Third a Kiss (Goddess Isles #3) - Pepper Winters Page 0,28
and sweet.
My hands balled, thinking about the shy caique and the fact that she was most likely hanging out with Eleanor.
Goddammit.
Try as I might, my thoughts always returned to her. To wonderings of what she was doing. Of memories of what she’d felt like in my arms.
Fuck!
Rubbing my mouth, I shook my head and stood. Work wasn’t the all-consuming salvation I’d hoped it would be. I needed the sea. I needed to swim to the horizon and get as far away from this goddess-filled hellhole as I could.
“Pika. Let’s go.” I snapped my fingers, but Pika continued to attack the mushed grape and my phone rang shrilly in the serenity.
I deliberated not answering, but with a heavy sigh, I snatched it up, and barked, “What?”
“Do you always answer your phone so rudely?”
Every pain, every weakness, every hint of what I’d been through yesterday faded under a tsunami of black hatred, thick as oil, toxic as a corpse-rotting crypt. “What the fuck are you doing calling me?”
Drake snickered, his voice so similar to mine. We didn’t share much in the sibling gene pool but our voices were almost identical. The only way to tell us apart was his more American drawl from still living on our motherland shores, while I’d lost my accent a little thanks to my adoptive home. Also, the thread of evil he cultivated was obvious whenever he spoke, making him sound like a vile bastard who deserved an excruciating extermination.
“I figured I owed you a thank you…for setting your fucking lapdog on me.”
“That lapdog delivered what you were owed for thinking you could tamper in my company.”
“Our company.”
“Mine,” I snarled. “Or are you forgetting you got the mansions and the holiday homes and all the goddamn cash while I got the very thing that destroyed—”
“Sinclair and Sinclair Group is worth more than any of that other shit combined.”
I bared my teeth. Pika and the rest of the birds took wing at the rage flowing off me. “Only because I made it so. It wasn’t worth nearly as much when they had it.”
“They?” Drake sneered. “You mean our parents, Sully? The very same parents you fucking murdered?”
I went ice. Fucking. Cold.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“I heard you accuse me of murder.”
He laughed icily. “Cold-blooded murder actually.”
My heart hurtled itself into a sick gallop toward a cliff. I did my best to rein in the hate between us—to stay calm, collected, and to handle this unfortunate situation—but Drake lowered his voice to a guttural whisper, “I’ve known all along, you little cocksucker. I knew when I showed you what our mother did to those stupid animals you rescued that you’d snap eventually.”
A nasty coating of sweat broke out over my back. “I don’t know what the—”
“Yes, you do. Do you honestly think I’m that fucking stupid?”
I cricked my neck, still trying to divert this disgusting chat to more domestic topics. “I never thought you were stupid, Drake…just a fucking ignoramus with the instincts of a dung beetle. Actually, wait. I take that back. To liken you to any animal is an insult to the animal. You’re just…human.” I said the last word with every disgust and hostility imaginable.
Drake just laughed. “I’m not the killer in the family, Sully. You are.”
“I think you forgot to take your meds. You’re delusional.” My nostrils flared as my phone glued itself to my ear. I pressed it into my skull until a headache formed, trying to stop his accusations from spilling free and infecting these pristine shores I’d found sanctuary in.
I’d run from society because I couldn’t stomach the level of detestation and malevolence that swamped me when talking to people I couldn’t stand. People I didn’t respect or like.
I had no control over the way my body primed for a fight. A sick and dirty fight where I forgot the part of me that was still human and became a filthy, ferocious animal instead.
I would tear his motherfucking throat out if we ever came face to face again.
“I’m not the one who needs drugging, asshole.” He paused before adding, “This stroll down memory lane is good and all, but I’m sure you’re aware I have a reason for calling you.”
“Extortion by the sounds of it.”
“Call it what you want. You owe me and I owe you for my broken hand and ribs.”
“What do you want?” I chuckled frostily. “A get well card? A ‘get the fuck out of my business’ Hallmark greeting?”