The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole Page 0,61

I yank my wrist from her grip.

It appears that when I lifted my hand to brush my hair back, my sleeve shifted down from my wrist and revealed the razor slices across my skin.

The marks I give myself as penance every night before bed, hoping I'll bleed out and never wake up. Like her. The marks Isaac never notices because he's good at leaving me alone.

Easing my foot off the brake pedal, I tell her, "Leave it alone, Kenny." Then I speed out of the parking lot, leaving her behind.

Chapter 16

Leyana

I never went to the reading of the will, and all contact attempts from Kathy’s lawyer were ignored. Not because I thought she didn't leave me anything, but whatever she left for me—the house, most likely—I don’t deserve it.

Today, after weeks of avoidance and distance from the house, I drop in to collect our mails. Among the pile of envelopes, is one from Kathy’s lawyer. Had I known what it was before I opened it, I wouldn’t have.

A copy of the will.

After reading the entire thing twice over, I suppose I can understand the lawyer’s urgency and persistence on getting through to me.

Katherine left me everything.

Everything.

Every penny, every possession.

Also, among the envelopes is a legal notice from her royal family. Turns out that since I'm legally Kathy's daughter on paper—she had adopted me—I’m entitled to all her shares in the family’s real estate holdings. The woman was earning millions of euros per year without lifting a finger, and all those annual payments will now be coming to me, through to death.

I'm also eligible for becoming a princess and begin receiving the annual royal salary which was stripped from Kathy when she chose to marry outside of the royal line. But this is contingent on me migrating to their country and marrying my "cousin" Prince Archibald IV.

No thanks.

I knew Kathy was wealthy, but I didn’t realize how wealthy until now, even though she was stripped of her royal salary and privileges.

It's insane, batshit crazy money. How can one person be this rich?

And then… it sinks in.

Holy shit, I'm this rich.

Too much to process all at once, I toss the mail in the backseat and drive to the supermarket. I need some time to let it all sink in before I contact anyone. A few days, maybe even weeks.

For right now, I'm out of gauze and alcohol, and the material of my hoodie is starting to stick to the latest slit on my wrist.

I'm shuffling out of the supermarket with a tote bag of extra crap that I hadn't planned on purchasing, when I see him. Propped against my car, arms crossed. Waiting for me.

I break short, unsure of what to do. Dammit. He must have spotted my car.

Ever since I left, I’ve put a lot of effort into circumventing all the places I know he and his circle frequents. I drive farther than I have to. To distant, out-of-the-way places where I know the chances of me running into them are slim. Like this supermarket, which is a fifty-two-minute drive that I didn’t need to take just for bandages.

I'm exceptional at hiding. I've been doing it all my life, so if Scratch found me, it's because he’s been searching for me, scanning the license plates of every cherry red X6 he saw. No one can tell me otherwise.

Someone honks their horn at me. A young man wants to reverse out of his lot and I'm blocking his way.

Swallowing past the fist-sized lump in my throat, I resume walking, feeling attacked and assaulted by Scratch's glare.

He's sporting a nasty shiner, yet he's still the most ruggedly handsome man I’ve ever seen. So big and intimidating. Scary and sexy. His hair is growing back thicker and glossier than it was before the army cut, his thick black mane curling around his ears.

His glower on me is icy, but not hateful or resentful. More like frustrated, indignant.

I come to a halt in front of him, gripping the grocery tote like a weapon. "Hi."

"Fuck your hi," he snarls.

"Okay." I press the unlock button on the key fob, but he's blocking the way, stationary.

"Okay?" he asks disbelievingly. "Okay?"

"Scratch—"

"When are you coming home, Ley?"

"I don't have a home."

"Yes, you do!" he half-shouts at me. "Your home is with me." He’s swift when he grabs my free hand and plants it over his heart. "Your home is in here."

"Scratch, you need to give up on me," I beg him. "I'm not worth it. I'm not—" I suck in