RAIN
Chapter twenty-six
I’m tempted to call Blade and ask for some torture methods. Maybe I’ll break the fucker’s teeth while I jam the bat down his throat, because he’s still not moving. “Time to eat metal, motherfucker.” I grin and continue approaching the closet.
“I’m leaving,” Daniel grits out. “But you cannot keep my children from me.”
“Indie,” Rome says. “You’ve never cared about me or Kilah. You just want your princess to have the perfect image of her daddy.”
“You can’t show her those videos, Rome.”
“I’ll do what I want. First, I’ll move my money, and the only person with access will be me. If you need money, start by selling one of the four cars or the house I paid for.”
Rome’s shoulders slump, and I’m ready to step in if his morals get in the way. He’s standing up for himself and I’m so fucking proud of him.
“When I was little, you were my hero. Then you began to control every aspect of my life. You made me feel like shit for every little thing,” Rome scoffs.
“You can be disappointed in me till the day you die. I’m done giving a fuck what you think.
You may be Daniel Aston, but I’m Rome Aston.
That means a hell of a lot more. Get the fuck out of my house. ”
Rome stalks behind his father down the stairs, and I follow, my heart bursting with pride. Daniel fakes that the world is shining with fucking rainbows while he hugs his daughters and informs them they can stay.
They’ll stay until they want to leave, I’ll make sure of that. Hell, if they want to go as far as emancipation or make Rome their legal guardian until they’re eighteen, I’ll have my family lawyer work on the case day and night until they’re all happy.
Indie’s eyes well with tears as she pulls from her father’s embrace. “I’m sorry. We just want to stay with Rome.”
“It’s okay, princess.” Daniel grins. “You want to spend time with your brother, I understand. You can call me at any moment, and I’ll be here to pick you up if you’re uncomfortable.”
Give me a fucking break—that was a dig. From what I’ve seen, Kilah and Indie are perfectly comfortable with Rome’s sexuality.
“You too, K.” Daniel reaches for Kilah’s face, but Kilah rears back, narrowing her eyes. Shit, she looks like she might even throw a punch.
Stepping to the door, I type in the pin and swing it open. The cool air flows in, rain continuing to pound the bricks. “I’d say it was a pleasure,” I whisper and grin, “but your face is quite unsightly.”
Daniel steps to me, his pungent cologne stinging my nostrils as he looks out to the dreary weather. “We aren’t done, Weston.”
“I agree. Why do you think I waited so long to make my move?” The corner of my lip tilts with a smirk as he side eyes me.
“I’ve had those recordings for weeks, and every meet up afterward is documented.
If your wife decides to file for divorce, they’ll be added to your shit list. You’ll get nothing, they’ll have everything.
I will protect Rome until the day I die.
Try me, Daniel. I have more moves than you can fathom. ”
“Your threats mean nothing to me, you little shit.” He glances over his shoulder to Rome consoling his sisters on the sofa.
“Promises,” I correct. “You can try to go up against me and my family, but trust me,” I quieten my voice, “my brother and I will dig out your fucking spine as a family bonding exercise.” His face pales, and I motion him out. “Great chat.” I grin, slamming the door shut
Now in grey sweats and a hoodie, Rome paces in front of me while I sit on the end of his bed in jeans. A few of his curls are spilling out from the hood, wrapping around the grey fabric, and fuck, if that isn’t adorable.
“Baby,” I groan. “You’re making me dizzy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” He throws an adorable glare as he turns and paces back the other way, now with his hands behind his head.
“You don’t reveal moves until needed. Blackmail only works if it’s leveraged against something.”
“Is this a fucking game to you?” he shouts, stepping in front of me.
“No, of course not, but it kept the twins here, and I don’t regret it.”
“Fuck you.” I grip his hips when he turns and pull him onto my lap. “Let go.”
“You can sit here and talk to me.”
“I need to get ready for training.”
“You aren’t going.”
He stills. “I’m already on thin ice. I can’t miss a training.”
“You can if you have food poisoning.”
“Food poisoning? That is the worst excuse.”
“Yeah maybe, but it’s believable. You need time to sort through your head. If you go to training, you’ll be distracted.”
“I’ve been dealing with bullshit for twenty years. I can do another day.”
He’s been desolate for years because of his parents’ disapproval of his sexuality, and that thought ravages my heart.
He sighs, staring at my hand rubbing his thigh. There will most likely be consequences for missing a training, but if he’s ‘sick’, he can’t help that. He’s overwhelmed with information and emotions. He genuinely looks exhausted.
