Aftereffect (The Order of Ravens and Wolves Book 1) Page 7

  “Didn’t she kick you in the balls last month?”

  He shrugged. “That’s different.”

  “How is that different?”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “She likes it when I’m mad.”

  Of course, she does, misogynistic bitch.

  We were all fucked up, but Logan ... At fourteen, as part of our initiation into the Order, we were taken to Malum and given a girl we could do anything we wanted with. No one liked to talk about what happened to Logan’s.

  “If she didn’t prefer pussy,” I said, rounding the corner at the top of the stairs, “I’d say you found your perfect match. She’s just as twisted as you.”

  “Nah. She’s fun to fuck, but boring as hell.”

  I couldn’t argue. Amy was that hot slutty, librarian-type guys dreamed about. Proper and dull during the day, but a wildcat in the sac.

  “Besides, I’m not the one who got off on getting kicked in the nuts,” Logan shook his head, “That’s fucked up, bro.”

  What can I say? I did get off on that shit. The cute way her face scrunched up, along with the storm raging in those sapphire orbs. I got hard just thinking about it. Speaking of my mouse …

  The door to her room was ajar. I could see Riley sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, her long hair flowing down her back like black silk. Unsurprisingly, she’d left the new clothes in her closet alone, and was wearing a pair of jean shorts and a yellow shirt, both faded with age, not style.

  I leaned against the wall and watched her pick her nails, as Paisley described the finer points of decorating. Occasionally she’d snort out an annoyed sigh, but that didn’t deter Paisley. She kept rambling on with a smile on her face.

  Some people thought she was fake, but as sickening as it was, Logan’s mother really was that nice. I figured it was her way of making up for all the evil shit her husband did. Shortly after she married Riley’s dad, she paid a visit to her mother. She wanted to help with finances and be involved in her stepdaughter’s life. Maria Adams was less than happy. Can’t say I blamed her, considering what Ryker did to her. Honestly, I don’t know what Paisley was thinking. People didn’t forget the person who destroyed their life.

  Riley’s brows furrowed in confusion. “You want me to organize my underwear by color?”

  “Yes.” Paisley nodded. “Then it’s easier to match them to your outfit.”

  “Match them to my outfit?” Riley gave her an ‘are you stupid’ look. “What the hell for? They’re underwear. They go under my clothes. No one’s going to see them.”

  I will, little mouse.

  I think Paisley was just happy to have another girl around. Only Riley wasn’t like the girls she was used to. She painted buildings in the dark, watched old movies and couldn’t care less about makeup or fashion.

  “How long do think it’ll be, before she’s had enough?” Logan whispered peeking over my shoulder.

  His question was answered when Riley huffed, walked over to a box, and dumped it out on the floor.

  “This one’s unpacked,” she sang with a smile on her face.

  She was such a brat. I gave it a week before I had a reason to punish her – something I very much looked forward to.

  “Maybe we should go in there?”

  I groaned and tugged Logan down the hall to his room. “Riley’s not going to do anything.”

  As much as she didn’t like her new stepmom, Paisley was innocent and Riley knew it. Hurting her would be like slapping a baby. Riley was more likely to attack the person who did something to Paisley, then she was to attack Paisley herself.

  We walked into Logan’s room, where he kissed his hand and placed it on the picture of a cherry-red Porsche 916 hung on his wall. “One day, baby.”

  It was a ritual I’d seen countless times before. “Haven’t found one yet?”

  He frowned. “No.”

  There was no one better suited to take over Hudson Avionics than Logan. His room was full of cars, planes, and other various things. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could take an engine apart and put it back together blindfolded. But that car . . . that was his unicorn. There were only eleven made, meaning it was out of reach, even for a man with his money and resources.

  “Did you go through Jack’s phone?” Logan asked while pulling out a pair of swim trunks from his dresser.

  “Yeah.” I grimaced at the memories of Preston and Logan’s methods of information extraction. People said I was cold. Those assholes ate burgers while tossing what was left of Jack into the incinerator. “Didn’t find much.”

