Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
MASE
I’ve spent the morning reviewing Summer’s file I was given at the will reading, and although it’s filled with meaningless shit, it has given me an insight into her personality.
My father kept close tabs on her, noting where she spent her free time and with who, and while I hate that information, I like the fact I have something to judge what kind of person she is, and it only makes me like her all the more.
She enjoys the outdoors, eating out, and has few friends.
Her grades are good, excelling in literature, where she wrote an essay on how losing a parent affects your health.
In social studies, she won a prestigious award for essay on ‘Family structures and the effects on children,’ and that caused sparks to fly in my chest when I read it.
It gave me a deeper understanding of her pain.
It’s something someone as innocent and sweet as her shouldn’t have had to endure, and I hate that she has.
While I was reading up on the girl who consumes my every thought, Owen had a team of security experts sent into the mansion, and what they discovered made my stomach turn.
My father was a sadistic, controlling son of a bitch, and the thought of Summer growing up in his care terrifies me.
Just what the hell has she witnessed and experienced under his care?
I know firsthand how callous and cold he is, and only now do I wish I’d been around to protect her from his torment.
I’m not sure why I feel an incredible sense of protective possession toward her.
Maybe it’s because she gave me her virginity, maybe it’s because I’m her guardian, her only family.
I don’t fucking know. All I know is I want to keep her safe.
I want to shout from the rooftop she’s mine to protect while meaning every damn word of it.
I twirl the small camera lens, the size of a dime, between my fingers, trying to figure out what my old man’s objective was. Yet, at the same time, I’m terrified to find out.
There’s a knock on my father’s office door, and before I open my mouth, Hugh has pushed it open.
The fact he didn’t wait for me to call him has my jaw grinding from side to side.
The fucker has overstayed his welcome in this house, and when I voiced my concerns to Owen, he suggested keeping him on until he’s accessed the footage from the cameras.
Oscar O’Connell has stepped in to help; a tech genius who also happens to be a part of a Mafia family, therefore, has some incredibly productive connections we’ve used once or twice ourselves when needed.
Luca Varros, a Capo for the Varros family, being one of those connections.
He’s also a notoriously sick bastard who has a basement for torturing the life out of those deserving such punishment.
Shame my father never made it down the concrete steps to Luca’s playroom.
I hear he has someone who loves to torment their victims with a cattle prod, of all things.
In between time, Owen has diverted all calls to the mansion to my phone and has placed all new firewalls on the internet, as well as instructed our own security teams to oversee the property.
“Mason, I have to say, I’m concerned about the welfare of your father’s estate,” he says in a disgruntled tone that has my eyebrows raising.
Prick has most definitely overstayed. “The cameras”—he gestures toward the camera between my fingertips—“were placed in the mansion for Miss Summer’s protection. ”
“Protection against what?” I lift my head, meeting his eyes, and he slowly swallows.
“She can be a handful.”
I nod. “But what does she need protecting from?” I query, locking my gaze on him with a challenging glare. Not only does the fucker make no sense, but I also think he’s full of shit. He knows something. Hell, he probably knows everything.
“Your father wanted to be sure she was safe.”
“From what?” I counter, getting pissed that he’s averting my questions.
He shifts from foot to foot and scratches the back of his neck.
“What did my father want to keep her safe from?”
“I’ve no idea, sir.”
Hmm, back to referring to me as sir now since the pressure is on and he’s not as comfortable as when he first burst into the room.
“Don’t worry, I have her handled,” I reply. His eyes bounce over my face, searching for something. “That all?” I lift an eyebrow.
Again, he swallows harshly, and I calculate each and every move. “I don’t want to overstep”—he shifts from side to side—“but have you made your father’s associates aware of your relationship with your stepsister?”
I remain stunned. The old bastard doesn’t miss a damn trick, that’s for sure, and I don’t fucking like it.
“That’s nobody’s damn business but mine and Summer’s,” I grind out, holding his stare with an intensity that forces him to glance away.
“Very well, sir.” He gives a firm nod, then turns on his heel and opens the door.
“Actually, Hugh. Could you help me with something?”
He looks over his shoulder. “If I can,” he replies.
“Where does the footage from the cameras go?”
He blinks, then gawks back at me, and my eyes zero in on the bead of sweat gathering on his forehead. “I’m guessing to your father’s computer.” He glances at a spot on my father’s desk, an empty spot. “His laptop, I mean.”
I cross my arms over my thick chest and relax into the chair. “And where might I find the laptop?”
His jaw sharpens and his focus intensifies.
That’s right, fucker, I know you know something.
“I don’t know. I’m too old for anything like that.
I know nothing about technology; I’m almost seventy, Mason.
” He chuckles, but I just stare at him. Is he deliberately trying to piss me off by evading my questions?
“I didn’t ask if you knew about technology. I asked you if you knew where his laptop was.”
His face falls, and his eyes sharpen. “No. I don’t know where it is.” There’s a dark edge to his tone I don’t like, and I’m not even sure he knows he revealed it.
“That’ll be all.” I force a smile; one I drop as soon as the door closes behind him.
I’m going to discover your secrets, motherfucker. If Summer is in jeopardy in any way, I’ll happily take him to the Varros residence. I need to let off some steam, and Hugh is looking like the perfect candidate.
My phone buzzes, and I fumble with it as I accept the call. I’m expecting one from Owen with some answers, but it’s too soon for that.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Campbell?”
“It is.”
“This is Preston Academy. I’m sorry to tell you, but we’ve had an incident with Summer Campbell”—my pulse rushes and my head feels light—“and you’re down as her next of kin. Is it possible for you to come into school to discuss the situation, please?”
“Y-yes, sure.” Holy fuck. What the hell happened? “Is she okay?”
“She’s perfectly fine, Mr. Campbell. We just need to discuss the situation with you.”
“Okay. I’ll be right over.”
I end the call, push back in the chair, and grab my truck keys, mentally preparing myself.
I’m about to go into a fucking school to collect the girl I want to fuck. Hell, have fucked already. How screwed up is that?