Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(10)
Preston scoffs, still moving toward me. I back up, hitting the wall and wishing I could disappear into it.
“The guys downstairs won’t shut the fuck up about it. Everyone wants to tame Lenny Primrose, make her their bitch and get Tom’s company in the process. It’s all about status and money for them, and your father’s eating it up, letting them vie for a shot at your hand.”
He stops just in front of me, and I smell it when the toes of his shoes touch my bare feet: alcohol. Preston’s greatest vice.
I grit my teeth as his vodka-laced breath assaults my face, trying not to grimace.
Reaching up, he curls a loose strand of my hair around his middle finger. “They can’t love you like I do, Lenny bug.”
“Get out.” I flinch when he tugs, hating myself for showing weakness.
A small snort comes from his nose. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”
My hands come up, dropping the blanket and shoving at his chest. I’m not sure if I catch him off guard, or if he’s more loaded than I realized, but whatever the case, he stumbles with the push, and I glide past him.
Darting to the other side of the room, I grab the doorknob in my hand and yank it open, standing to the side so he has enough room to leave unimpeded.
For a moment, he just stays there. Staring. Disbelieving, if his wide eyes are any indication.
“You want to date one of those fuckers downstairs, don’t you?” He scoffs, moving to where I’m standing without getting too close. “Still nothing but a dirty fucking slut, I see. Guess you don’t need me to help with that anymore.”
A chasm breaks open in my chest, sucking in all my internal organs and crushing them into dust when it closes. I pinch my eyes shut, steeling myself against the way his words hurt.
Refusing to give him any more of my time, or tears.
“Leave.” Straightening my spine, I peel back my eyelids and raise a brow. “Now.”
The vein in the center of his forehead bulges, seeming to throb with every passing second. I know the heir to a pipeline fortune isn’t used to not getting what he wants, but I’m no longer in a position where I care.
An image of blood and death crosses my mind, giving me pause as he steps out into the hall. Classical music drifts up the split staircase, indicating the party still rages below, and I can’t help but wonder if Jonas has disposed of the body by now.
What I wouldn’t give to kill him all over again.
To kill every single fucker who laid a hand on me months ago. Made one night into something twisted and changed my life for good.
The urge to start with Preston is almost overwhelming.
My hand clamps down around the doorknob until it aches.
Sighing, Preston shakes his head and exits, pausing at the threshold. “Your father will give you back to me if I ask. I didn’t think it’d have to come to this, but I’m not letting you go, Lenny. You belong with me.”
I don’t say anything, and after a moment, he rolls his eyes and finally leaves. Slamming the door behind him, I turn the lock and suck in a deep breath, willing the tears away. The memories flood my brain, playing on repeat until it feels like I’m suffocating.
Clutching at my chest, I tear my pajamas off, trying to get air. To cool down before I combust as fear and misery culminate in my soul, tearing it apart limb from limb.
Ducking into my walk-in closet, I shove aside a dozen pairs of shoes and dig around for the box I keep hidden in the back. Removing the lid, I exhale as my fingers meet familiar cellophane, and immediately get to work removing the contents from each little baggie.
It’s been a while. Years, in fact, since I indulged in multiple urges in a single night.
But right now, the temporary rush feels worth it.
5
Alistair spots me almost immediately as I rejoin the foray.
He stands in a corner of the great room, holding a crystal tumbler with two fingers while a man with a scraggly goatee repeatedly claps him on the shoulder, spittle flying everywhere as he speaks.
Double-checking myself in a hall mirror, I tug at the lapels of my suit jacket and greet them. My brother’s eyebrows rise, perhaps intrigued by my sudden return, though he still looks thoroughly unimpressed by everything else.
I have to admit, the party isn’t what I’d been imagining, either. Save for the grandeur of the Primrose mansion with its glittering chandeliers, luxury furniture, and the massive windows covering three-fourths of the grayish walls, the place manages a complete boredom that I find myself growing quite tired of.
Or perhaps I’m craving a certain level of excitement, and any hope of recapturing what happened on the balcony has already been squandered.
“Brother.” Alistair nods at me, then points his glass at the other man. “Mr. Rafferty, my brother Jonas. Rafferty owns the marina on the south end, and you’ve probably heard of Jonas’s pub, The Flaming Chariot?”
“Ah, yes. The infamous bar owner.” Mr. Rafferty tugs at his goatee once before extending his hand. I don’t take it, and he shifts his weight, dropping it back to his side. “I’m surprised to see you here, though. Without a pair of handcuffs, that is.”
“I can assure you my bedroom habits have nothing to do with what parties I attend.”
Mr. Rafferty’s face flushes, and he glances at my brother. “That isn’t what I meant—”