Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Waking up alone isn’t usually a problem for me. It’s preferable. Until right now, when the first thought I had was rolling on top of Poppy and burying myself inside her again. Except she’s not here. The bed’s cold where she should be.
How the fuck did she get up without me noticing?
Dragging myself out of bed, I head for the bathroom and have one of the world’s quickest, coldest showers. I don’t know where my little runaway went, but I will find her.
Once I’m dressed, I walk down the hall to her friend’s room. It’s empty too.
As I make my way to the undercover garage, I log into the system at Paris and look up the name Poppy Kestral. Her reservation pops up, showing that she’s already checked out.
I have an early flight. Her words from last night repeat in my head. She’s gone. I take a screenshot of her details: name, address, phone number. Zoom in and groan. Fucking Texas.
I should be relieved. I won’t ever see her again. This is how I like things to be.
I jump into my car and head to my parents’ house. It’s early, I know. Imogen won’t be out of bed yet and I need to make sure my sister eats breakfast after not eating dinner last night.
My phone rings just as I’m pulling up the driveway. Alfie’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hey, got that guy you were looking for,” he says.
“Good. I’ll be there soon. I’m just at my parents,” I tell him.
“I’m leaving him on ice for you. I got shit to do.” He cuts the call.
I climb out of the car and jog up to the front door. I manage to make it to my bedroom and change out of yesterday’s clothes before I head back downstairs to the kitchen.
I’m halfway through making a mushroom, onion, and avocado omelet—I know it’s disgusting but Imogen loves them—when my dad walks in.
“There a reason you’re cooking breakfast?” he asks with a raised brow.
“It’s for Imogen,” I tell him. “She up yet?”
“Why are you cooking your sister breakfast?”
“Because you only gave me one sibling, so I need to make sure she stays fit and healthy. She’s all I got in this world and it all starts with breakfast,” I explain.
“Morning.” My mom walks up and hugs me. “I didn’t know you were coming home today. I would have cooked for you.”
“I wanted to make Imogen breakfast.”
“So there’s nothing for me?” Dad asks.
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“Lailani, tell me how we raised such heathens?” Dad turns to Mom.
“He’s cooking for his little sister, such a heathen.” She rolls her eyes before switching her attention to me. “What’d you get up to last night?”
“I was at the Wild Card,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “Want to share why you booked two high-roller rooms for two girls who most certainly were not high-rollers?” Mom quirks a curious brow.
“You really want to know what I needed one of those rooms for, Ma?” I tilt my head to the side, and my dad laughs.
“I wish I hadn’t asked.” Mom screws up her face. “But two? Seriously, Sammie J, I taught you to respect women. You don’t mess around with two of them on the same night.”
“Ma, I didn’t fuck both of them,” I tell her.
“Lailani, leave him alone. He’s young. It’s what young people do,” Dad comes to my defense.
“Really, you know who else is young, Sammie? Imogen,” Mom counters.
“No, she’s not. She’s my baby girl. She’s never going to be a whore like this one.” Dad points to me.
“I’m not a whore,” I deny, and my parents shake their heads at me.
I don’t think there is any subject my parents aren’t comfortable talking to me and Imogen about. It’s always been like this, open and nonjudgemental for the most part. Thankfully, my sister chooses that moment to walk in.
“Hey, did I miss the family meeting memo?” Imogen asks.
“Sit. Eat.” I place a plate on the counter. “You want coffee? Juice?”
“Um, coffee, please,” she says, eyeing the plate. “I’m really not hungry.”
“Neither one of us is leaving this kitchen until that plate’s empty, Imogen. Now, eat,” I tell her.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Dad points between the two of us.
I don’t say a word, just silently dare Imogen not to eat the fucking food.
She huffs before picking up her fork. “Nothing,” she grumbles.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Mom asks next.
“Can’t a brother just cook his sister breakfast without an inquisition?” I grunt. Then look to my dad. “Oh, I need to borrow the jet tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Texas.”
“What the fuck is in Texas?”
“A friend.”
My mom squints her eyes, assessing me. “What friend, Sammie J?”
“One you don’t know.”
“You know I have ways to find out. You might as well tell us,” she reminds me.
My mom is one of the best assassins in the country. There isn’t anyone she can’t find. I have no doubt she already knows who I was with last night.
“I’ll tell you when there is something to tell,” I say and then turn back to my dad. “You busy this morning?”
“This have anything to do with the package Alfie has on ice for you?” he questions.
“Yep.”
“I’m not busy,” Mom chimes in.
“Me neither,” Imogen says.
“You’re not invited,” I tell my sister.
“Don’t be sexist. I can torture someone just as well as you can,” Imogen retorts.
“I’m aware. But this one isn’t for you.”
“I’ll come. Let’s go.” My dad stands. He kisses my sister on top of her head and then wraps my mother up in his arms and presses his lips to hers. I watch as my mom melts into him.
I don’t know if I ever want that, what they have.
The risk of loving something that much isn’t one I want to take in life.
It’s worked out for my parents, but I always wonder what’s going to happen when one of them dies.
Because we’re all destined to do that at some point, which means one of them will have to face life without the other.
And when that time comes, it’s going to be fucking hard to watch.
My dad climbs into the passenger side of my car. “What’s in Texas?” he asks as soon as I’m pulling out of the driveway.
“A woman.”
“It’s always a woman.” He laughs.
“She’s… different,” I admit. I don’t know what it was about Poppy, but I’m not about to walk away from the best fucking sex of my life. If I have to fly to Texas to have her one more time, I will.
“Who’s the guy on ice?” Dad presses.
“Some tool Imogen went on a date with,” I tell him.
“You don’t usually have an issue with your sister dating.”
“I do when the asshole puts it into her head that she needs to lose fucking weight,” I grunt, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
“He what?” My dad’s head spins to mine. “That’s what breakfast was about?”
“Imogen didn’t eat dinner last night. I wanted to make sure that skipping meals wasn’t becoming a thing for her.”
“You think she let this asshole get into her head?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t think so,” I say, but I’ll be keeping a close eye on my sister to make sure she doesn’t start to believe she isn’t perfect just the way she is.
The moment we pull up to the warehouse, I’m ready to get my hands dirty. Although, judging by the look on my father’s face, he’s going to have all the fun here.
Poppy asked me if I knew how to have fun last night. This warehouse right here is my idea of fun. Giving people the justice they deserve, that’s fun.
I walk in next to my father. The two soldiers in the room stand, greeting him before me. “Mr. Russo.”
“Get a cleanup crew ready. This one’s going to be messy.” My dad smiles and then removes his jacket, handing it to one of the soldiers. “What’s your name?” Dad approaches the man currently tied to a metal chair in the middle.
“Who are you? Why am I here?” The guy looks from my father to me.
“You took my daughter out on a date. You really shouldn’t have done that,” Dad grunts, stepping closer. “How fucking old are you?”
“Late-twenties, Imogen said,” I answer.
“Why the fuck are you taking nineteen-year-olds out on dates, you sick fuck?” My father’s fist swings out and clocks the guy in the face. His head snaps to the side, and his cries echo off the concrete.
I lean up against the wall, knowing I’m not going to get to have any of the fun here. But I can watch, and that’s good enough for me.
“Did you tell my daughter she was fat?” my dad grunts.
“What? No!” The asshole shakes his head.
“He told her she needed to order the salad,” I fill in.
“Same fucking thing.” Dad’s fist swings out again.
“Fucking idiot, did he not know who he was taking out?” One of the soldiers steps up next to me.
“Some people were born without survival instincts.” I laugh.