THREE YEARS PRIOR
CHAPTER 3
JONATHAN
My phone buzzes next to my head. I roll over and look at the screen. What the fuck? Blinking hard, I rub the sleep from my eyes. It's Robyn, one of the only people I know down here. My mother exiled me for thinking with my dick. Whatever.
What are u doing?
Sleeping. I type back and put the phone down. It buzzes again.
Annoyed, I pick it up and read her message. Lame. Get over here. I have someone for you to meet.
Yeah, right. Like I'm rolling out of bed and going to the mall. It's too goddamn early. I put the phone down and roll over to go back to sleep, but it buzzes again.
Get up loser!
Fuck off, Rob. A bit harsh, yeah, but it effectively communicated that I'm not moving from this bed.
Okay, I'll hand off the hot girl to some other guy who thinks with his dick.
Not funny. I shouldn't have told her why I was sent down here. My family thinks they can hide me in the backwoods of Mississippi until the whole thing blows over, like what I did was hideous—which it wasn't. I'm not a total asshole.
Wasn't trying to be. At least come say hi.
Not interested. The phone finally quiets and I roll over, intending to go back to sleep when it buzzes again.
I mutter to no one, "Fuck, Robyn. I don't want to meet your hideous cousin—" My words stop as I stare at the picture on my phone. It's some girl I've never seen before. She's got long, soft brown hair, pale skin—like the tone of breasts that have never seen sunlight—with a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and pink lips pulled into a sexy, sweet smile. Just looking at her makes me hard. I groan and rub my face with the heel of my hands. She's hot and I haven't fucked anyone since I left New York a week ago, which is way too long. Robyn's working all summer, so my normal fuck buddy isn't around. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I look at the screen wondering about the chick in the picture.
Another message comes through. Totally hot, right?
Maybe. She's looking for a hook up?
Totally. Be here in 10 or I'm setting her up with someone else.
Fine.
I pull on some clothes and run a comb through my hair, but it doesn't want to lay right. So I rub some gel through it and leave it messy. Whatever. She's lucky to have me. I'm a Ferro. No one tells me no anyway, not for anything. I expect to get there and have this chick falling all over me.
There's only one issue to work out—I need a car. I haven't discussed it with Uncle Luke yet. I'm staying at his house for the rest of the summer. Mom said if I didn't keep a low profile that she'd personally castrate me. Nice, right?
I pause at the top of a long winding staircase. The room below has floor to ceiling windows that look out onto the Ross Barnett Reservoir. The water sparkles in the morning sun, blinding me. Uncle Luke sees me standing around as he eats his breakfast in the dining room below.
"Come on and get some breakfast." He's a tall thin guy with a head of thick, dark hair. He combs it like an eight-year-old, parted on one side, and plastered to his scalp. The guy is wearing a plaid shirt, a pair of khakis, and boat shoes, which means he's planning on spending the day on his yacht. It's one of the many gifts the family has sent him to keep him happy and quiet down here. The Ferro name carries a lot of weight and anyone that messes with it gets shipped off to no man's land.
"Uh, actually, I'd like to head to the mall and buy some clothes. Mom tossed my ass on the plane before I could pack." As soon as she heard about what I did, I was dragged to McArthur Airport and shipped out of state. Now, I'm Uncle Luke's problem. I walk down the staircase and over to the table.
I'm wearing the same outfit from yesterday, which isn't exactly new. It was in the dresser drawer from the last time I was here, and no longer fits quite right. The jeans are way too tight and if they hug my balls any harder my voice will go up an octave.
