an 80’s color, and we just warped back in time.
However, Amirah has no balls. Odette coming down here only further proves that she has no problem telling me what she wants, what she can do, and what she’ll make sure I know to get it.
They want me as their toy.
And mommy dearest upstairs doesn’t care as long as my blood is offered up on a silver platter to her husband. I’m up against greed and someone’s life is at stake.
Mine.
Fuck the husband because I don’t know if one day they’re going to drain me out and get tired of me or if I’m going to be here until the douchebag croaks.
“Tired? You had one hell of a morning.” I slice my eyes up to Odette, who doesn't look a bit disturbed or affected by what I did to her sister at the dining room table with a knife.
"What the hell do you want?" I watch her smile, confidence oozing off her like hot butter on a baked turkey.
Turkey sounds amazing right now. That's the first thing I'm having when I get the fuck out of here.
"You don't have to be that way with me," she says softly, looking down at her red nails. "Solange learned her lesson."
"Where's my money?"
More like, what the hell are we doing here? We all know that I, Rhett Mills, was never going to get a penny of their hush money and walk Scott-free out of this bitch. Now I’m wondering why Amirah wasted her time even saying it at all.
"You'll get it...eventually." The last word is forced.
I’m not walking out of here until I’m dead.
I officially became a liability when I became conscious again after a night of drinking.
“I don’t work with eventually or maybe’s,” I convey, keeping my voice steady as if I genuinely believed I was leaving this place. “Your sister and I had a deal.”
Odette picks up a small box off a chair and drops it carelessly on the floor. A gust of dust leaving the top. "Amirah is a petty cunt." She slowly takes a seat then crosses her slender legs. "You thought Solange and I were bad."
I cock my head to the side. "She seemed to be the only one who cared."
"Mhm, see—" She leans forward. "—you fell for it. Everyone falls for her bullshit. My dad, my brother. Her goody-two-shoes crap is as fake as my nose job." Her spine hits the back of the chair, and she glances around the stacks of junk lying around. "It's disappointing, whether you admit it or not, that you believed for a second that she was going to let you go home just to have blatantly lie to you about it. That's why I didn't sign up for it."
It doesn’t matter if I believe her words or not. I don’t care how Amirah’s luminous greens latched on to me with promise, sincerity, and lies. They’re all going to die for this. I will enjoy making them all suffer.
"And, what, I'm supposed to thank you?"
Odette sniffs at that. "I'm not dumb enough to believe you want to be here, Rhett. I came to tell you that I'll try to keep Solange away. Her brand of crazy is something I wouldn't wish on a houseguest who's helping out the family."
I don’t answer her, which seems to bug her. She waits—well, attempts to look like she’s not—shifting her weight in her seat and fucking with her manicured nails.
When she gets tired of the awkward lack of sound between us, she rises, not bothering to pull down her tight dress that rises up her thighs.
"I'm not that bad,” she stresses as if she needs me to know. “I might be a bitch, but...not that bad."
I say nothing again because this conversation—pointless.
"Can I bring you down a water?"
I lift my brows. “Do you have any bolt cutters?”
“Any what?”
I sigh. “Nevermind.” Even if she did know what they are, I’m not getting them.
“Did you want that water?”
"Will it be laced with something?"
She shakes her head and folds her hands together. "No, I promise."
"You know that means shit to me, right?"
"I know. The doctor said to keep you hydrated...Dad has a doctor's appointment tomorrow soo...we need to make sure you're all set."
She erases some of the space between us then comes to align her face within mine. Unfortunately, she’s not within any distance of my feet reaching her, let alone my bound hands.
A pretty nice and quick setup for the bullshit lie Amirah tried to feed me.
“I’ll bring you some shirts, my brother is a little smaller than you, but they might work.”
My lips lift in a cocky smirk. “I don’t plan on being here much longer.”
“Confidence for a man without a leg to stand on,” she teases, pointing at my limited ways to move around. “You’re a man with pride, I get it.”
I eye her with blatant conviction and because what she said made no damn sense. “I don’t think you do.”
“I might have some. My boyfriend was a self-righteous prick. God forbid that the man thought that women had half a brain. His small dick didn’t give him any self-esteem either. Opulent piece of shit.”
“Real-life bitch problems.”
Her fake nose flares, but she backs up on her heels. “I’ll be back.”
And she is.
Later.
And with company.
This feels like home.
The closest thing to it anyway. With Dad and Laurent at the dinner table, we talk about current events, everything going on in our lives, and the always conversed topic from my older brother, if he needs to kick anyone’s ass yet—AKA my dating life.
“I can’t believe this is your last couple of weeks,” Laurent beams, twirling his fork into his tagliolini pasta with fresh lobster and parmesan cheese.
