I cry every time I think about it. I’m crying now. Crying for him and crying for them. I can’t even handle the images inside my head.
The only thing I know for certain is those sick sons of bitches permanently made sure there would be no pregnancies as a result of the crimes they were committing. They found a gruesomely twisted, inhumane way around having to worry about abortion costs, missed birth control pills, and the price of condoms.
My heart breaks for Pax, but he survived it and the minute he found a way out of that hellhole at seventeen, he took it and he’s never looked back since.
I don’t even know if he remembers telling me, so I’ve never brought it up and I never will. It bothers me that he thinks my mother is abusive after knowing what he’s survived, and whether he knows it or not, I’m in love with him. I just can’t take the chance of giving him my heart when he could take off at any time.
It’s the only thing that scares me.
Losing him.
Money can’t buy Satan’s sobriety and it sure as shit can’t force Pax to stay, but when I get done crucifying my mother, it’ll guarantee one thing: she won’t be laying a filthy fucking finger on Whiskey. My Whiskey, anyway.
Four
Timing
(Two Weeks Later)
They say timing is everything. I think it’s a crock. Time is a killer, it’s the echoing sound of a ticking clock, and endless torture for those of us who want to get shit done yesterday, but instead have to wait patiently for the right time.
I woke up four days ago to an empty sofa. Pax is gone, again. Off on one of his skewed sabbaticals, I suppose, slaying his demons or whatever, but I see this as a good thing for once. It’s time to put my plan in motion to slay my own demon.
I’ve invited the douchebag lawyer over, and he’ll be here in a few minutes… seems he and Lucifer have spent the last two weeks soiling her sheets but at least he won’t have far to walk. If I didn’t know better, I’d have to say Lucifer is quite smitten with Wallstreet. He’s well off, not bad looking, and I can’t say I blame her. I also can’t say I’m cool with it either. Pax was right as far as I can tell. Gabe is into me. I’ve noticed his eyes on me a few times when I’ve been in the main house, although I’ve ignored it. Pax was quick to make his presence known when he noticed it once or twice as well, but I ignored that too. But now, since there is no genie in a bottle of Whiskey to interfere, with my strategy, I’m going all in.
Gabe thinks I have questions about the will, which I do, just not the ones he believes I will ask. I glance in the mirror, adjust my breasts, and check myself out, just as the bell rings. Showtime.
“Gabe,” I say, welcoming him in. “Please have a seat.”
“Good morning, Kirsten.”
I smile and close the door behind him, taking in the way he scans the room first and then his eyes hover over my appearance.
It’s safe to assume he was trying to see if Pax was here. He’s clearly attracted to me by the way his eyes dart away from my exposed stomach and lack of attire.
I’m purposely dressed in my thigh high boots, jean shorts, and braless underneath my sheer lace crop top, precisely to garner this exact reaction.
“So, Gabe,” I say taking a seat beside him. “Did you get the papers I left with Natasha last week?”
He clears his throat and moves several inches to his left, seemingly uncomfortable with how close I am.
“I did and I filed them with the clerk’s office.”
“Fascinating,” I say, crossing my legs.
I watch his eyes wander down to check me out briefly before he crosses his arms and pins me with a stern look.
“Did you invite me here to ask me something important, or is this one of the games your mother warned me about?”
He gestures all around me, his vibrant green eyes narrowed.
“That depends,” I laugh, “what is it she told you?”
He shrugs, “Just that you have a tendency to try to seduce her partners.”
“Interesting,” I say sarcastically as I lean in and whisper in his ear; “This would be my first attempt. Usually it’s her who fucks all of my friends first.”
He sighs, his breathing deepens, and I can tell he’s reacting to my presence, so I back off and give him some room.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
“That won’t be necessary. I think I should go.”
“Why? What are you afraid of Wallstreet? Pax or Satan? Because Whiskey isn’t here, and I had the locks changed. There is nothing to worry about,” I assure, lightly running my fingers up his thigh.
He doesn’t move, just sits staring at me, tempted I assume. His breathing is visibly faster, and I can tell he’s contemplating.
“What is this about? Are you trying to get back at your mother?”
“Maybe… or maybe I’m just lonely.”
Adjusting his position, he runs his hand through his thick hair and sighs.
“Look, you are a very attractive young woman, Kirsten, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Well, your dick seems to think it is,” I point out, noting he’s hard and straining against his pants.
I grip it firmly and stroke it, climbing onto his lap as I do, and
