Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(52)

Trish Lyons.

“You can answer it if you need to,” Sloane says from her seat on the ground. “Callie’s really laid back about personal calls.”

I don’t want to answer it, but I recognize my mom’s antics and she’s escalating. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. Something is prompting her to reach out, and she’s following the normal pattern.

First, it starts with little texts. Just checking in, baby. How are you?

When I ignore them, she turns on the “mom” act a bit more. Please call me. Really worried about you.

Yeah, bullshit.

Then the calls start. She starts to give more away on the voice mails she leaves. Just trying to reach you. I’m in sort of a pickle and could use some help.

Followed by, I need some cash pretty quick, Catherine. They’re going to turn my electricity off if not. Can you wire it to me?

And when that goes unanswered, she gets nasty. If you don’t send me some money, I’m going to keep calling and calling. I’m not going away so just send the f*cking money. You don’t want me showing up on your doorstep.

And I so don’t want her showing up on my doorstep. She did it once and made a huge scene, which embarrassed the hell out of me in front of Samuel.

So when I finally give her the money, it’s so I can have a little bit of peace. It is usually short lived because once she learned I was married to a billionaire, the requests came more frequently. I never had the guts to tell Samuel what I was doing, so I just took some cash advances off my card and would send them to my mom when she asked. It kept her happy for a bit until it didn’t anymore.

We’ve been through the ignored texts, which she’s been sending me for almost a week now. She called and left voice mails yesterday and the day before. Today would be about the time she started to threaten me.

Normally, I would ignore this call too but something in me is a bit different today than it was even yesterday. This morning, I stood up to Kevin and demanded something for myself.

That was something I’m not sure I’ve ever done before, and I don’t pretend otherwise, probably would have never happened but for Rand taking me in and putting me under his wing.

But still… I can do this.

I can stand up to my mother.

I connect the call and say, “Hello Trish.”

She doesn’t even attempt to be offended because she’s not. She’s never minded if I called her Mom or not. “I’m surprised you actually answered. I have a better relationship with your voice mail.”

“Because we have no relationship at all,” I remind her in a tired voice, my eyes sliding down to Sloane to see she’s got her head bent back over the box, trying to be unobtrusive. But I don’t care if she hears this. Hell, she’s watched me gang banged before, so why hide my wretched mom at this point? “What can I do for you?”

She launches right into her tale of woe. “Well, I’ve had a major leak in the roof and I have to get it replaced. It’s going to be pricey, and you know I just don’t have that type of savings. Probably at least ten grand.”

My mom isn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch, and I’m going to have to assume any intellect I have at all was handed down from my dad. She knew her daughter was married to a billionaire. She might not know exactly how many zeroes that is, but she knows it’s a lot. The few times I’ve seen her in in the past three years, she’s seen the jewelry I sport, the Mercedes I drive, and the designer clothing. I even had her over for dinner once to my palatial house, maybe hoping to rub her face in the fact that I landed well despite the things she did to screw me up.

Trish Lyons saw all of that and yet she never asked for more than a few hundred dollars at a time. Hell, I’d drop five-hundred dollars on a haircut every six weeks, so it was nothing to me. She would hit me up for the same amount every few months, so in reality, it wasn’t that bad. Not sure why I dragged things out… ignoring her texts and calls until she turned nasty, then I’d eventually give in and hand the money over.

No, wait… I do know why I did that.

I did that because there was a small part of me that still considered her to be my mother. Some remote part of my heart that perhaps pitied her for her shortcomings and lack of love. Maybe I even did it in gratitude for the life of luxury that had been bestowed upon me.

But regardless, all those years, poor, intellectually challenged Trish Lyons never asked for more than a pittance. I suspected it was maybe to buy some dope or something.

Now she’s asking for ten grand and that’s quite the jump.

And I know exactly why.

“You heard Samuel died,” I guess as I pace alongside the conference room table.

“Just terrible news, sweetie,” she coos at me in such a fake, syrupy voice that my teeth start aching. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say in a clipped voice. “And I don’t have the money.”

“Well, of course you do,” she says as if I’m the silliest person in the world. “Your husband was rich. He’s dead. So you’re rich.”

If only life were that simple.

“Samuel cut me out of the will,” I tell my mother, which is not something I believe at all. In fact, I suspect I’m due a big chunk of change and can buy a new trailer for my mom, not just a roof, if I wanted. But I’ll never tell her that. She doesn’t deserve to know.