The best part about being home is Mom’s cook, Filipe. Literally would gain a hundred pounds with that man if he fed me three meals a day instead of the Chinese food take-out I stretch out for three days to save money.
“I know. I can’t believe it either. I’ve already got an interview lined up in New York with this up-and-coming fashion designer named Mina Blythe. She’s looking to strike the industry with more plus-sized models and an easier way to—“ Mom scoffs from the other side of the table, causing me to fall off what I was saying.
My jaw immediately locks because, let’s just say it together—she’s a fucking snob.
“What’s the matter, Ma?” Laurent quips, fixing her with an innocent look as if he didn’t just catch on to her dislike for models who eat more than cotton balls. He shoves his mouth full of pasta before saying, “Are you still on strike with carbs?”
Mom shifts in her chair and reaches for her red wine, not a piece of her heavenly dinner touched. “I would think with all that schooling your father and I paid for that you’d know to watch how much you eat.”
“I’m on my feet too much,” I chime in. “You know, like working a job.”
“Girls,” Dad interjects, fully aware of when to get the current conversation changed. “Please don’t tell me you’re not going to participate in dinner. I pay your mother’s chef more than I should.”
“Shh, Dad,” I lightly chide as I stab a piece of lobster and dip it into the creamy pasta sauce. “He’ll hear you.”
“Not a big fan of Italian food,” Odette drawls, her arms crossed as she twirls her wine glass and looking bored as shit.
“Solange—“ He points at her plate with the end of his knife. “—you could eat, sweetie.” She holds up her bandaged hand of gauzes, and my mind instantly goes to Mills.
I’m thrilled to have him out of the house. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but because his words and the way he bore daggers into my soul could last me a lifetime.
“Hand hurt,” my sister drawls.
“How did you do that again?” Laurent presses with a perked brow. “You were in the kitchen? Do you even know where that is?”
She purses her full lips together in a fine. “Yes, I know where the kitchen is.”
“Enough arguing,” Dad says. “I’m happy that we’re all here at the dinner table together, enjoying a meal. Odette’s birthday is Saturday, have you and your mother decided what you wanted to do?” He steers his attention to my oldest sibling, and she doesn’t falter on her expression.
In fact, she furrows her brows like a spoiled little brat. “A party.”
Dad bobs his head. “Good, what’s the theme?”
“The girls don’t do themed parties anymore, darling,” Mom divulges over the rim of her glass. “They’ll just be inviting their friends and a few potential people to network with.”
“Do we have to be there?” Laurent asks seriously, and I bump him underneath the table with my foot. He doesn’t retract his question, dead serious on not wanting to be around what is known as the “bitch squad” between the two of us.
“Yes, you have to be there,” Mom confirms. “We’re a family.”
“We’re adopted.” His muttered words create a smirk along my face, and I feel my two sisters intently watching us from across the table. It’s not a well-kept secret that the four of us are really two sets of teams. Not only with our looks, but the way we foresee the world and act in it.
Laurent and I have the same reddish-brown hair and green eyes. We appreciate what’s been given to us, and we believe in respect. Solange and Odette are almost like twins, even though they’re two years apart. Need I say anything more about how they perceive or have any kind of consideration for the human race that’s not the two of them?
“When’s your doc appointment tomorrow, Dad?” Laurent asks through a mouthful of food.
“First thing in the morning. I need to have another blood test to make sure mine matches up safely with this donor, and we go from there.” I steer my attention to Mom, who’s back to sipping her dinner.
I’m not sure how she’s going to break it to him, or if the doctor is, on the fact that there isn’t a blood donor anymore, but I can’t ask it now. Not when I don’t want Dad to know that Mom lost her damn mind. Regardless, he’s going to learn, and I haven’t even told Laurent yet.
“I’ll go with you,” my brother offers. “Drive you back if you need it.”
Dad waves him off. “Not necessary. I’ll be going into the office right afterward.”
“Should you?” I ask. “I mean…you just got home, and he might have some news.”
Dad shrugs as he chews. “About what?”
I look back at Mom for help, but she just stares back at me. A you’re on your own expression plastered on her face.
“I don’t know,” I voice slowly. “I just don’t want you to overdo it, is all.”
He smiles at me. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I promise I’ll take it easy and make sure I don’t collide with anything that might make me bleed out, and we’ll be fine.” My face must speak for itself because he pats at my hand. “I just have a few meetings and lunch with an executive. Nothing major or physically dangerous. I won’t be jumping off any cliffs yet unless Congressman McKinnel doesn’t sign my bill that implements new safety requirements across all transportation modes.”
I nod and leave it at that, knowing that I’ll be checking on him when he gets home to see how overly tired he looks. Then I need to talk to my only sane sibling about everything that’s happened.
Mom doesn’t seem to care at the moment, and my sisters wouldn’t unless Dad was holding up two new AMEX cards and keys to a Bentley.
