Chapter 49
Ryker
M y phone has been blowing up for the past few days with calls from my mother, father, Logan, and the guys. Holland came to check on me last night, and I told him to fuck off. I don’t want to talk to anyone or explain why I’m in such a shitty mood.
I haven’t heard anything from Gwen, not that I really expected to since she told me to never contact her again. But a small part of me thought that maybe she just needed to cool down, and then she’d hear me out.
She thinks I slept with Amy. She believes I cheated on her, and it’s killing me that she doesn’t know the truth. Amy’s a fucking bitch, and I should have her kicked out of Ellington just for messing with Gwen’s head and causing her to hate me.
I’ve been so angry with myself and this situation, that I had to find some way to let go. To let some of this anger out before I exploded. So yesterday, I went to the campus gym and waited for Ashton to come out .
When he did, I jumped him. I punched his face so hard my fingers bled, and I’m pretty sure one or two are broken. When he fell to the ground, I kicked him in the ribs multiple times until I was satisfied.
Then, I got in my car and drove home, burying myself so deep in alcohol that I couldn’t even remember my own name. When Holland showed up, he helped me off the floor and forced me to take a shower. Blood stained my shirt and my face. My hand was also covered.
Holland, being the good friend he is, helped wrap it before helping me to my room and leaving me on my bed where I fell asleep not even ten minutes later.
Everyone in the mansion went home on either Sunday or Monday, including Mason, Pat, Holland, and Logan. I told them I’d be right behind them, but I couldn’t bring myself to get in the damn car. Not when I know Gwen is only a thirty-minute drive away from me.
If you go to Ellington, you either come from Rhode Island or live in Connecticut. Some come from New York, but it’s not common.
Pat lives around the corner from me, Holland and Ellie live about ten minutes down the road, and Mason lives in the same town as Gwen. It’s nice to be able to see each other outside of school, that way we can keep up with Elite business. Not that there’s a ton since it’s break.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I know I have to be home for it, if only for my mother’s sake. But I am dreading seeing my father. I know he’ll try to order me to ask Gwen to marry me again, and at this point, I really don’t see that happening unless I tie her up and force her somehow.
But that’s not an option. I may be an ass, but I’m not going to force her into marrying me. My father will tell me that I have no choice. That I have to do exactly that, force Gwen to marry me whether she wants to or not. For an Elite, marriage isn’t about love. It’s about the title and power. They only want us married to reproduce the next generation of Elite’s.
Many women don’t care since they’re marrying into money and status. They gladly hand themselves over to us just to say they are married to an Elite. But Gwen doesn’t care about all that. She doesn’t care that I’m an Elite. She doesn’t care that I have money or authority.
That’s one of the things I love most about her.
My phone continues to vibrate, and I’m about to chuck it across the room when I see Holland’s name on the screen.
“What?” I growl.
“Dude, are you still wallowing?” he asks. My fist clenches around my phone.
“I’m not wallowing.”
Holland laughs dryly. “Yeah, okay. Well, I talked to Gwen today,” he tells me, and my mouth runs dry.
“What?” I ask, my voice low. I hear Holland’s knowing chuckle on the other end, but I don’t even care. How did he talk to Gwen? What did she say? Did she mention me?
God, I sound like a heartbroken teenage girl.
“She was on Facetime with El. She’s really mad at you, bro,” he says, as if I didn’t already know this. I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, thanks. Did she say anything else? Like a reason or anything?” I ask, knowing the reason she’s angry is because of the lies Amy told her, but I want to know if Holland knows.
“Not that I heard. But she did seem concerned when I told her you were at the mansion alone,” he states, sending a spark of hope racing through my body. Maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought she did.
It’s funny. We’re back to exactly where we started months ago. Her hating me, and me being a desperate man, needing her to want me.
“I did hear them say they were having a girl’s night tonight though,” Holland’s voice rips me out of my thoughts. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”
“Yeah. One day, but not now,” I say, hanging up on him.
As I toss my phone on the couch, it lights up with a text. I groan when I see it’s Logan texting me. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone .
Logan
Logan
You need to get your
ass home, like now.
Me
No thanks.
Logan
Mom is freaking out,
and dad is pissed.
I can’t help the sardonic laugh that escapes my lips.
Me
What’s new?
