Wheeler (Four Fathers Book 4) Page 4

  The boys and I thought. Goddamn those little bastards.

  “Daddy?” she breathes. “Please? You know them. Nothing is going to happen.”

  “You and four boys, Rowan? Do you know what people would say? What those boys will try?”

  Her eyes narrow on me, and her lips draw into a thin line. “That’s not fair. They’re my friends.”

  “The answer is no,” I warn. “Now, wash up for dinner.”

  She huffs and slips from the stool. “I already ate pizza over at Eric’s house.”

  “Eric?” I fume. “It’s Mr. Pearson to you, and I don’t like the amount of time you’ve been spending over there lately.”

  Her cheeks burn pink, and her hand rests on her hip as she glares at me. Not like my precious Rowan, but like a moody teenager. She thinks she’s grown just because she’ll be a senior this year. Her mother looked at me like that once too. Once.

  “I’m nearly an adult.” She stomps her foot, as if reading my mind. God forbid if she ever were able to actually read my mind. What a chaotic minefield that would be.

  “I know how old you are, but no matter your age, I’ll always be your father and looking out for your best interests,” I try to placate, but I’ve learned over the years reasoning with a child is nearly impossible. Especially a teenage girl.

  “You mean controling me?” she bites out.

  Who is the girl standing before me?

  It’s like she’s becoming someone else overnight.

  Definitely been spending too much time with the little assholes next door.

  “If it comes to that, then yes,” I warn.

  Her eyes widen in defiance.

  “Eric…I mean, Mr Pearson said he could stay there too to keep an eye on us,” she pushes the issue.

  “Rowan,” I warn. “The answer is no.”

  I’ve never wanted to be tough on her, but if she forces my hand, I’ll take steps to keep her in line. She’s not ending up like Eric Pearson’s kids—or under them, for that matter. Their influence is spreading through my sweet Rowan like a disease and I’ll cut those fuckers out like one too.

  Her eyes water, and I hate to see that look on her face. She’s the only person who can bring me to my knees. She will thank me one day for being firm with her when it comes to those boys, though.

  “I’m going to bed,” she announces, swiping her face as tears leak out before storming out of the room and up the stairs.

  Something has to change. Maybe Eric needs a warning, not Rowan. If he pushes me, he better be prepared for the shove he gets in return. How dare he make her think it’s okay to abandon me and stay with him and his four sons—to get the whole town talking and casting their eyes our way. No. Fuck no. It’s not happening.

  I finish the chicken stir-fry on my plate and clean the kitchen before booting up my laptop and checking out Trevor Blackstone’s properties. The fact that there’s one he doesn’t own intrigues me, and could be a potential opportunity for me to purchase and rub it in his face if the need ever arise.

  I note down the address and add it to my list of things to do tomorrow.

  Trevor Blackstone, property tycoon at the rate he’s going with all these investments. These beachfront properties are a gold mine, and he owns all but one—the one I’ve been staring at for the past twenty minutes. I skipped my morning run to stake out this place and although my legs are already getting jittery, it’s been worth it. You can learn a lot by just watching. Waiting. Biding your time.

  The woman who used to own this house was ancient. When I looked her up, she was nearly ninety by the time she died. From my research, I discovered the property is in the name of a trust. Trevor is beyond rich and could afford to offer her any price, so why is the trustee not selling? I couldn’t find any other useful information, which is why I’m here to get a closer look.

  I ponder staking out the place, seeing if the trustee took possession of the home. I might slip inside and hold a pillow over the unsuspecting fuck’s face in the middle of the night. That way, I could see what happens with the property and take the next step to acquiring it before Trevor can.

  I may have a better chance with the trustee still breathing, however. I could just convince them to sell to me.