  “Are you sure he even has the tape? Could’ve been bullshitting us?”

  My brow rose. “Pretty sure he would’ve spilled anything he was holding back when you stuck that hot poker in his nut sack.”

  Logan looked up and smiled. “Yeah, he didn’t like that much.”

  I shook my head, pulled my shirt off, and dropped my bag on the bed. “Whoever Jack’s friend is, he was careful. Only made contact through texts with a burner phone and called himself The Piper.”

  Logan’s back stiffened.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said, shaking it off. “Just something he used to say.”

  By he, he meant his father. Logan had scars all over his body from that bastard. Couldn’t even look himself in the mirror until he covered them with a shitload of ink. We didn’t talk about Ryker. Didn’t so much as say his name. He was dead, rotting in the ocean we threw him in.

  “It’s time to pay the piper, boy,” Logan said with a far off look in his green eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” he growled, marching out the door. “I’m fine.”

  We swam for most of the day. Logan started to complain after about an hour, but he’d thank me after practice tomorrow. Coach was one of the few people who didn’t give a fuck who our father’s were. If you wanted to be on his team, you’d have to work for it – something I respected him for.

  Logan tried the, ‘it was summer break’ excuse last year. Coach’s response was, ‘We live ten minutes from the ocean, and you couldn’t find time to swim?’ Then, just to prove a point, practice was held at the docks for the next two weeks.

  I showered, threw on a pair of jeans and shirt, and headed downstairs to get something to eat. Logan took his sweet ass time getting ready, and my father was due any minute.

  Any minute turned out to be twenty. I was halfway through a plate of Rosy’s lasagna when he finally waltzed in.

  “Son,” he said, tipping his head in my direction. “dressed casually I see.”

  He’d been trying to get me in a suit for years. ‘Dressing for your position’ he called it. When he retired and I took over, then I’d wear the Armani three-piece.

  “You’re late,” I said, glancing at my watch.

  “I know.” He walked farther in the room, waving his hand over his shoulder.

  Marco, the head of our security entered, followed by four others, two of which were dragging the sheriff. His hair was disheveled and a deep purple bruise marked the left side of his jaw.

  “The sheriff here,” my father indicated towards Derek as he was dropped in the chair opposite me, “wasn’t particularly cooperative.”

  “Fuck you, Louis!” Derek snarled and spat at my father’s feet.

  “Now Derek,” my father slapped his hands down on the sheriff’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze, “I thought we were past this?”

  I watched anger swirl in the sheriff’s eyes. While they were the same color as my mouse, the wrathful storm raging within was different, not as intense. She may have gotten the color from her father, but her eyes were far more expressive.

  “Why don’t we settle this man to man? Or are you worried you’ll get your suit dirty?”

  Ah, same defiant tone, though.

  My father arched a brow down at the sheriff, then tipped his head at Marco, who promptly marched over and smacked Derek across the face. He was a big guy, well over six a
nd a half feet and a former Army Ranger. The force of his strike knocked Derek clean out of his chair. The sheriff hit the ground with an ‘oof’ and lay there grumbling a string of curses. Stubbornness must be an Adams’ trait.

  “There’s nothing to settle,” my father said, smoothing his suit jacket before stepping over Derek’s prone form to take a seat. “The contract’s signed. It’s done.”

  Marco fisted Derek’s collar and tossed him back into the chair, causing the legs to screech against the tile floor.

  “You can’t do this!” Derek yelled, slamming his fists against the table. “I only signed that fucking thing to save my wife!”

  Most people could be bought or blackmailed – both were tried to get the sheriff’s co-operation. But he wouldn’t give. That’s when Ryker decided to take care of it. The things he did to Riley’s mother were so deranged, that Derek not only helped us get rid of his body, but took the blame for shooting him. To the rest of the world Ryker Hudson was missing, and declared dead a year ago, but the Order needed an explanation.

