17. Marcus #3
“I’ll walk you out, Dad.” I pull myself from Mom after patting her shoulder, then head toward the door, not waiting for him to follow.
He eventually does, and I close the door of the house and walk to his car.
The driver rushes out and opens the rear door, but Dad doesn’t get in. Instead, he dangles the soulless bike’s keys in front of my eyes.
I shove both hands in my pockets. “Take that bike with you.”
“I won’t use it to force your hand. You don’t have to worry. For now.”
“I’m still not interested.” I jut my chin toward the bike.
“If you knew even the tiniest thing about my love for bikes, you’d realize I prefer ones with mechanical advancements that are meant to be ridden.
This, on the other hand, is what a rich man thinks his son should want—status over substance. ”
His expression is unchanging as he throws the keys on the ground. “Forget it if you don’t want it. You can have it totaled.”
“I’d appreciate it if you don’t show up here again.”
The corner of his lips lifts in that almost smile that he wears like a mask. “You can’t pretend I don’t exist forever.”
“I can try.”
“I’m your father, Marcus.”
“You didn’t seem to care about being my father that much when you had other male heirs.”
“It worked out well for you, no?”
“What?”
“You lived normally—as normally as one can in this ghetto.” He throws a look of distaste at the neighborhood.
All the rich people from godforsaken Graystone Ridge seem to think we’re pests they can just look down their noses at.
Dad.
Serena.
That motherfucker Preston.
“Would you have preferred I snatched you from your mother’s arms?
Because I could’ve done that, and June couldn’t have stopped it no matter what she tried.
You would’ve been brought up by an army of nannies and teachers and molded into whoever and whatever I wanted.
” He stands taller. “The only reason you were raised by your mother is because I allowed it.”
“Well, thank you for your sacrifice. It must’ve hurt to throw away the kid you never really wanted.”
“You’re welcome. I do expect to be paid back in full.” He steps toward the door, then pauses. “I have one piece of advice for you.”
“Do I have to hear it?”
“Stay away from Preston.”
I tap my thumb against my middle finger once. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” His dead eyes bore into mine. “Not sure if he told you, but no homosexuality nonsense is tolerated in Vencor. You’re not a member yet, so you’re safe—for now, but he’ll get his head chopped off.”
What the fuck type of rule is that?
Also, just how much does Dad know? Does he have spies on me or something? I would’ve felt it if someone was following me, no?
“I still have no clue what you’re talking about,” I say.
Dad releases a sigh. “Listen, that young man is pathologically troubled, no matter how much his father likes to pretend otherwise. He’s impulsive, reckless, and doesn’t consider consequences, which is a death sentence in our world.
It’s only a matter of time before he gets himself killed.
You, on the other hand, are extremely intelligent and calculative, with the right survival instinct.
You and Preston are not on the same level and never will be.
Don’t stoop to his special corner at the bottom. Do you understand what I mean?”
I make a noncommittal nod just to get rid of him.
For a moment, I consider asking him what exactly Preston suffers from, but I feel like that would be a betrayal. Besides, I prefer Preston tell me himself.
Not that he would with the way things are lately.
As Dad’s car rolls away, looking like a complete eyesore in the neighborhood, I keep staring at the bike he left behind.
Dad praised me for the first time in my life, calling me extremely intelligent and calculative, but I feel nothing.
No, actually, his words and complete disregard for Preston felt as if he were punching me in the gut.
Preston is extremely intelligent, too. He just has impulse-control issues that I’m almost sure are a coping mechanism of sorts.
It’s disturbing how much I want to delve deep inside him and pick him apart piece by piece.
I’ve never been this interested in another human being before, and it’s creeping me out.
Not enough to stop me from playing this push-and-pull game, though.
My phone vibrates and I fetch it.
Unknown number
If you block me one more time…
Block.
I’m not angering him on purpose, but he needs to learn that there are consequences to his actions, and I’m not someone he can push around and expect to come back to him every time.
That sense of entitlement of his needs to go.
He also needs to give me more of himself.
My phone vibrates again.
Unknown number
Joke’s on you. I got dozens of numbers. You keep blocking, and I’ll keep annoying the fuck out of you.
Block.
Unknown Number
What the fuck do you even want, Marcus?
Me
That’s a good start. Speak nicely. No threatening of any sort.
You finally replied, you fucking asshole? When I catch you, I’ll fuck you up.
Block.
He’ll come around.
He has to.