  I’m about to get out my car to go sweet talk the new owner, which I’m hoping is a woman. No female has resisted my charms in the past eighteen years, and one way or another, I always get what I want. This place could be for Rowan. She wanted the beach, and I could give it to her. A gift for me upsetting her at dinner last night. One rule. No boys. Not a harsh rule for such a prize. She could stay here on weekends, and that would give me more privacy and stop the pack of animals next door from trying to sneak over.

  I open the car door, but falter when I see a petite auburn-haired female walking toward the house.

  My stomach coils in a good way, and a sigh passes my lips. Pulling the door closed, I just watch her through the pane of glass, transfixed by her. My soft intake and exhale of breath is the only sound around me.

  God, who is that?

  Is she the one who now owns the old woman’s house?

  She’s wearing tiny jean shorts and a tank top that shows a sliver of her taut, tanned stomach. Her hair is pulled up on top of her head, but some strands have fallen free, framing the delicate features of her face.

  She saunters rather than walks, a sway to her hips, a carefree, confident swagger to her movements. The world stops and she’s all there is. My heart races, and my palms sweat.

  If she’s the one I need to encourage to sell, this whole idea just got ten times more intriguing.

  She’s holding a cell phone to her ear and shaking her head, not happy with whoever is on the other end. With a huff, she ends the call, but still shouts at her phone animatedly before disappearing inside the old woman’s house. Out of my sight, she slips away, and I feel like I’ve fallen through a rabbit hole. I’m tumbling, my head dizzy.

  My heart rate has increased, and my cock hardens. It’s a feeling I’ve become accustom to when the need overtakes me.

  The urge, the overwhelming ache that grips me, strengthening until the only thing I know is…

  I need her. Want her. Must have her.

  A relieved breath leaves my body. I’ve found my new girl, finally.

  And she’s perfect. No, she’s magnificent.

  The good ones are worth the wait. This one, I could wait years for. Just watching and learning her every move. It would be so fucking sweet when I finally made my move.

  She will be mine.

  All mine.

  I wait all day and night for my chance to inspect. Patience is a virtue.

  Darkness has crept over the sky, shadowing the road I’m parked on. The streets are empty, and the lull of the ocean is the only sound outside the window of the car. Opening the door, I step outside and pop the trunk, taking out my camera from my stashed emergency bag.

  I move to the brush by the side of the houses and then down onto the beach they overlook. Sand fills my shoes, and I curse myself for not going home to change before doing this. But I couldn’t risk her leaving and me not seeing where she goes. Maybe she’s just visiting and won’t be back for weeks, months, years? I can’t afford to let her fall through my grasp without knowing anything about her.

  She’s mine.

  My heart hammers in my chest when I see her through the window. She’s clearing things away and dancing to music muted to my ears. She’s young, carefree, beautiful. Mine. Mine. Mine.

  Click. Click. Click.

  I watch her through the lens that zooms right into the room as if I’m within reaching distance. Like I can just reach out and touch that soft, silky, golden skin. Feel her beneath my fingertips. Smell her. Breathe her in. Run my hands through the strands on her head. I’d strip her from that shirt and enjoy the bounce of those ripe, firm tits, then I’d remove those tiny barely-there shorts. I bet she’s clean-shaven. Soft, rosy flesh hidden away in plump, juicy folds. I’ll
open her up, unwrap her like a prize. She’ll want it, beg with her eyes, “Take me.” And I will. I’ll take her. All of her. Until her last breath.

  Eventually.

  But for now, I watch and learn.

  I wait.

  So worth it, this one.

  The lights suddenly turn off, plunging the house in darkness, my view robbed from me.

  Fuck.

  Checking my watch, I see it’s past eleven in the evening. Rowan springs into my mind.

  Dammit.

  I should have been home hours ago, but I became too consumed.

  Giggling sounds from a little way up the beach, and a deep, throaty voice shushes whoever is lurking out here. That’s my cue to leave. I mustn’t be seen here at night with a camera. It’s sloppy. I’ve been too careless spending the day parked in one spot, and it’s got to stop. I can’t get careless now.

