More Than Protect You (More Than Words #6.5) - Shayla Black Page 0,23
I knew how he thought.”
I have a feeling there’s a story there, but I can’t get sidetracked. “Did your dad ever confide in you about whether he, um…deflowered Amanda?”
“No, we weren’t close. And I don’t have any proof he did it back then, but now that we’re talking…my gut tells me yes.”
It would explain a lot, like why an otherwise sensible girl let her life get so off track. If Barclay got his hands on her young and warped her thoughts while he defiled her, maybe he used their relationship to string her along and persuade her to give him everything he wanted…until he was ready to cut her loose. It would also explain why she’s so disillusioned now by men and love.
“That son of a bitch.”
Griff doesn’t even try to defend the bastard. “That was my dad. Selfish to the core. If it made him happy, he didn’t think twice about who he hurt in the process.”
“If he only cared about himself, why did he share his assistant with you?”
The cynical twist of Griff’s mouth is almost painful. “He wanted to create carbon copies of himself. If more of us were bent like him, then he couldn’t be completely wrong.”
“That’s a fucked-up point of view.”
“That was my dad.”
Griff is bitter, and I don’t blame him. “I feel sorry for you and your siblings. For his assistants. For everyone he hurt.”
“There are a bunch of us. We’ve all done our best to pick up and move on.”
“I feel especially sorry for your mom.”
He scoffs. “Don’t. She’s a viper in her own right, and she helped Dad gather clients—no matter how she had to do it—so he could take their money.” He sighs. “I lived with a lot of anger and distrust for years. That shit cost me an emotional fortune with Britta. Jamie was nearly three when I met him for the first time. If I hadn’t turned my shit around, I would have spent my life chasing pussy and I would have ended up alone, just like him.” Then he does his best to laugh. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
His speech was heavy, but he gave me a lot to think about. “I am, actually. Thanks for being honest.”
“Brutally so, but… I’ve known Amanda most of her life. I’d like to see her stay alive long enough to be happy.”
“I’m working on the alive part. Can you think of anyone who would want her dead?”
“No. But my mom’s trial for being an accessory to embezzlement starts next month. Maybe there’s something there?”
It sounds plausible. I’ll dig into that if I need to. “Do you know a guy she’d be familiar with from home named Bruce?”
“Yeah. Did she mention him?” He seems confused.
“It’s a long story.”
Griff shrugs. “He’s all right. A little stiff, but you know… When you grow up with a bunch of billionaires in private schools, you begin to believe your shit doesn’t stink.”
I wouldn’t have any idea. “Think he could make Amanda happy?”
“I can’t say. Honestly, I haven’t seen the guy in, like, ten years. He may have changed. I have. Amanda has. So it’s possible.”
He’s got a good point. “Thanks. If you think of anything else, let me know?”
“Sure. I don’t know where Trace found you, but he’s good people. If he hooked you up with Amanda, then he must believe you’re a good guy.”
“She’s been through a lot.”
“Amen. I’ll check in with you later, maybe swing by with my boys so Oliver has someone to play with?”
“That would be great. Good to meet you, man.”
“You, too.”
He leaves with a wave, and I’m stuck looking at a dozen parts to the crib, a closed door to the woman I’ve sworn to protect, along with her son—and a fucking decision to make. Enough money to finally start over…or protect Amanda because she’s beginning to mean something to me?
Chapter Five
For the next hour, I sit with Oliver in the living room. With one hand, I try to entertain him with the toys I find stashed in his diaper bag. With the other, I pull up the search engine on my phone and try to figure out what the fuck to do. It seems crazy to give up a much-needed fortune—more cash than I’ve ever had in my life—for a woman I met eight hours ago. And if I sold her out, I’d have to live with that.
But what if it’s for her own good?
First things first, I hand Oliver a stuffed train—something new for him to chew on—as