“Me and you tomorrow for lunch then?” I feel my brother’s eyes on me, and I glance over to give him a nod.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
* * *
“I’m sorry, Amir, but…” Laurent stares at me with so much doubt in his eyes that I’m starting not to believe the story I just told him.
And I told him everything.
Almost.
Minus the sex part with Mills, and I kept Odette and Solange’s part PG-13 rated.
“I know.” I stir my Manhattan with the two cherries at the end of my toothpick. “It’s a lot, and…I didn’t believe it when Mom said it either.”
My brother furrows his brows. “Dad is going to notice half a mil gone. And this guy…dude—” He runs a large hand down the side of his face. “—what the fuck?”
“I know,” I say again through an exhale. The half of million of assets gone out of our parent’s bank account is a conversation I’m grateful that I don’t have to have, but the donor…Dad’s about to find out it’s gone.
“I swear to God that woman.” Laurent throws back the rest of his bourbon, and I watch all the emotions cross his face.
He’s pissed; that’s the one that stands out the most. Then there’s the possibility that we’re all in massive trouble if Mills runs to the cops.
“How many days has it been?”
“Two.”
“How long was he at the house?”
I shake my head with a shrug. “I don’t know. I had only been home that night.”
Laurent blows a heavy breath through his lips, and his whole face lifts. “This is…just wow.”
“You can’t tell Dad.” I lean over the table of the restaurant we’re sitting at for lunch. “Mom will kill me.”
“He might just kill her himself.” Laurent doesn’t seem to care either way. His relationship with Mom is almost similar to mine, except she’s proud of him. My brother just doesn’t care. “If he doesn’t die first.”
“Laurent,” I seize out. The thought of another donor being located scaring the shit out of me.
My brother hits me with an exasperated and tired glance. “She brought you down in this bullshit with her, and what if he turns around and involves the police?”
“We need to find another doctor.”
“We need to find you a lawyer.”
“I’m not worried about me yet,” I counter. “If Dad has this rare blood, we need to push on these doctors to find someone that’ll help.”
“I don’t think it’s that easy.” He leans back in his chair and eyes his empty glass. “However, it obviously wouldn’t hurt to try. I know a few doctors. I could ask around if Dad comes back tonight with bad news.” He powers on his cell that’s placed on the table. “Nothing yet.”
“And Odette and Solange?”
Laurent sniffs through his nose and rolls his eyes, waving down our waitress. “Lost causes. They’re going to do what they want to do when they want to do it. Steer clear from them, A.”
“I can’t. I live at home now.”
He shakes his head. “You need to go.”
“And leave Dad with them? I can’t.”
“Dad is barely there for obvious reasons.” I narrow my eyes which gets him to continue. “Mom and Dad haven’t gotten along in years. They front as good as the rest of high society with their fake ass concern for each other and attending charity events together. It’s all a load of bullshit.”
“Are they…” The waitress shows up at our table, smiling down at my brother with a flirty lift of her mouth, but he doesn’t notice. He just needs his liquor to blow through this day.
When she leaves, I stare at him to continue.
“What? You don’t think Mom is shallow? That she didn’t marry Dad for his money? A model marrying a millionaire? C’mon…”
“How do you know?”
“How do you not know? Mom doesn’t give a shit when Dad’s not home. She’s trying to keep him alive for—nevermind.” He sets his jaw and takes another generous sip of liquor. “Fill in the blanks, lil sis. You’re not about to get a bachelor’s because you’re an idiot.”
I avert my gaze from our table and look around to buy myself some time to think about what he’s saying. It’s not that I haven’t seen it before, how she could really give a crap if he comes home or not. But she does like to have special dinners made for him. She loves to plan vacations, and…she’s playing the doting wife.
She’s doing her job.
And Odette and Solange, she’s molded them into her vision to be and act just like her.
A heavy sadness washes over me, and it’s not for my parents, but just Dad. He’s battling a sickness that could cause him to forever be changed by one quick mistake, and just thinking that Mom will be there to tend to him is laughable.
It’ll be a caregiver if it ever comes to that. Mom will just spend his money in more bulk now that he can’t watch it as closely.
“You need to get on Dad’s will as power of attorney,” I blurt out. “In case something bad happens. Mom will run him dry financially.”
“Already working on it,” my brother professes, surprising me but then not because he’s always ahead of the curve. “Dad and I have had…long conversations. He’s mentioned their failing marriage before. And he’s not totally naive to believe that Mom will stick around if something happens.”
“Does Mom know?” He shakes his head. “Good.”
“We’ll figure this all out.” He tries to give me a weak grin, but he falls short. Our family was bound to fall apart, I guess. And honestly, I won’t get upset about it. Dad deserves better than a wife that only cares about how she’s provided for and two daughters who weren’t concerned about Mills being a blood donor but what he could do for them sexually.
