Heath
One week later…
I WATCH THROUGH MY WINDSHIELD as my weak son attempts to talk to his cousin. There, standing in her school uniform, she lifts her chin as she listens to what he has to say. He keeps reaching for her and she steps away each time.
Weak boy.
So fucking weak.
It’s embarrassing that he comes from my flesh. That he, even with all the money he has access to, would allow these people to make him feel so small. It’s ridiculous.
From what Theo tells me, Harrison has plans to marry Cat on Sunday. A small affair in a tiny church because those idiots can’t afford anything more. Her mother is probably turning over in her grave knowing her daughter is settling for less.
Bile rises in my throat. I’m disgusted. Fury and hatred burn through me. I’ve been trying to think of a way to make them pay. Elliot was my first attempt. But before I could fire him, I found the letter of resignation sitting on his desk.
He quit.
The fool left my company knowing it was more than he could have ever deserved. I researched and discovered he works selling insurance. Fucking insurance. How that man who was born with a silver spoon in his mouth would ever willingly step down is beyond me. It’s unimaginable. I’m infuriated trying to figure him out.
They all probably sit around at dinner discussing how they outsmarted poor old Mr. Heath. Fuck them. They only paused the game. I’m strategizing my next move while they gloat in their perceived win.
They have not won.
They will never win.
This game has always been mine. I make the rules. I dictate the plays. I say who wins. And that’s me.
My eyes track Theo and Cat as they walk down the steps. She doesn’t seem happy with him, but she’s listening to what he has to say. Nothing like her mother. Catrina would have flayed the boy right there. Reminded him that you don’t fuck with her.
Not Cat.
Too much Elliot Lincoln in her.
She’s fucking soft.
And the moment she marries that good for nothing piece of shit orphan, this will all have been for nothing. Decade after wasted decade. It’s almost as though she seems happy to run off with the worthless mechanic. As though he has more to offer than the likes of my son.
I roll my windows down and listen when they approach.
“I don’t need a ride,” she tells him, waving her keys in his face. “I have my own.”
His shoulders hunch when she climbs into her Mustang and drives off. My idiot son runs to his own car, turns his engine over, and immediately kills it. I watch in horror as he just lets her get away.
Something clicks inside my mind and my engine roars to life. I see Theo’s confused look when he realizes I was watching them. My car peels out as I fire out of the parking lot after her. She drives slow until she makes it to a stop sign and sees me in the rearview mirror. Then, she puts the muscles to the test on her Mustang and peels out. I’m in my Mercedes rather than Theo’s Porsche he’s damn near killed, so I’m not as fast as her Mustang.
But she’s a girl who drives like an idiot. I easily catch up and ride alongside her, waving for her to pull over. She shakes her head and guns it again. We’re on a two-way street and she flails and screams, pointing ahead where a big-ass semi-truck barrels toward us.
“Pull the fuck over,” I roar, even though she can’t hear me.
She shoots me a panicked look. At the last second, she brakes and pulls off on the shoulder. I whip back into my lane and jerk the wheel off onto the shoulder, blocking her car. Then, I jolt from the vehicle and rush over to hers. She scrambles for the lock, but I’m quicker. I yank the door open and reach for her. Her fingernails rake down my forearm, but my suit jacket protects me from her assault. I snag her neck and then unbuckle her seatbelt. Dragging her from the car, I kick the door shut and wrangle her toward my car.
“What are you doing?” she screams. “Let me go!”
“You should have never left,” I snarl as I pop the trunk. “You should have never left!”
She fights me as I push her inside the trunk. Her hands slap at me and her feet kick out. We struggle against each other. The girl has fire in her. Definitely got that from her mother.
“You can’t do this!” she bellows, her foot clocking me in my still-sore jaw.
I howl and grip her neck again, pinning her down. “I can and I will.”
