Third a Kiss (Goddess Isles #3) - Pepper Winters Page 0,29
billions of dollars that you’re sitting on and wasting on those pet projects of yours.”
I looked at the ceiling, trying to regulate my breathing. “You want to talk about pet projects? Fine, let’s talk about pets, shall we, Drake? The pets you killed?”
Pongo still rankled me. Still hurt. Watching something being murdered before your very eyes changed your psyche. It carved away the pieces that cringed at gore and mutilation. It hacked away at the fundamental commandments a kid is born with: thou shalt not kill. Thou shall not carry out revenge.
I’d done both those things.
And I’d do it all over again.
Gladly.
“Still hung up about that stupid mutt? Well, I’m hung up on the fact that you flew after our parents when they hired that yacht, that you stowed on-board with whatever sicko plan you had, that you made them sink, that you were the only survivor, that you so quickly accepted the position of power at Sinclair and Sinclair. Their bodies weren’t even cold when you smashed apart the labs and thought you were some sort of liberator, releasing animals that already had their life’s purpose.” His voice rose, becoming sloppy with loathing. “You chose them over our goddamn parents. You killed them, you cocksucker, and you didn’t even pretend to care.”
The cloak of black oil dripped off me, smearing on the floor, vanishing into the cracks of my basalt tiles. With each rivulet that fell, I grabbed hold of restraint.
I didn’t know how Drake had pieced together such a tale. I had no idea what he planned to do with such a flimsy hypothesis, but this call could be recorded, and I would not allow him to entrap me.
“They died in a freak accident. The police reports still don’t know what caused them to sink. I understand you want justice for their passing, but blame Mother Nature or the malicious moods of fate. They died but not because of me, Drake.”
“Bullshit.”
I sighed heavily, making sure the puff of frustration found its way down the phone line. “I’m very busy and don’t have time for this shit. Stay away from my company. Step foot in my building again and you won’t have a visit from a lapdog anymore, you’ll have one from me.”
“You’re saying you’ll kill me like you killed our parents?”
“I’m saying we’ll have a brotherly chat and discuss important boundaries that should never be crossed. From one sane brother to a psychotic pet-killer, we’ll discuss your tendencies toward violence when you don’t get your way.” My voice traded decorum for snow and daggers. “Or are you forgetting all those broken bones you gave me, all those smashed toys, all those painful accidents I put up with? The hospital has enough records of my abuse that they called CPS, thinking it was our father maiming me. He protected you then…or at least until you went to that psychologist. Those files of your predilections are still there. If anyone killed our parents…it’s you, you fucking waste of life.”
Drake breathed hard, his anger pouring through the phone. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, baby brother. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’m no longer interested in indulging your sadistic nature. You can’t touch me anymore. So stay the fuck away from me and mine.”
I doubted this was how he expected this call to go. Accuse me of murder, blackmail for money, have me bow to him like I did when I was a kid.
The only problem was, I wasn’t a kid and he wasn’t the worst brother anymore.
I am.
“You’re not untouchable on your islands, Sullivan. You’ll see.”
“Thanks for the call, bro. See ya ’round.”
I hung up before Drake could explode with more threats.
He couldn’t do shit to me out here. He’d be dead the moment he appeared on the horizon.
I dropped the phone as a rush of shaky adrenaline filled me. Part jittery from history and the agony he’d inflicted, and partly volatile from not being able to plow my fist into his motherfucking jaw.
The urge to strike something, to destroy something fired through my blood.
I needed violence.
I needed war—
“So…that was fun.”
My head wrenched up, finding Cal lounging against the driftwood sliders, hidden in the breeze-dancing curtains. “How long have you been standing there?”
He crossed his arms, his gaze serious and shrewd. “Long enough.”
I rolled out the tension in my shoulders, needing to shed my suit and wash away the disgusting sweat beneath. “It’s been handled.”
“What does he want?”
“The usual. Money. Power. Me kneeling at his feet.”