PART 1 #4
We have weddings to plan. Projects that can’t stall, because her fiancé is always out of town. Winter wants to start some humanitarian organization, and I know Kai’s family has connections abroad who can help.
Not to mention Banks. We need everything nicely set up for my plans for her, and it’s past time to get started. I’ll need help getting her on board.
And keeping Kai out of my way about it.
And, of course, there’s Will.
“Pithom,” she says.
I meet her eyes, a smile spreading across my lips. Michael’s family’s yacht. Not a bad location. No need for locked doors, because there’s no escape at sea.
I nod.
Someone enters the room, and I look up to see Misha walk in, Winter holding onto the other girl’s arm.
“I need to talk to you,” he says to Rika.
She slides off the stool. “Right,” she says, like they had a conversation I interrupted when I showed up. “I’m sorry.”
I take Winter’s hand and guide her over to me, locking eyes for a moment with the chick who brought her in.
“Who is she?” I ask.
But Misha takes the woman’s arm and slides her behind him, out of my view.
I snort. “I just wanted to say hi,” I tease. “I mean, we’ll all run into each other a lot. She may as well get to know me.”
If his dad is dating Rika’s mother, and they possibly get married, we’ll all have to get really friendly.
Winter chimes in. “His bite is worse than his bark, but he only bites me,” she assures the new kids. “Don’t worry.” And then she arches up on her toes to kiss my jaw. “Get along, please.”
Misha’s snotty little glare rests on me, because he wouldn’t know a good time if it sat on his face. The girl is cute, though.
He finally turns his eyes to Rika. “When was the last time you heard from Will?”
My stomach coils at the mention. Will is rarely in touch these days, but he is adamant that he needs to do what he needs to do. I left him once, after all. If he could wait me out, I can do the same for him.
“He texts,” Rika answers.
“He texts you?”
“Well, his parents,” Rika replies. “They say he’s on a retreat. Doing humanitarian stuff in Asia.”
Misha shakes his head. “They’re lying.”
“How do you know?” I chime in.
“Because I know them,” he shoots back. “His mother nods a lot when she’s saying things that aren’t true.”
Rika looks at me. “Rehab?”
Possibly. They could be getting him sober and keeping it quiet.
But it’s Misha who responds. “They would tell us, because they know Will would anyway once he got out.”
“They might not want us looking for him, though,” Rika suggests.
“Well, I think we should,” Misha tells her.
I thin my eyes, liquid heat running down my arms, because now he has me afraid.
“Why are you worried?” I ask him.
“Because my grandfather is coming up on re-election, and Will is a mess.”
The weight of what he’s suggesting slowly starts to sink in. My father threatened me with it countless times, but I’ve never heard of anyone actually being sent there. He’d be in more danger there than not.
But…he’d be out of the way. He’d be unheard and unseen. No longer a liability.
“Ivar was born a year ago.” I look down at Rika as I hold Winter’s hand, realization hitting me. “He wouldn’t have abandoned me this long. Not willingly.”
She shakes her head. “They wouldn’t…”
“I really hope not,” I say. “Even if we can find it, we’ll never get in.”
Misha moves up, standing directly at Rika’s side. “Don’t you worry about it,” he tells me. “We’ll take care of it.”
What? We’ll take care of…
I grab Rika’s arm and pull her over to my side as I glare at him. “That’s right. We will.”
You little shit. You know what your parents almost married makes you and her? Absolutely nothing. No one shuts me out.
“This is family business,” he maintains.
“And I’m the oldest,” I fire back, inching forward. “Get in line.”
He may very well be her step-brother at some point, but I’m blood.
“Guys…” Rika shoots out her hands to push us both back.
“You fucked him up enough,” Misha warns, meeting me eye to eye, “and I’m not twelve anymore.”
“Yeah, I know.” I smile, giving him a pat on the cheek.
He jerks away. “You grew into a pretty young thing, didn’t ya, Princess?”
I flick the earring in his lip. “You wear more jewelry than a chick, but let’s get one thing clear. The only thing those pathetic tattoos serve to do is hide that baby soft skin underneath.”
He smirks. “Turning you on, am I?”
His girl snorts behind him, and I scowl.
