So. Long(175)

I shove him again. The back of his head smacks the wall.

I grit my teeth. “You better not touch our trusts either, because if I think even a dollar is missing, I’ll bust this thing wide ass open.”

“No. No need to do that. Your money’s safe. Just, let’s keep this between us. It could ruin me.”

I let go of him and back up. My hands shake with all the unused anger still flowing through my body. “I’m not keeping this to myself for you. You I couldn’t give a shit less about, but I won’t see Mom have another break down because of some stupid crap like this. Or have Mo feel violated. Not unless I have to. But don’t push me; I’ve got no patience for you, old man.”

He nods, rubbing the red marks over his Adam’s apple. “All right. Calm down.”

“Not until I’ve got every bit of footage you have of Mo. Every single frame.”


* * *

My fists tighten as the monitor flickers with images that date back to when Mo moved into the guest house. Fucker’s been watching her all this time. Keeping tabs. Seeing every change of clothes, shower, and study session.

She thinks she lives in privacy, but she’s had none.

My stomach sours even more as I race to Rachel’s room. If that perv’s done this to his own fucking daughter, I swear, I’ll—shit, I’ll go to jail.

Leaping onto Rach’s bed, I check behind the vent. The breath I’ve been holding whooshes out. No cameras. Just as a precaution, I check all the other potential hiding spots in her room. The eyes of all her stuffed animals for starters.

Thank God, he hasn’t gone there, because I’d have to kill him.

Hell, I want to rip his fucking head off now. But, for the love of Mom and Rachel, I won’t. Besides, if Mo finds out what a dirt bag my father is, there’s no telling what she’ll do. She might separate herself from my family completely.

From me.

I can’t lose her just because my dad’s a perverted asshole.





I brush the sweat from my brow as I push open the door to the guest house with my hip. The cool air is welcome after the heat of the afternoon. Even with the AC blowing right on my face in the car, I wasn’t cooling off. I got so warm it made my stomach turn. Something must be wrong with the AC. Or maybe I’m dehydrated.

Dropping my bag on the coffee table I head into the bedroom.

What the hell?

There’s a giant pile of clothes on the bed. Not my clothes.

I pick up a pair of black boxer briefs. What does he think he’s doing?

“Oh, good; you’re home.” My thoughts materialize behind me.

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Why is your stuff all over my bed?”

“Our bed. I’m moving in.”

I shake my head, sending his words rattling round in my skull. “Come again?”

“Aw, c’mon, Mo. I’ve been staying the night anyway. I want to be with you all the time.”

“No. Not happening.”

He cocks his head, his brow creased. “Why not? Don’t you want to be with me?”

“I’m not ready for this. It’s too soon. And this…whatever it is, well—it’s not likely to last. So, let’s keep it as clean as possible. Besides, what would your parents say? Your moving in is a catastrophe waiting to happen. So, no.”

Danny takes two steps, his body colliding with mine as he walks me backward to the edge of the bed. His hands slide along my jaws, his fingers delving into the hair behind my ears. His lips brush mine. Once. Twice. The third time his tongue slips along the seam between them.

His eyes bore into mine. “What are you scared of, Mo? Don’t want to get too close? Afraid you’ll fall for me? Just let go. Enjoy the rush. I sure as hell have.”

I grab his wrists, hanging on for dear life as he takes possession of my mouth. My mind.

My heart—its thrashing won’t let my lungs take in any air.

His words morph and magnify in my brain as I push him away, gasping and holding my stomach, which has decided to take the nausea from earlier to the next level.

I slap my hand over my mouth and run for the bathroom.


* * *

I rinse with cool water, avoiding Danny’s gaze in the mirror. Bracing myself on the counter, elbows locked, head down, I let the water drip off my face into the sink. “Go away, Danny. I don’t feel so great. I must’ve gotten a bug from one of the kids at the center.”

He snatches a towel off the bar on the wall. “Here.”

“Please. Can we just discuss this later? Take your stuff to your house.” Pushing past him, I crawl onto the couch, folding into a ball, arms crossed over my rolling stomach.

He goes into the kitchen and comes back with a glass. “Want some water?”