Logan
It’s not a joke, Ryker. I
don’t know what’s
going on with you, but
you need to get your shit
together, get in your damn
car, and get home. NOW.
Fuck. Why does everyone have to be so goddamn annoying?
The last thing I want to do right now is drive home. It’s ten, which means I won’t even get home until around midnight. All I want to do right now is down a bottle of bourbon and go to bed.
I know going home is going to be a mistake. I know my father will say something to set me off and then I’ll fight back, and mom will get upset that we’re ruining the holiday. It happens every year. We’re not the type of family that can sit around a table to eat Thanksgiving dinner and tell each other what we’re thankful for. We’re dysfunctional in the worst way possible.
But it looks like I don’t have a choice.
—————————
I pull up to the gates of my family home, enter the passcode, and pull into our rounded driveway around twelve thirty to find that all of the lights are on in the main house.
The Steele Estate is a display of opulence and timeless elegance, set on a sprawling fifty-acre property that’s been in my family for generations. The exterior of the estate is a testament to generations of refined taste and meticulous upkeep.
A grand wrought-iron gate with intricate detailing and the Elite crest stands as the formal entrance. The gate opens to a long, tree-lined driveway, where century-old oaks and elms form a natural canopy overhead. The cobblestone path is meticulously maintained, leading up to a circular courtyard paved with flagstones and adorned with a central fountain.
I’m actually surprised my egotistical father hasn’t created a statue of himself to place in the fountain.
The main house is larger than any one family really needs, with a stone face and tall, elegant windows framed by classic white shutters. The symmetrical design is punctuated by a grand portico with towering Corinthian columns, leading to a set of double doors.
The property holds a large pool, and a fully equipped pool house with a bar, changing rooms, and a sauna, a tennis court, and a guest house.
One may think that this would be every kids dream, to grow up with all of this. But it wasn’t mine. It was lonely, and cold. With my father rarely ever being home, and my mother trying her best to hide her depression, Logan and I were taken care of by our nanny and Tatia who made sure we were fed and well nourished.
I know my mother tried her best under the circumstances, but it wasn’t enough for two young boys who needed their mom.
Putting my car in park, I turn off the engine, climb out of the car and grab my things, swinging my bag over my shoulder. I take a deep breath before entering into the large foyer.
Everything is exactly how I remember it. I haven’t been home since Easter. I stayed at the Elite mansion over the summer and into the fall semester. My mom wasn’t happy about my choice to stay away, but I think she understood. Logan came back often, so they kept her at bay.
A man greets me with a polite smile. “Good evening, Mr. Steele. Glad to have you home,” he says. My face softens slightly as I give him a small nod.
“Anton,” I acknowledge the man. Anton has been working for my family for years. He was here before I was born, and to my surprise, he hasn’t left. He must be at least eighty now, but he refuses to retire, even though my mother has told him he can leave at any time.
For some reason I can’t even begin to comprehend, he says he enjoys working for our family. He knew my grandfather and grandmother, he watched my father grow up, and then Logan and me. The poor guy deserves a break, but he just won’t take one.
“Your father has requested your presence in his study,” Anton tells me, a bit of what sounds like concern in his voice. Seriously? It’s almost one in the morning. Why would he want to meet now?
Begrudgingly, I begin to walk toward the study, knowing this can only be about two things, Gwen or Ashton. I knew my father would somehow hear about the incident in the campus gym parking lot. I didn’t exactly make myself inconspicuous. I was too filled with rage to think of covering my tracks.
I made sure no one else was in the parking lot at the time, but I didn’t think of the cameras on the outside of the building and lampposts. Dean Ashby was most likely made aware of what happened when Ashton was sent to the hospital. Then he must have looked through the security footage, saw it was me, and contacted my father.
Lucky me .
My heart races as I knock on the door to the study. My father’s low, rough voice calls from the other side.
“Come in,” he orders.
Inhaling deeply, I push the door open and enter the large room. My father sits behind his sizable mahogany desk, a glass full of what I’m guessing is bourbon in his hand as he stares down at a paper in front of him. His reading glasses are on the bridge of his nose, and he doesn’t even lift his head to look at me.
Behind him is a floor to ceiling bookshelf that stretches from wall to wall, full of books I’m almost positive he’s never even read, and no one had ever touched.