Uncle Luke takes forever to answer. When he does, he leans back and flashes his perfect smile at me. His mouth is filled with veneers, another present from Mom. "Fine. Take the black car. Keys are in the garage. Jonny, do something stupid and I'll take it out of your ass." Uncle Luke isn't kidding. Mom threatened him, too. If I mess up down here, I don't even want to know what she'll do next. I've never pissed her off that much, but it can be done, and there are secrets that I'm sure she doesn't know. If she did, I'd be disowned and lose my entire inheritance. The Ferro family is wealthy beyond comprehension. When I was a kid, I thought we were rich, but it's more than that. There's power in our name, backed by more money than I could ever spend. I'm not getting disowned. Fuck that.
He adds quickly, before I can walk away, "How are you paying for it?"
I shrug. "Charge card, I guess. Mom locked me out of my accounts."
Luke glares at me like I'm a moron. "Never use credit cards. They'll know your business." I blink at him like he's hit his head one too many times. Luke sighs, explaining, "The government looks at shit like this Jonny, and it's none of their goddamn business. Use cash. Always have cash on you and pay in cash. Period." He reaches into his pocket and takes out his money clip, pulling a few bills and handing them to me. "I'll get your mother to reinstate your allowance. In the meantime, that should be enough for a few things."
I nod and thank him, heading to the garage before he can change his mind or make me wear a tinfoil helmet so no one can read my thoughts. Uncle Luke is a little bit of a conspiracy theorist. It was fun when I was a kid, but now it's just uncomfortable. The guy can ramble on for hours about how the government, aliens, and other assorted groups are out to get us. I get why he was banished—Luke makes the Ferro family look fucking crazy.
But the man does have good taste. As I enter the garage I see three cars—a cherry red Ferrari, a dark blue Sunbeam, and a black Maserati convertible. Score. Knowing Uncle Luke, I figured he'd hand me an old Civic or something, but this is way cooler. I get in the Maserati, put the top down, and feel the engine begin to purr as I start the car. It's fucking orgasmic, the way the machine comes to life.
With a slick grin on my face, I pull out and head toward the mall. The ride is over way too fast. I pull the car into a parking spot and head inside. I don't know where to find Robyn, but it doesn't really matter. The mall isn't that big. I pass a few stores and slip my hands into my pockets.
That's when I see Robyn. She's standing in the center of the corridor, with her full profile visible. She looks good. I haven't seen her in a few years, and I take a few seconds to appreciate the way her body's filled out. She was the first girl I made out with who had real curves. The memory is imprinted on my mind. Soft, milky flesh that was smooth and perfect. Maybe I should just wait for her to get off work and we can pick up where we left off a few years back.
Robyn doesn't see me approaching. Her face has a shocked look on it, with eyes too wide. She blinks over and over, like she can't believe what she's hearing, which forces my gaze onto the chick standing across from Rob, with her back to me. Long dark hair falls down her back in a cascade of spirals, hanging just above a tight ass that's the perfect size. She's not a twig with nothing to grab, which is good. When I'm with a woman, I want to grip her ass and drive into her hard—grabbing a bunch of bones isn't the same thing. A bony ass is an automatic turn off.
Her legs are shorter than I'd like, but they're curvy and connect with a killer set of hips. God, and she has that pale skin everywhere. It reminds me of forbidden flesh—of the places that my tongue will slip over and between later if things go well. She's my type, Robyn was right, and from the back, she's pretty hot.
I step toward them, preparing to pry the new girl off of me, because that's what always happens. Once they find out who I am, they get clingy. That's my only concern at this point. The girl looks like the perfect way to spend my summer, and I wouldn't mind being between her legs for most of it, but I don't know. I'll have to see what level of crazy she's running on before I do anything. I can't make any waves down here. The press can't know I'm here, so this might be a bad plan—but there's no way I'm jerking off for the rest of the summer.
As I step closer, I hear her voice. It's nice, not too high. I hate that squawky, whiny tone. I've nailed some women who talk like that, but I can't stand to listen to them. It's like nails on a chalkboard. Instant revulsion. So, everything checks out. She's hot, has the voice, has the hair, the ass, the legs, the flawless skin, so when I hear her say she's a virgin, I freeze in place.