  I stopped and studied Derek. Could he be Jack’s friend? He was the one who hid the tape and had access to it? No, he wouldn’t risk Riley finding out what had happened to her mother. It would destroy her.

  “You still signed it,” my father stated flatly.

  “God damnit, Louis! This shit isn’t right!”

  “I suggest you calm down.”

  “Fuck you!” Derek snarled and stood. “My daughter’s not going to be any part of this!”

  The click of a gun froze him in his tracks.

  “This is getting tiresome.” My father sighed, waving the sheriff’s own gun at him. “Now sit down before I decide it’s easier to dispose of you and have Logan sign the contract.”

  Derek’s suspicious gaze studied my father. “Logan can’t sign shit.”

  “He’s her brother now,” my father explained, “making him next in line to decide your daughter’s fate.”

  The sheriff took his seat with a smug smile. “Actually, Chase is.”

  It was my father’s turn to eye the sheriff. “Chase Mathers has no relation to your daughter.”

  “He’s her uncle. His wife was my sister. So, go a-head and kill me. Good luck getting him to sign shit.”

  “If he’s her uncle, then why doesn’t Riley know?” I asked, not sure if I believed him. I’d never heard her refer to him as anything other than a friend.

  “Samantha and I stopped talking when Riley was a baby. She doesn’t remember her.”

  My father sat back, looking causal, but I knew different. He’d just stored that in his mind to add to his book he called the ‘King’s ledger’. It was the place he kept all things he thought might be useful one day. No one other than me knew it existed, not even the other Kings, who he had information on as well. I had to hand it to him, I don’t know how he did it, but my father was thorough. I was so drunk when I fucked Marcy Granger that I didn’t even know her name until I read it in his book.

  “Well, thank you for that little tidbit of information, Sheriff.” My father sighed. “But I’m sorry to inform you that brother trumps uncle.”

  Derek’s face slipped back into anger. He knew he was losing, but still wouldn’t give up. At least I knew where my mouse got it from.

  “You won’t get away with this!”

  “I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” I growled. “She’ll be well taken care of.”

  I kept my end of the bargain. Riley would be safe and provided for. I’d even take her comfort into account. Hell, I already did. I filled her room with furniture from her uncle’s shop in Mexico. Even went so far as to track down all the jewelry her mother had sold over the years, and some of it wasn’t easy to find.

  “You really think she’s going to go along with this shit?” Derek sneered, with a smug glint in his eyes.

  I shrugged. “She won’t have a choice.”

  “She hates you. You know that, don’t you?”

  My brow arched. “Not as much as she’ll hate you when she finds out you gave her away.”

  Derek’s face paled as his eyes went wide with realization, and for the first time since he got here, the sheriff was quiet.

  Chapter Seven

  Riley

  It turned out I was one of those girls who didn’t want the window down because it might mess up my hair. But in my defense, I didn’t know hair could be this soft, or skin for that matter. Okay, so the spa wasn’t that bad. Well, except for the whole Brazilian thing. When I was asked if I wanted the works, I just shrugged, figuring when in Rome. Big mistake.

  I should’ve known something was up when they asked me to remove my underwear. I just thought they wanted to be thorough and get my entire leg. I mean, I was wearing Boyshorts, so it made sense. After I hit the first lady, they called in back-up. I had to hand it to Asher’s spa and Boutique, they had some tough girls working there.

  Paisley giggled from the driver’s seat. “How many times are you going to smell yourself?”

  “That depends,” I said, dropping my arm away from my nose. “How long am I going to smell like strawberries?”

  “You have the same lotion in your bag.”

  I eyed the black bag at my feet, wondering which of the many bottles it was. Wait a minute . . . Did I switch bodies with Shelby?

  The smile dropped off Paisley’s face when we turned down the driveway. She slowed to a stop and stared at a sleek black town car parked in front of the house.

  “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t get a chance to answer before my door was thrown open by Logan.

  “Damn, sis.” he said, giving me a once over. “I’d definitely fuck you now.”

