The girl who peeked at me every day during summer session, and hadn’t realized I’d glanced at her, too, because I was better at hiding it.
That’s what I never told Len. That she was the only reason I received blow jobs.
Because they reminded me of that day, and it was a screwed-up way to avenge what she saw.
What she must’ve thought of me.
The sweet, beautiful girl who’d occupied my mind since the South of France grew pointy devil horns, and I was fine with it. If I hated her, I didn’t care what she thought about me.
Simple.
I’d spent the rest of my adolescent years trying to prove to everyone and myself that I wasn’t appalled by human touch. That I was straight. That I was in charge of my sexuality. I received public blow jobs and talked about sex all the time.
No one could imagine the unimaginable.
That I was a virgin.
That I never wanted to have sex.
That every single time I became hard on demand, I’d had one thing and one thing only on my mind—ever since that night in the darkroom:
Killing Harry Fairhurst.
Vaughn left my side sometime after I fell asleep, exhausted by absorbing what had happened to him without falling apart. The place where he’d kissed my forehead was still warm, the only souvenir of the last time we’d spend together.
I didn’t bother leaving my bed the following morning. I felt like crying for eternity, curled inside myself, my body rocking back and forth as the sobs rattled through me. Turned out that Vaughn looming over me and threatening my life wasn’t half as devastating as hearing what had made him want to kill me—and the rest of the world—in the first place.
I allowed myself the better half of the day to fall apart privately, letting out all the emotions I couldn’t show him. Then I stood, picked myself up, and finished my statue.
What I did next would shock everyone.
Including myself.
Instead of going back to my room the following morning, I headed straight to Edgar. I was running out of time to do everything I wanted to do to take care of Lenora before shit hit the fan. Confiding in her had felt eerily similar to handing her my balls in a nice, cellophane-wrapped package, but strangely necessary.
All that we were would die right along with Harry Fairhurst tomorrow, and Hunter and Knight were due to land at Heathrow later tonight.
I barged into Edgar’s office without knocking, ignoring the fact that Arabella was sitting in front of his desk. They were engrossed in deep conversation, hunched forward and exchanging hushed words over raised tones. Planting my hands on my hips, I jerked my head to the door.
“Outta here,” I barked. Didn’t take a nuclear scientist to know who I was talking to.
Arabella twisted her head to look at me, wiping her cheek—from tears or cum, anyone’s guess would be as good as mine.
“You’re not the boss of m—”
“Ass. Outta. That. Chair.” Each word was pronounced with dripping mockery. “Before I drag you by the hair, and believe me, Arabella, I won’t even think twice before tearing those expensive extensions—and your real hair—from that empty skull of yours.”
That was a lie, but a believable one nonetheless. She turned her face to Edgar, expecting him to fight her war, but he was too stunned to react, his eyes on me. Reluctantly, she stood, her chair scraping back, and walked slowly out the door. She stopped when her shoulder brushed my arm.
“I know something fucked you up, Vaughn. Everyone knows that. And you’re not the only person who’s bad for a reason. I’m not the devil,” she whispered.
“No, you’re not,” I rasped under my breath. “The devil’s smart and calculating. You’re neither.” I slammed the door in her face.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I scowled at Edgar the minute we were alone, leaning forward and bracing my hands on either side of his desk.
It was covered with bullshit—sketches, documents, coins, a picture of Lenora, Poppy, and their mother smiling back at him. Fake fucker hadn’t checked on his daughter in weeks.
“I beg your pardon?” He sat back, blinking. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Mr. Spencer? I strongly advise you check yourself before you’re checked out of this institute. I am not impressed with either your manners or your profess—”
I cut him off. “Fuck my professionalism. You’re fucking your daughter’s enemy.” I wiped his desk clean of everything there in one, harsh movement, just barely holding back from smashing the entire thing in his face.
He pulled back and coughed, seeming surprised by my outburst.
“Your teenage daughter’s enemy,” I added. “So don’t lecture me about manners. Len is not even talking to you, and instead of making things right with her, you go around spending time with that bitch? What is wrong with you?” I straightened up, pulling at my hair with both hands as I paced across the room.
He stood, his voice booming so loud it rattled the glass windows. “What are you on about, you silly boy?”
I whirled to face him. “Don’t play dumb. Arabella told both me and your daughter that you guys are having an affair. How long has this been going on? Since you were in Todos Santos? Was she even legal when you first had a taste?”
“I…I…wait.” He frowned. “Lenny thinks that’s what I’m doing when I’m meeting with Arabella?” It was his turn to run a hand through his mass of gray curls. “She thinks I’m having sex with her?”
By the way he said the word sex, I gathered that he viewed the concept as about as appealing as I did. In other words, he’d rather be chopped up and thrown into the ocean than tap Arabella’s ass.
Then what was he doing with her alone all the time? She wasn’t my first choice for intellectual conversation.
“Are you saying you’re not?”
“No!” He slapped the desk, roaring.
“Enlighten me, then. What possesses you to spend more time with Arabella than you do with both your daughters combined?”
“I cocked up!” Edgar pushed his desk away completely, causing it to skid over the floor until it almost hit me. He shook with what looked like years of built-up rage. “I cocked everything up in Todos Santos, but not the way you think. I didn’t have an affair with Arabella. I had an affair with her mother, Georgia—the first woman I’ve been with since Lenny’s mother died. I got carried away, not thinking. Not thinking she was married, that she had kids, that I was destroying another family while trying to keep mine together. Arabella caught us in the act one day and told her father. This spun the next year in my life out of control. Apparently, Georgia had been battling an addiction to painkillers and alcohol, and I was one of her continuous bad decisions. She cried rape to save her relationship. And I got thrown into a behind-the-scenes legal battle with Arabella and her father, who wanted to avenge Georgia’s indiscretions. He whisked Georgia off on a so-called vacation, but really, it was a lengthy trip to rehab, while Arabella stayed in California with her sister. That’s when her mother admitted she had an affair with me and wanted a divorce. When her husband threatened to drag her through a nasty process and waved the pre-nup in her face, she tried to cut her wrists, unsuccessfully. Arabella and her sister were crushed, and guilt consumed me, so I found myself helping the family through this period. When I learned Arabella had found a way to get here, I knew she was after revenge. That’s why I’ve been distant with Lenny. The less I drag her into this, the less chance Arabella has to get to her. She’s been making every day a living hell. I think she has this idea that if she ruins my life, she’ll feel better about the fact that I ruined hers.”