Jerking my hand back quickly, I shut the trunk down on her. She screams and pounds, but I ignore her as I climb back in my car. I punch on the gas and tear off down the road. Violent energy thrums through me.
I will win.
I just had to make my move.
She’s not going anywhere.
Harrison and Elliot. They will pay for trying to make a fool out of me. I’ll keep the girl like I should have kept her fucking mother.
Do you like her better than me?
The bitter voice in my mind is familiar. Feminine. Catrina. My heart stutters in my chest and I grind the heel of my hand into my temple. I fucking hate when I hear her voice. It’s not real. It’s my mind making a mess of my memories.
She’s pretty. Admit it.
“Fuck you,” I roar to nothing and no one. “She could never compare.”
The crazed laughter in my head soothes me and my heart thrums in its cage. Just having her daughter in my clutches has me feeling closer to the woman I loved than I’ve felt since her death.
Are you going to keep her?
“Yes.”
Fuck her?
“No.” I crack my neck as I speed down the road. “She’s nothing like you. She’s too much like that motherfucking Elliot.”
More cackles echo in my mind.
Good.
Gritting my teeth, I rub at my temple again. I hate when I rationalize my thoughts by using her voice. Her fucking memory. I’m not crazy, but this sure makes me feel that way.
They made you crazy, the voice in my head purrs.
Elliot. Harrison. My brother and his wife. Isabel.
Fury ravages through me at the thought of Isabel. Apparently my thoughts mimic that of my imagined Catrina. She hated her so fully.
You were always mine. I was always yours. Our souls are the same. Black and tarnished.
Ignoring my maddening thoughts, I pull into my driveway and exit the vehicle. When I pop the trunk, it flings open and she flies out like a wild animal. Her green eyes—identical to her mother’s—are frantic. She’s frightened but also furious. The fury in her green orbs reminds me so much of her mother. It makes me pounce on her. I easily pin the slight girl in my arms. My nose runs along the side of her neck as I inhale her. She squirms and screams, but I ignore it.
“I’m keeping you,” I tell her. “It’s what’s owed to me.”
“Noooo!”
She kicks out when I carry her over to the door and we’re shoved back a few steps. With a growl, I turn and then push through sideways. When Helen drops the cup of coffee in her hands and it hits the floor with a shatter, I snarl at her.
“Mind your own business, woman.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “Mr. Heath.”
“So help me if you do anything other than your fucking job, which is to serve me until the day I die, I swear to you, I will drown you in the lake,” I yell.
The older woman flinches and scurries away. I drag my unwilling captive to the basement door. As soon as I open it, she detonates in my arms. Her flailing gets stronger and I almost drop her to her death. One false move and she’d go stumbling down the steps. Break her pretty little neck with one quick pop.
I prefer a lifetime of agony.
“Not that easy,” I growl against her hair as I force her into the darkness. We reach the bottom and it’s pitch-black. I blindly reach out for the light and flip it on. The light flickers and sputters, acting as though it’s about to go out. As I’m fumbling around looking for a box of lightbulbs to replace the dying one, she scrambles loose. I tackle her before she can get too far away. We hit the cold, hard dirty floor, knocking the wind out of us both.
“Help! Helen!” she screams. “Help!”
I manhandle her until her wrists are secured and my body pins her to the ground. Her sobs come next. I listen to each sound she makes and drink them in. The light flickers out. In the dark, she sounds like her.
“Heath,” she pleads through her tears.
So much like her.
So. Much. Like. Her.
Leaning forward, I run my tongue along the side of her neck. Her entire body goes still.
“I like your taste, Catrina,” I murmur.
“Heath,” she whimpers. “I’m not her.”
Pressing my lips to hers, I kiss her hard and dominating. She fights against my kiss and manages to nip my lip. Blood rushes out and I growl.
“No, you’re nothing like her,” I bite out. “But you’re still mine.”
Her terrified howls seem to sing to my vengeful, black heart.
I want all her screams.
I deserve them.
They’re mine.