  “I think I’ll pass,” I grumbled and pushed my way past him. No way was I getting caught in another situation like this morning. Sure, having Paisley there offered some comfort, but not much. He was her son after all.

  “Hey,” Logan called out after me. “Your dad wants to talk to you. He’s in the kitchen.”

  “Great,” I muttered, opening the door and stepping inside.

  I kind of hoped he’d forget about the whole piercing thing. Could I avoid the whole thing? Go hide in my room and pretend I was pissed at him? No. There was no stopping one of his lectures. Sighing, I dropped my bag and headed for the kitchen.

  “Look, I know you don’t approve, but –”

  I froze two steps in the kitchen. Five large men, all wearing black suits, turned to look at me. Each one stood stiffly with their arms neatly clasped behind their backs. The only one who moved, was the guy who stepped in front of the archway, blocking the entrance I just came in.

  “Good evening Riley.”

  My attention was drawn to the table in the back, where Micha sat with my dad, and his. If Louis Kessler, sitting in my kitchen, dressed like he was at a business meeting wasn’t enough to tell me something was wrong, then the bruises on my dad’s face and the blood on his shirt was.

  Mr. Kessler nodded at Micha. “I believe you’ve met my son.”

  “Yeah,” I said, eyeing his perfectly tailored suit. He looked like his son. Same olive complexion, dark eyes, and chestnut hair, though his had a few strands of silver. “We’ve met.”

  If that’s what you want to call it?

  My gaze shifted back to my dad, eyes traveling over the swollen purple flesh marring his jaw. My dad wasn’t a small guy. He held his own against the guys he arrested. Seeing him like this, with his head hung and a broken look in his eyes, was unnerving.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Please,” Mr. Kessler waved at the chair across from him, “have a seat.”

  I was pretty sure I’d seen this in a horror movie before. Some guy, sitting in a house, talking in a polite manner. Then bam! You wake up strapped to a slab about to be dismembered!

  “I’m good right here.”

  Micha released an impatient sigh. “Sit down, Mouse.”
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  Crossing my arms, I straightened my back and lifted my chin. I wasn’t going anywhere near him.

  “She’s a stubborn little thing isn’t she?” Mr. Kessler said, giving his son a quick glance.

  Micha’s nostrils flared and I smirked.

  That’s right, asshole. Fuck you.

  “Sit down!” he ordered, an angry grumble in his tone.

  “No.”

  Micha arched his brow, silently saying, ‘You sure you want to do this?’

  My eyes narrowed. Bring it, bitch.

  One nod, that’s all it took. My elbow was seized by the guy standing behind me, and I was drug across the room.

  “Hey!” I shrieked, slapping the goon’s arm. My resistance was useless. Next thing I knew, my ass was slammed down in the chair.

  I rubbed my sore butt, and glared at Micha. “Having your cronies manhandle me now?”

  “There’s repercussions for being disobedient, Mouse.”

  “I suggest you start listening to my son,” Mr. Kessler piped in, “otherwise your life is about to become very difficult.”

  “My life’s already difficult,” I grumbled, looking over at my dad.

  I’d heard rumors. Quiet whispers about the dark things the founding families did. Small-town gossip, that’s all I thought it was. They weren’t sacrificing people under the full moon. But I had to admit, sitting here in the commanding presence of Mr. Kessler, I couldn’t help but wonder if some of those rumors might be true?

  “Did you do that to my dad?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Kessler answered flatly.

  “Why?”

  For some reason, he seemed intrigued by my question. I wasn’t sure what intrigued him. My dad was hurt. It was only normal to wonder why. Mom came home all the time with mysterious bruises and scrapes. I learned long ago not to jump to conclusions. For all I knew, my dad had a gambling problem like Shelby’s.

  “Your father was,” he studied me for a second, rubbing the dark hair coating his chin, before saying, “uncooperative.”

  “Are you in the mob or something?” Some bookie broke Shelby’s dad’s arm last year.

  “No. I’m a psychiatrist.”