CHAPTER TWENTY
PARKER
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T ossing the photos from Mary-Anne’s shoebox onto my bed, I rub my jaw.
“Fuck.”
I’ve stared at them for hours, rage and nausea rolling through me. I don’t know whether to punch a wall or vomit.
The majority of the photos were taken in that room. I immediately recalled the brown wood-paneled walls, the bar in the corner, the bronze sofa and armchairs. Aurora was right, her mother wasn’t wealthy back then. All the furnishings looked well worn and used.
When my eyes had landed on the bottles along the shelf which I’d focused on many times while my body didn’t belong to me, I’d tensed so fucking hard my head throbbed.
The faces of the people, for some reason, don’t seem familiar. That’s either because I’ve blocked them out or these are different people.
Doesn’t matter.
They are all guilty.
I remember Mary-Anne, and seeing the photos of how I remembered her from all different angles had my body shaking with anger.
The funny thing is, I don’t see any similarities between her and Aurora. They are nothing alike. Not in body shape, coloring, or the way they hold themselves. That’s got to be odd for a mother and daughter.
Or maybe I just don’t want to see it.
I’m not an expert on these things. Perhaps she’s more like her father. Whoever he is.
On Monday, I’m going to get a friend of mine to run these photos through a face recognition system. Hopefully, we will find one or two of them. It will take their names to pop up in the criminal database, so if they are law-abiding citizens—aside from this depraved shit—then I won’t be successful.
But with technology changing, and billions of dollars to my name, that will change.
One day I’ll catch them all.
While I’d like to hand them over with enough evidence to see them put away and shamed by society and those they care about, that’s not the only path available to me.
I don’t care if they are swinging on a porch somewhere reflecting on their long life. If I find them, I will kill them.
I scoop the images up and tuck them away somewhere Aurora can’t find them if she visits again.
There was one little boy. He was bigger than me. I saw him a few times, but when I tried to smile, he looked mad. I’ll never forget him.
I run my hand over my face.
My reaction to her words as our past and present collided was so visceral. I wanted to run while also scooping her up and taking her with me. To save her from whatever she might say or remember next.
Most of the evidence points to her being protected, but the relationship with her mother is still strange. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I need to remember what I’m doing here. This is about me and finding these jerks to stop them and whatever system is still in play so other kids aren’t harmed.
My reaction to Aurora's memory was the warning I needed. My feelings for her are getting blurred with my purpose and my own psychological bullshit.
I’ve always been a dominant lover, but this possessiveness is new. I figure it’s just another side effect of my broken childhood. I’d die for my friends after all. A woman? That’s new.
Really new.
I’m not here to fall in love. It’s not a life goal.
“I’m too fucked up.” I say out loud to the empty room, admitting the truth for the first time.
I’m not capable of love or a normal relationship, so why bother? Why try?
Those people did shit to me that I could never voice. Christ, I can’t even think about it. Intimate relationships mirror back your crap, and I have no desire to delve deep, face my shit, and be someone’s fucking hero.
Trust me, I’m no hero.
I survived because my grandmother found out what was going on and was concerned about the family's reputation. No one took me to therapy. My mother told me I was a liar. There was no care or love suddenly wrapped around me to nurture what was left of my soul. I was shipped away to boarding school. Something, I’m well aware, saved me from being further damaged.
Trust me, I’m not the man anyone wants as a husband or father. I’m a ruthless businessman, a loyal friend, and an excellent street fighter. Or at least I was.
But I’m sure I could still take them.
Passing on my fucked-up DNA is the last thing I want to do as a responsible member of the human race. There are plenty of other things in this life to enjoy. Sex, travel, making money...
For now, faking this relationship continues, and tonight is going to be a challenge. I’m taking Aurora—and Chloe—to the Alliance Club.
With only a few minutes left before I leave, I adjust the collar of my shirt, then grab my Rolex. Flipping my wrist over to do up the latch, my phone rings.
Speak of the devil.
I’ve been expecting this call. When I don’t reply to my mother, Grandma is sent my way.
“Call your brother,” she says the moment I answer.
“No,” I reply, putting her on speaker.
The good thing about my relationship with her is we’ve openly talked about the effects of what happened to me. There’s no denial like there is with my mother, so I can be as direct as I like.
“Parker. He’s your brother.”
“It’d be much easier if you text me each year so I can just copy and paste my response.” I grab my wallet and walk through the living area.
“All you have to do is call him and say happy birthday.”
“No. I don’t. Yes, I know it’s his sixteenth and I will say the same thing on his twenty-first and thirtieth, etc.”
Grandma sighs.
“What harm will it do, Parker? He’s a nice boy.”
Well, good for him.
I might’ve been a nice boy too if people hadn’t shoved their cocks in my ass every weekend.
But here we are.
“Another reason I shouldn’t be near him.” I shake my head, forcing back the words I’d like to say.
But this woman saved my life, so she deserves some of my respect.
“Parker.” There’s sadness in her tone, and I cringe.
I don’t want her pity or to discuss the past. Again. What’s done is done. But seeing my brother living a normal happy life—the one I deserved—fills me with so much hatred that I will not put myself through it to please everyone else.
Despite it not being his fault.
Poor him.
Whatever.
If the worst thing Michael has to deal with is a messed up, absent older brother, then I’m sure he’ll survive.
“He’s better off without me and the knowledge of what happened. You know that.”
“Then don’t tell him.” Grandma snaps.
I bark out an angry laugh. “You mean protect him? Like I never fucking had.”
“Language, Parker Stone.”
Shaking my head, I pour two fingers of Macallan and toss it back. She won’t let me end this call until I make a promise we both know I’ll break.
“I’ll think about it. Right now, I have to go.”
“Tell me you’ve met a nice girl. That you’re finally dating. You deserve to be happy, Parker.”
I deserved to be protected, too, but that never happened.
I also deserve revenge and will make damn sure I get it before I take my last breath.
I throw my grandmother a bone and hear my voice soften as I think of Aurora and say, “I have, you’d like her. She’s beautiful and a talented painter.”
Which reminds me. I swipe the phone and reread the email from Jean Michelle, a well-known New York art collector. I sent him a few photos of Aurora’s paintings and asked what he thought.
Introduce me. Who is this artist?
Smiling, I click reply. I knew she was good. I wouldn’t call myself an expert in these things. I like what I like. But there is something about her paintings that touched a deep part of me and I wanted to know if I was alone.
I type a reply.
Friend of mine. I’ll set up a meeting.
“Oh! That’s wonderful. Bring her to Michael’s birthday. It will make your mother so happy.” Grandma preens as I click send and refocus.
I almost bark out a laugh. Where she ever got the idea that was a life goal of mine, I have no idea. Then I imagine Aurora on my arm, meeting my family, and my chest feels warm and strange.
“I have to go.” I push all the strange emotions aside.
“Love you, my boy,” Grandma says, as she always does.
I never say it back.
She knows why.
I am capable of friendship, loyalty, and passion. That’s enough for one lifetime.
That is, until Travis pressed against Aurora, whispering to her as she orgasmed. Whatever he triggered within me is confusing and not welcome.
So tonight, I will prove to myself, Aurora, and the guys that my relationship with her is casual.
I’ve got the photos and if I find nothing else in Mary-Anne’s home, then it’s time to move on.
Whatever created the possessive reaction inside of me has passed. What better way than sitting back and letting Aurora have fun at the club?
No more sex toys, no more exclusivity, Parker.
Those were her words, and I agreed.
I’ve got this. Smirking, I toss back another shot of whisky and head to the elevators. Aurora is going to be so out of her element at the club she’ll be clinging to my side.
My little fly, stuck in my web.