Hard Bastard(124)

I raised an eyebrow. “Distracted how?”

“Maybe you’re too comfortable here. Aubrie is being too nice to you.”

“So you what, try and get some dickhole to rape her?”

He shook his head. “I had nothing to do with anything that’s happened.”

“What’s with this whole fucking speech then?” I growled.

“I want you to get that thing back, Lincoln. When your legs are back, I want you to return to making huge piles of money. Jess, the documentary, it just wasn’t doing it.”

“So, what? You think pushing my buttons is going to help?”

He clapped and grinned. “Exactly! I told Jess to stir the pot. Suggested maybe Aubrie would be a good way to do that.”

“What the fuck,” I said. “You’d use your own daughter like that?”

“She’s fine, and you shouldn’t be involved with her anyway. She’s tougher than you realize though.”

I could barely believe what I was hearing. “So all this bullshit, it’s all because you think I’ve lost something, and you think that by fucking with my life I’ll somehow magically get it back?”

He shrugged, still smiling, clearly pleased with himself. “Yes. Exactly. And honestly, this is the most fired up I’ve seen you in a long time.”

“You disgusting prick. Stop fucking with me.”

Suddenly something in him shifted, and his smile was gone. “No. I’m telling you this because I feel like it, but I’m not stopping. Remember, I hold the keys to prison.” He paused and smiled again. “Also, don’t be too hard on poor Jess. She’s just following orders.” He leaned forward and spoke quietly. “It’s all me, Lincoln. Everything that happens to you comes from me.”

I clenched my fists and stood up. I had to get the fuck out of there before I beat him bloody.

“Fuck you, Cliff. You’re making a mistake,” I said softly.

“I don’t think I am,” he said, leaning back.

I turned and walked toward the door.

“Oh, and Lincoln?” he called out. “I know something is happening between you and my daughter.”

I paused, fear jolting through me, but I didn’t turn back. I didn’t want him to see the rage on my face.

“I don’t know what it is, and I don’t want to know. But if you want to keep her out of all this, stop it. I know you’re not siblings, but it’s still not okay. She’s better than you are.”

No, I thought to myself. She’s better than you, motherfucker.

Without another word, I left.

It made sense that he suspected something. It explained why Jess showed Aubrie the video. It explained the whole Brent thing. Actually, the Brent thing was particularly fucked up, and I had to hope that something went wrong there.

Still, it was completely screwed that her dad knew she and I had something going on. He could easily have stopped it by saying something to her, but clearly he had ulterior motives. He was more interested in his ability to use my fame to make him money.

It was probably part of his plan to force me to act the way he wanted. Whatever he thought I was missing, whatever insane shit that was.

Hours after that conversation, the night was dark as I sped through the streets, my car taking the curves like they were nothing. I wasn’t supposed to leave the house without supervision, but I knew I would be fine if I made it fast.

She didn’t live far. And I doubted it would take long.

My mind had worked a million miles per second all through therapy. At first, I was so angry I could barely breathe, but fortunately Tracey and her brutal training helped work that out of me.

And once I was clear, I could begin to plan.

It felt good to be out on my own, even though I knew that if I got caught there would be trouble. Still, it was hard to give a shit with the wind in my hair.

I turned down a side street and parked the car, feeding the meter a few quarters. I limped up onto the sidewalk and headed toward my destination: the Boulder Marriott Hotel in downtown.

Inside, the lobby lights were harsh. It took me half a second to adjust to everything as I approached the front desk, hoping nobody recognized me. It looked like any other hotel, with vaguely modern-looking decorations, all designed to appear artistic and welcoming while remaining as vague and unobtrusive as possible.

“Good evening, sir. Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a guest. Her name is Jessica Green.”

The concierge nodded. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you her room number.”

“Could you call her for me?”

“Sure, that I can do. One moment.”

She dialed a number and handed me the phone. I took it, turning away as it rang. After a few seconds, Jess answered, her voice heavy with sleep.