Dirty Playboy - Alex Wolf Page 0,86

her, and took her across the country somewhere, but what kind of life would that be? That’s not what she deserves. If I ever get a chance with her again, it will be the right way. It’ll only be when I can give her the world.

What’s done is done. It’s for the best. I know what I have to do.

I have to wait, for now.

I sit there, swiping through photos of us on my phone. For a month or two, hell, even when I was just following her around like a weirdo, pretending all day long—those were the happiest times of my life. It was the one bright spot on the highlight reel of this horror film.

I have to do this. I have to face reality and pay for things I’ve done. The debt always comes due no matter how long you hide from it, and only after it’s been paid, can you move forward. It’s the only way I can escape this and actually be a man.

I glance to the clock, just waiting, then back to pictures of Mary. She’s so happy and free. I did that to her. I made her feel that way.

Me.

Best thing I’ve ever fucking done in my life.

But at what cost? She’s worse off now. I picked a rose because I wanted to, and now it’s wilting, about to decay. It was the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, and now I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for it. I guess time will tell.

There’s a knock at my door.

He’s five minutes late, of course. It’s a metaphor for his entire existence. Actually, I’m surprised he showed up at all. That would’ve been more appropriate. But he needs something, and I’m the only one who can get it for him.

When I open the door, he smirks. “Hello again, son.”

“Let’s get this shit over with.” I shut the door behind me and walk right through his shoulder.

When we pull up in front of the nondescript house in a suburban neighborhood, Dad looks around, confused. “The fuck are we doing here?”

“It’s where he keeps his data.”

He glares long and hard at me. “No, it’s in an office suite off Rush Street.”

I shake my head. “Red herring. I looked into it. Trust me, it’s here.”

His eyes are cold, trying to get a read on me, then finally, he grins. “Well, all right then. Let’s get the tools.”

I shake my head. “I’m holding it.”

“Huh?”

I hold up my phone. “Two security systems. One on the house, and the encryption on the drive.”

“My intelligence told me his data isn’t networked.”

“It’s not. But his security system is. The wifi isn’t enabled on it, but it has a wifi chip on the unit. I can activate it remotely. Bug in the software.”

Dad pats me on the back, grinning, then his fingers dig into my shoulder. It doesn’t hurt physically, but the psychological damage is there. Every memory of him gripping me by the shoulder as a boy, grinding his teeth, telling me not to fuck this up, comes back to the center of my mind.

My gut twists. All the hurt, anger, depression, it all rises to the surface, every memory of why I hate him. It takes everything in me to keep my rage suppressed, even more importantly, my fear. It would terrify me when he looked at me, eight years old, running some kind of street scam or credit card play. All I wanted was a regular dad, but I didn’t have one. Why did this piece of shit have to reproduce? The world would’ve been better off without me in it.

Then the words come. The intimidation.

“You fuck me on this, and I will end you. I’ll expose everything.”

I shake my head, pushing away all my nightmares, and I smack his hand away from me. “Fuck you. You want to do this or not?”

He nods. “Yeah, let’s do it. We’ll get the drive and figure out the encryption later.”

I press a button on my phone, showing him the alarm is deactivated and open my door.

Before he can get out, I grip him by the forearm.

His eyes dart to my fingers, then back up.

“When this is over. We’re done.”

He scoffs. “Sure.”

“Our entire conversation was just recorded, and it’s backed up to the cloud so don’t do something stupid, like you usually do, and try to grab my phone, because it’ll just fuck this all up and ruin your opportunity. I’ll destroy the file in front of you later, and you