I rest my chin on his shoulder. “I’m having beds delivered.”
He pulls himself from his thoughts with a rapid blink. “What?”
“For the twins. They can sleep in the lounge together on separate mattresses or share the spare bedroom and have a bed each. They’re only doubles, but they should fit.”
“You—you bought beds…for the twins?”
I nod, lifting my hand to cup his cheek and gently press my lips to his. So fucking soft; I love his lips.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I plant sloppy kisses across his face as I stand.
“You’re like a dog when you do that,” he grumbles, wiping his face with his sleeve.
I answer Dad’s call and put it to my ear. “What’s up?” Rome gives a look of disgust as he wipes his cheeks, and I point to his phone mouthing the word ‘sick’.
“Josephine Wheeler was found dead at a motel in Sacramento an hour ago.”
My lip’s part to speak, but I head to the balcony door and step outside, closing it behind me. “Who did it?”
“It was a suicide.”
“Was it?”
“Hard to tell. I’ll send you the photos, but the blood splatter and body seem aligned with a suicide.”
“That can be staged.”
“I’ve sent them to Blade as well, and he’s looking at them. I’m currently on site at the church restoration in France until tomorrow, so family meeting at your house tomorrow night at 6. Don’t be late.”
“Understood.” I pull the phone away and hang up.
Josephine may have conspired against the others, and they had a reason to kill her. Maybe guilt got the better of her?
Something isn’t sitting right.
I need a fucking cigarette.
As I massage my thumbs harder into the bottom of Rome’s foot, he groans, trying to pull it away when I hit a knot the size of a fucking golf ball.
Much to my reluctance, he went to training. If he doesn’t follow every rule, it’s as though he drowns in guilt. I say fuck that. He needs to prioritise himself for once. On the other hand, though, his drive for success is incredibly inspirational.
“How long have you had this?” I ask as we sit on the sofa, watching a movie. Indie and Kilah lay on the mattress on the floor and look at Rome when he doesn’t answer.
“It comes and goes,” he mumbles, glancing at his sisters. “Watch the movie.”
They snicker and turn their attention back to the television.
Their beds were delivered and we arranged them so they had enough room to walk between them.
It was entertaining, listening to the twins argue about what screw went where.
I tried to mediate the disagreement like I’m sure Rome would have, but they’re intense when arguing their point.
Insults were thrown, and horrific language was used that made me question my knowledge of profanities.
I’ll admit, I was a little terrified. I took myself downstairs and called Rome, knowing he was on his way home.
He laughed at me. Laughed. Like I wasn’t about to get a screwdriver thrown at my head.
Although, that may have been partially my fault, because I was trying to inform them of the instructions they claimed they didn’t need.
I lightly try to work the knotted muscle, catching Rome’s phone screen light his face in my peripheral. He lifts it closer, like he’s trying to hide something.
Is this motherfucker texting other people?
He groans when I dig my thumb in, rubbing the knot harder. Wanting to snatch the phone from his hand, I remove his feet from my lap. He immediately locks the phone when I round the back of the sofa.
“Restroom,” I chirp and kiss his cheek as I pass to head upstairs.
I close his bedroom door and fish out my shadow phone from the pocket of my jacket hung in his closet. It stays blank for less than a minute before activity appears. My brows jerk up at his search.
Caring for your stalker.
A wide grin tugs at my lips. Although I already knew he was starting to care for me, this shit makes me fucking giddy. I watch his curiosity spike, which leads him to spend longer on certain articles.
Dirty Talk. Orgasm Control.
Then, one that I’m not surprised by but has my interest buzzing.
Sex in public.
Having taken mental note of everything he’s searched, I turn the phone off and take what I bought in LA out of my jacket pocket. Heading back downstairs, I unfold the navy blanket laid neatly over the back of the sofa and lay it over him. Pushing him forward, I slide myself in behind him.
His chest pumps harder, cheeks already crimson from his little research frenzy.
He tugs the blanket up to his chest, his body shuddering as I slide my hand over his shirt to pull it up a little, tracing the divots in his tensed abs.
I continue trailing the lines of his stomach for the next fifteen minutes to the movie’s end.
“Bedtime, munchkins,” I announce.
“What?” Indie groans. “It’s not that late.”
“11 PM is late enough.”
They look to Rome.
“Bed,” he orders hoarsely, a thin layer of sweat beading his hairline and cheeks.
They groan and trudge upstairs. Once I hear the door shut, I press my mouth to his ear. “Come upstairs.”