Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45194 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
But I hope to God it won't come to that because, despite how wrong this all is, I'm already anticipating seeing her again.
8
KYLIAN
THE BITTER HERO
Montgomery House is a paradox of marble and gargoyles, ivy, and flowerbeds, a stately pile of rock artfully arranged into a monster estate. It’s surrounded by enough land and forest to isolate it from the rest of the neighborhood, if you can call a loose association of ridiculously expensive properties owned by the wealthiest of the wealthy that. It's our birthright, all part of the family package we will someday inherit.
I fucking hate it.
Too many memories and not many of them good.
Honor used to play here with us. Hide and seek in the English garden maze or swimming in the pond beyond. All four of us. We were a unit, the fearsome foursome as Victoria called us. Before the bitch betrayed us and left us with him. After all I did to protect Honor.
I'm a man now, and sentimentality is a waste of time, but as a little boy, it fucking hurt.
I pull around the hundred-year-old fountain to park right in front of the entrance, a marble monstrosity with Roman columns and a high veranda. The building looms over me like a bad dream, a hulking shadow under the starlight. It's a heavy reminder of who we are and where we have come from.
Of who we're supposed to be.
I'm the first one out, needing fresh air, but Lyle and Nate are quick to follow. The slamming car doors are like gunshots in the quiet night.
Part of me wanted to stay at the club all night. Finding Honor under the mask was a shock, but now that she's ours, I want my fucking money's worth. My back is a scarred mess from all the beatings I took, and it's about time I got something in return. If we only have her for a week, I'm going to put her through her paces, and if she pretends to hate it, even better.
Maybe it's better that she gets to stew until tomorrow night. Let her imagination work for a while. And then show her that her imagination is nothing compared to the reality of what I'm going to do to her.
The massive oak front door with the family seal embossed on it creaks as I push it open. It's as apt a metaphor as any for life here. Fancy as fuck on the outside, but it doesn't take much to show how little care gets put into it.
"Is he home?" asks Nate. He glances towards the west wing, where Dad has his office. Light spills out from under his door down the hall.
"Who the fuck cares?" Lyle shrugs. "Old Dick-Ass can go rot. I've got other things to do."
Dick-Ass. Honor came up with that nickname, surprisingly enough. She was sweet as pie, but her mind took clever turns, too. Richard Aston to the world, Dick-Ass to his kids, real or step. She couldn't have found a more fitting name for him.
Unless it was Abuser. Narcissist. Cruel, insecure piece of shit. There are so many possibilities.
A growling, cigarette-scratched voice calls out, "It's the middle of the fucking night. Where the hell have you boys been?" His voice carries clearly, even through the door. It's amazing how well old stately mansions carry sound. I always knew when Lyle or Nate had a girl over if that paints a picture.
Guess he's home. "You guys do whatever. I'll deal with him."
Nate's forehead creases in concern. "Ky, you don't have to do it alone."
"I know. Now fuck off."
They do, probably out of habit, taking the stairs up toward the bedrooms. It's what they're used to. I could never take all the heat off them, but I did my best. I'm the oldest, after all.
Fuck my hero complex, but if I don't take control, who does?
I roll my shoulders, loosening them. Dad doesn't dare get physical these days, but old habits are hard to break. He was always a firm believer in "spare the rod, spoil the child," but I don't think he ever planned for what to do once his children were grown and bigger than him.
I don't bother knocking.
"It's three in the fucking morning, and you're rolling in like you're still teenagers. The shareholder meeting is at nine sharp tomorrow, and I expect all of you to be there. You're not going to embarrass me out there." His back is to me. It's broad and muscular. There's little doubt where I got it from. Even at his age, he's no pushover.
What the fuck is wrong with this family when the first thing I do on entering my father's office is to prepare for a fistfight? I'm sure that explains more than a few things.
He finds whatever he was searching for in the cabinet and turns to face me. With a grimace and a dark glare, he taps the papers on his desk to align them, then puts them aside for later. He eases into his massive leather desk chair, almost as old as he is. "And if you're out fucking around, you better be careful. The last thing this family needs is a bastard to complicate things."