Preston #3
“Not the latest dose Julian approved.”
Yeah, so quick break. Julian is Jude’s older brother and the devil responsible for putting me together through synthetic drugs.
Because of issues.
Specifically, I start fucking shit up—more than usual—when I don’t gag my demons with Julian’s potions.
I let out a dramatic sigh. “You two gossip more than country-club wives.”
“This isn’t a joke, Preston.”
“I know. Jokes are funny. Speaking of funny, your wife yelled at Miley. Isn’t that hilarious? Actually, it’s not. She’d better watch it, Dad. I see her talk to Miley like that again and—”
“And what?”
I lift a shoulder. “Guess we’ll have to wait and find out.”
“Find out? Or find you bleeding somewhere random again?”
“Hey, that was one time, and Hayes found me kind of sleeping, so it doesn’t count—”
“Enough. I’ve seen this before countless times. You start with minor misbehavior, then you spiral and ruin everything around you.”
“Don’t worry. You’re already ruined, so you’re safe.”
“I’m serious, Preston. Take the pills.”
“Hmm. Maybe if you say please.”
“Please.”
Well, fuck me sideways. My usual smirk falls. He didn’t even hesitate.
I force my mouth to curl into my usual expression of asshole provocateur. “Wow. Almost sounded human.”
“If you’re done being snarky, will you take them?”
“Whatever.” I straighten, ready to bolt out of here, because I don’t know how to feel around my father, and he doesn’t know how to deal with me.
A rift happened between us long ago, when he divorced my mom, and I never forgave him for it.
Yes, petty as fuck.
“Was it something Osborn said?”
I pause with my hand on the knob, then turn around to face him. “Osborn? Who’s that?”
“Marcus Osborn. It looked like you changed drastically after he said something to you.”
“Him? Please. I don’t even remember his face, let alone what he says. He’s a nobody. Speaking of nobody, are we okay with the Osborns bringing an outsider into our midst? Kane’s dad isn’t, so do you have any information you’d care to enlighten me with?”
“It’s none of our business whether they bring Marcus in or not.”
“It should be. He was raised with rats and peasants. He does not belong here.”
I clear my throat because Dad is watching me in that way he reserves for when he’s about to figure me out.
“Anyway, au revoir, Papa. Nice talk. Enjoyed the fatherly love, can feel it in waves. So touching, I could cry.”
I leave before he can trap me with his questions or further analyze me with the way he seems to be reading me so openly tonight.
When I finally go outside, I let out a breath, and it coils in the cold.
Lenin is waiting by the car that brought me here, but there’s no Nelly inside.
A rush of terror spikes deep in my throat. “No, come on.”
We already talked. Why would Dad send Lenin again? It’s because I made him say “please,” isn’t it?
Maybe I was pushing it. Not the first time that’s happened.
My brain is always coming up with shit to test Dad’s limits.
“We can talk it out,” I try to speak in my usual sarcastic way, but my hands are trembling. “Where’s Hayes? We can discuss this with Hayes over popcorn and your favorite gory movie.”
Lenin doesn’t move.
And that motherfucker Hayes, who usually helps me escape the house unnoticed, is nowhere to be seen.
I lift my thumb, sliding it across my lower lip as I bite down on the corner.
Then I let my hand fall to my side, and my shoulders droop.
“I didn’t mean to lose,” I whisper, not really to Lenin in particular, just in general. “I didn’t mean to disappoint him.”
“But you did,” Lenin says, his voice a gruffer version of Dad’s. “You had one job, and it was to represent the family adequately, but you embarrassed yourself tonight, didn’t you, Preston?”
“I liked it better when you were mute,” I grumble, my heart hammering so hard and fast against my chest, I feel like it’ll pop out.
Lenin’s voice carries in the air like a whip. “Get in the car. We’re going for a ride.”
“I’ll take a rain check. Thanks for the offer.”
“Get in the car, Preston. Either that or Miley goes to boarding school.”
I swallow deeply, my throat closing until it’s hard to breathe.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Maybe I should’ve stayed with Dad a bit longer, or like, been less snarky so that he wouldn’t send me with Lenin.
I stare up at the dark window where Miley sleeps peacefully, with no one interrupting her sleep, and I know the decision is simple.
With a sigh, I climb into the car and go with Lenin to his favorite torture chamber.
The one where he corrects me per Dad’s orders.
Beats me up a little, a few punches here and there, enough to put me in my place.
Because I messed up.
I don’t really mind the pain. In fact, I like it. The hits, the blood that spills and fills my mouth.
It’s how I feel alive.
But I don’t like that Dad sees me only as a disappointment to be punished and corrected now.
You know whose fault it is, one of my demons whispers.
Right. Of course I know. It’s because of that Wolves’ captain who annoyed me all night long.
I’ll make him pay for that.
Marcus Osborn better count his fucking days.