Misha pushes forward, ignoring Rika’s protests. “You’re bad for him.”
“I didn’t let him O.D. to his death on my watch,” I growl, throwing the death of his sister in his face.
Misha shoves me in the chest, forcing me back, and the next thing I know, we’re both on the ground, scrambling to get on top of each other and punch the living daylights out of one another.
Okay, that was low. Annie was sweet and all. Honestly. But he has some nerve suggesting he’ll take care of Will better after what happened to his kid sister. What a little shit.
And to even suggest that he, Rika, and Will are “family business” that doesn’t involve me makes me want to grind my boot into his pretty, little, fucking face.
“That’s enough!” Rika yells.
I feel people around us as the girls probably scramble to pull us away from each other, but he’s had this fucking coming.
Wallowing around town in his own personal black parade, all woe is me, because he has a good dad and money and a safe home life, but turning up his nose at it in his hippie search for truth.
“Stop it!”
Someone pulls at my shoulders as I almost get him under me, so I can straddle the little fucker and then maybe he can write a poem about it.
But then ice-cold water hits us both, and I gasp, pausing long enough for Rika to kick me off from him. I fall to the side, both of us breathing hard.
Shit. My hair hangs in my eyes, and I wipe the water out of my eyes.
“Misha,” she grits out, staring down at him. “We’re having a conclave in one month. You just got yourself invited.”
And she stalks off, setting the glass pitcher down on the island.
Misha sits up, flipping me the finger. “Prick.”
I push myself to my feet. “Babysoft.”
Sea is a great place to bury bodies, you know? Deep breath, asshole.
? ? ?
Rika
I blow out the smoke, most of it filtering out the window. Normally, I’d go outside, but it’s still raining, and I’m too frazzled to care about one cigarette in the house.
Misha. Damon. Will.
Student. Mayor. Aunt.
Sister.
I drop my eyes, taking another drag.
Michael.
I want to do all of it. I hope I can do everything else I want to do, too.
A lump lodges in my throat at the thought of Damon’s conclave. There are things I need to say before I leave that boat, but I’m scared.
“I kind of regretted you never grew up with siblings,” my mother says, approaching my back, “and now that you have one, he’s an immediate bad influence.”
She wraps an arm around my waist and smiles at me, cocking an eyebrow at the cigarette in my hand.
I laugh, grinding it out in the dish I brought over.
Damon and I have stashes in several locations, but none here.
I guess if Ivar spends more time here, Damon will, too.
May as well arrange one more stash, then.
I look down at the old black and white photos in silver frames adorning the little table in front of me.
My great-grandfather, circa 1900, sits on a horse at the family ranch in South Africa.
I run my finger over his ten-year-old face, the black hair and eyes like coal in the photo. “Ivarsen has the hair,” I remark. “Not the eyes, though.”
Ivarsen’s eyes are blue, like his mother’s.
“No,” my mother replies. “It skips several generations. None of yours or Damon’s children will have both.”
My children. A sinking feeling aches in my stomach.
I take a breath and pull away from my mother, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll take the baby monitor in my room,” I tell her. “I want to get up with him if he wakes.”
And I start to walk away.
“When are you going to tell him?” she calls out.
I stop. But I don’t turn around, my heart beating faster. “Tell him what?”
“That your father’s will accounted for you and any other children I’d have,” she says. “When are you going to tell Damon?”
My shoulders relax. Oh, that.
I was pretty pissed when she first told me. I didn’t trust him. I wasn’t going to allow him to run my father’s work into the ground in some temper tantrum. I needed to make sure I could trust him.
In the meantime, I set aside his half in a trust for Ivar, but…
I guess my mother’s right. He’ll make something out of it. If he wants it.
But I have a feeling he doesn’t. I’m kind of proud of him. He’s the only one out of the four who can say they’re completely self-made. Damon is doing well. I kind of envy the freedom he has. He’s creating his own legacy.
But still…he should know. I was wrong to keep it from him.
“I’ll deal with it,” I tell her and continue walking.
What’s one more order of business to add to the conclave anyway? Nine friends locked on a boat with alcohol, spear guns, and the black ocean at night? This was a fantastic idea.