Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
The elevator dings and a couple step out, laughing, at least until they see me. I must look a sight because they both get very serious very fast and hurry around me, giving me a wide berth. I get on the elevator and push the button for her floor. I send a text.
Me: On my way. I let the son of a bitch think it’s Ophelia.
Ethan: I didn’t think you’d come. Door’s open. Let yourself in.
Mother fucker.
I get off the elevator to find the door is ajar. I push it all the way open.
“Phee,” Ethan calls out casually from the bedroom.
I slam the door shut behind me as he walks into the living room. He stops dead when he sees me.
“Not Phee,” I finally say, stalking toward him, hating his fucking face as I take him by the collar and slam him against the wall.
“What the fuck, Silas!”
“She’s my wife. What part of that is not fucking computing? In what fucking universe would it be okay for you to send texts and suggestive photos to another man’s wife?” I ask, my voice rising by the end.
“Suggestive? News flash, idiot, they happened!”
“In what fucking universe?” I tap the side of his head with two fingers and just like that, it’s like we’re back in the house in Sinistral. Me and Ethan going after each other. Me and Ethan hating each other.
“She’s your wife because you fucking forced her to marry you!” he says, slapping my hand away and shoving me backward. There’s one difference from when we were younger. Ethan and I are physically more evenly matched now—although I can and will still kick his ass because I have years of fury fueling me when all he has is his posh, spoiled brat upbringing.
Although, that’s not really true, is it? Yes, Mira spoiled him, but Sly? I saw first-hand what Sly did to him when he was a kid. Sly Fox ruled with an iron fist. You stepped out of line, and he wasn’t above getting physical. He punished his acknowledged son same as he did me, his bastard boy.
But that’s in the past. Ethan has had ample opportunity to choose to do better, to be better. He never does.
I take the phone out of my pocket and show him the photos. “This? This stops. Now. You will no longer have contact with my wife,” I say and throw the phone across the room into the opposite wall. It crashes on impact and clatters to the floor.
“I’ll wait for her to tell me that herself,” Ethan says with a grin.
He doesn’t look even remotely like a man whose father was murdered just a day ago, a man who needs his ex, who happens to be my wife, to come to him because he’s in so much fucking pain. Give me a fucking break.
“Unless you’ve got her locked up somewhere, that is,” he adds, cocky as ever.
“That’s not how I operate,” I say, although, technically, he’s not too far off. “That’s your MO.”
He snorts, studies me with narrowed eyes and for all my rage, Ethan is calm. For my unleashed fury, Ethan is calculating his next move.
“Tell me something, Silas. Did you want her all along? Or is it for the money?”
“Money? Fuck any money. Again, that’s not me. That’s you, you prick.”
“Because it sure is convenient considering the timing. Is there a prenup?”
“What my wife and I have between us is none of your fucking business, is it?”
He grins. “Or hell, maybe it’s just that you like fucking my sloppy seconds. Because I have had her every which way. She has swallowed my come more times than you can count. I’ve bent her over every piece of furniture you see around you and fucked every tight little hole—”
An animalistic roar leaves my chest. He’s a fucking liar. I know that. He’s a liar. But fuck! His smug, satisfied grin grows at my reaction, and I can’t see straight. I can’t fucking see straight. I stalk toward him, draw my arm back and swing. He ducks in time, laughs outright a hideous, manic laugh.
“Ooh fuck! You didn’t think…” he starts, knowing he has me. Knowing he more than touched a nerve. “Oh, bro, don’t tell me you thought we didn’t fuck?”
“I am not your fucking bro.” I swing again, this time catching his jaw. He stumbles backward.
“Well, technically…”
“I am not your fucking bro!”
“Fine. Fine. Have it your way. You want to fight? You want me to kick your ass like Dad did? Maybe break your nose straight?”
“The only way you’d break anything is if someone held me down for you to do it, fucking pussy. It’s the coward’s way. It was Sly’s way. No doubt it’s yours.”
“Yeah, things have changed,” he spits blood from his cut lip but ignores it and stalks toward me. He swings, but I block him. He swings again. I block again.