thoughts of Willa off with a mental flick and go back to Lakyn. What kind of name is that, anyway? He’s supposed to be this irresistible and brilliant maniac according to the email, but so am I.
Ever since I got the fucking thing, I’ve constantly compared myself to the man that had a hand in my creation—the man I don’t even know.
And in the quiet moments that I find myself thinking about him, the more I wonder why meeting him is a ‘dare.’
Also, why now? Why not ten years ago when I was languishing under my mother’s tyrannical iron rule?
That bitch never gave a shit about me. She hated me from the day I was born and treated me like garbage. I took it for as long as I could, though. Then, when the opportunity presented itself, I managed to get removed from her care.
It wasn’t the last time I saw her though.
A smirk starts to cross my lips, but I decide that for now it’s best to keep her and Lakyn as separate thoughts in my mind. I want to meet him first to see what the big deal is and if her hating me over him was worth the years she spent inadvertently making me into the man I’ve become today.
I turn on my side and bend a leg as I slip an arm under my pillow and glance at the clock. Three in the fucking morning and I’m still not tired enough to go to sleep.
I know Willa expects me to do some of the driving, but I want to do it all. If I’m going to be like Lakyn, I should probably act like him, and something tells me that he’s one hell of a control freak.
He has to be.
How the hell else would he have lasted as long as he did if what the email said about him was true?
Not that there were too many details disclosed. Mostly just his name, a few addresses that he could be located at, a couple of pieces of information about the man, and the dare.
“I dare you.”
As someone who likes to show people that I’m made of thick skin, something as simple as a dare will make me go above and beyond whatever the call of duty may be.
I roll my eyes and sigh when my cell phone vibrates on the nightstand next to the clock, then reach for it. If Willa is still awake, then I guess I’ll be doing the fucking driving anyway, but I arch an eyebrow when I see I have a text message from a number I don’t know and tap the screen twice to open it.
Chicken.
Rolling onto my back and assuming this is the same source of the phantom email, I run a hand over my face for a moment before I reply.
Who is this?
I let myself down expecting an immediate response, but I’m used to that. I let myself down a lot it seems with the expectations I set for every day, mundane things.
After ten minutes pass, I shrug and lay the phone on my bare chest then close my eyes, ready to try to get some sleep, when the phone vibrates again.
Are you going?
At this point, I’m over words. If this person won’t tell me who they are, then there’s only one way to respond. Opening the camera option on the phone, I tap the screen to turn the lens in my direction, hold up a middle finger and snap the picture.
I glance at it before I send it because even though stranger danger is a viable thing, this motherfucker needs to know that I’m as damn good looking as I am dangerous and I won’t hesitate to fucking hurt them if given the chance.
I chuckle at my picture.
The sneer on my lips, the way my tongue sticks out of my mouth, and the way my finger is standing makes me look as mischievous as it does lackadaisical, both of which I feel toward the phantom that keeps egging me on.
I send the photo, then hold down the power button on my phone, placing it on the nightstand once it’s off.
Time to get some shut eye, I tell myself as I turn back on my side again and do my best to drift off.
I grunt when I wake up the next morning. I’m pissed because I should still be asleep, but I guess it’ll be up to Willa to take the night shift because no matter how hard I try,