The bay window looks out into the front yard, so he must have watched me pull in. There is a leather chair in the corner of the room and next to it is a bar cart, fully stocked with glasses, ice, and the worlds finest liquor.
I’ve been in this office plenty of times, but it remains locked when my father is away. He forbid us all to go into his study without him. When I was younger, I thought nothing of it, but now? I’m pretty sure it’s because there’s something in there that he doesn’t want anyone to find, which makes me all the more curious.
“Take a seat,” my father commands in his deep voice, gesturing to one of the chairs that sits in front of his desk. I remain standing, because sitting means the conversation will last longer.
“I’d rather stand,” I tell him. He finally looks up from whatever he’s reading to scowl at me.
“It wasn’t a request, son. Take a seat, now .”
I refrain from rolling my eyes, doing as he says and taking a seat. I rub my sweaty palms against my jeans as my knee bobs nervously. This is what happened every time I see my father. How awful is that? That my own father makes me this fucked up.
He types something into his computer before turning it around for me to see. A surveillance video is pulled up showing the parking lot of the campus gym. Of course he has the video.
When I jumped Ashton, I wasn’t exactly in my right mind. I’d been drinking all day, thinking about Gwen and how I’d win her back, and the rage that consumed me when I thought about Davis and the way he threatened my girl made me see red.
The video shows Ashton exit the building, his gym back slung over his shoulder and car keys in his hand. Then without warning, I come around the corner and ram into him, gripping the front of his shirt and pushing his back up against the building before landing punch after punch to his face. Ashton’s head falls to the side, blood flowing from his nose and mouth as I let him go and watch him slump to the floor.
I stand over him, my fists clenched to my sides. There’s no sound in the video, but I remember what I said to him.
“Get near Gwen again, touch her again, or even think of her again and I will bury you somewhere no one will ever fucking find you.”
I smirk at the reminder. I don’t regret what I did. Ashton Davis is a piece of shit, and he got what he deserved. In fact, he’s lucky I didn’t do worse. He needed to get the message that I am in charge, not him. I’m the one with all the power. I could kill him and bury him, and no one would ever know because the Elite would have my back.
I don’t think he’ll be getting near Gwen again. Especially because I told him to pack his shit and drop out of Ellington. A little threat to him and his family did the trick.
The monitor goes black as the video ends. My father twists it back around to face him, laying his arms on top of the desk in front of him.
He clears his throat. “What the fuck was that?” he seethes. I shrug my shoulders, because what kind of question is that? He saw the video. It was pretty clear what that was.
“Just giving him what he deserved,” I say, annoyance laced in my voice.
“I don’t care what he did. You assaulted a man on campus. I don’t give a shit what you do off campus, or even at the mansion. But on campus? This is the shit I’m talking about, Ryker. You are a child, and I’m done with it. You’re lucky I have connections with the police, or your ass would be thrown in jail right now,” he grits out between clenched teeth.
I stand abruptly, my hands slamming on the desk as I lean into him. “So let them throw me in jail, Father,” I huff out an exaggerated scoff. “Oh, wait. You can’t, because that would ruin your perfect image. Isn’t that right, Father ? Your appearance in society is the only thing you’ve ever cared about. You’d never do anything to tarnish it. And having your son tossed in prison wouldn’t reflect well on you, would it?”
My father stands from his seat, slapping me across the face so hard I stumble back. Shit, that was unexpected. He’s never hit me, but then again, I’ve never dared to speak to him like that. I was always too intimidated or scared. But not anymore.
I’m not that little boy anymore. I’m not afraid of him.
His face is red with anger, and if this were a cartoon, he’d have steam pouring out of his ears.
“Watch your mouth, boy . Don’t forget that everything you have is because of me and my image. You’d be wise to show me some respect, because I can take it all away and you’ll be left with nothing,” he threatens. My eyes narrow as I glare at him in a mixture of anger and disgust.
I hate him. I hate him for never being around as a kid, I hate him for how he’s treated my mother, I hate him for how he’s treated me. I may not be as powerful as him right now, but I will be. And when I am, he will be obsolete. I will end him, and he won’t even see it coming.
I don’t even say anything to him. Instead, I turn on my heels, grab my bag off the floor, and storm out of the room, fuming.