  Once I hit the asphalt again, I empty my shoes and sling them in a bag before tossing it in the trunk. I drive home barefoot, determined to return when the time is right.

  To watch, wait, take.

  Present…

  I breathe hard and stuff the images away. I kept all the data I collected because I assumed I would have taken her by now. But she became too high risk. Part of me knew I would always return for her; she’s too special not to have and reminds me so much of my first girl, the one I picked out just for me, the one who started my collection.

  She was Rowan’s babysitter’s best friend. It’s amazing the things people tell you when they’re distraught. Her best friend was ill, suffering. The pretty little thing known as Aimee had severe asthma and had been having more attacks than usual. It was perfect really. It gave me the idea of hiding my urges and the consequences of those urges, a body count, in plain sight. If I could make her death look like the result of natural causes, it could be the perfect crime.

  And so my collection began. At night, I would feed my darkness, and during the day, I would feed my daughter. Both worlds, both versions of me existing together.

  But Lucy wasn’t Aimee. She didn’t have an illness, and she had become too intricate in the lives of those around me. It was seeing Lucy with Rowan one day at the middle school when Brock’s car broke down after picking up the youngest one that stopped me pursuing her.

  Rowan was there talking animatedly to my sweet Lucy, and I became solidified to my seat. I couldn’t even get out the car. I drove away and sent a tow for them instead.

  It was bad enough that I’d learned about her and Trevor, but her being part of Rowan’s world? It was all too close—too risky. It became clear, no matter how much she was fated to be mine, I couldn’t have her.

  Chapter Five

  Jax

  Psychopath red flag

  #6

  They have a grandiose sense of self worth

  Urges are so powerful. They can rule the mind, the body, and the soul. Mine is a living and breathing entity, burrowed inside me, and if I don’t allow it to come out and feed, I’ll not only lose myself, but my grip on sanity. The pull of this woman, my lovely Lucy, is stronger than any before her. I knew she was special, but also knew I couldn’t have her…then, now…

  Yes, you can.

  If I could, when I can, I’ll have to take my time with her, savor the chase, the build-up, the agonizing wait.

  I will wait as long as it takes.

  But my beast will need to feed on her eventually, and she will love every second of it. The urges are coming more frequently these days. I’ve been thinking about her, re-looking over the data of her, the pictures. Fuck. I worry whether I’ll be able to juggle all aspects of my life if the tempo increases further. Sacrifices will have to be made to sustain the hunger, and I’m not sure I’m ready to sacrifice anything I’ve built over the years.

  I shouldn’t be here, but I need to feel her around me. I’m back in the shop where I first introduced myself to her.

  Past…

  The sun is burning down, making me squint. I walk across the sand, wincing from the heat of the granules baking under the rays all day. She’s coming toward me, but looking down at the water. I will her to see me, look at me, and my breath hitches when her eyelids flutter and her head turns toward me just as I pass her. Fuck, so close, yet so far. I walk a few more yards, then backtrack. I stay at a distance and bide my time.

  I follow her into a small shack-like shop, my heart galloping at the possibility of what will happen when she sees me for the first time. I’m so close now, if I reach out, I’ll be touching her. This close, I can see her so clearly. I know it was fate that she was given to me. She will be my favorite, and hard to top once I take her and feel her die under me. God, I want to keep her, but the last one I kept was discovered, and it didn’t end well. Not for Julia, anyway.

  She’s studying the refrigerators, her nose crinkling from the overpowering scent of fish. It’s so cute, I want to whip out my phone and capture the moment to fuck my hand to later.

  “You get used to it after a while,” I tell her, moving closer so I can inhale her perfume. It’s sweet like her. She smells of summer and frosting.

  I don’t normally engage with my girls before I take what’s mine, but with her, I can’t help it. She’s different. Special. Mine.

  She looks up at me, a brief spark of recognition from passing me on the beach once before. “Oh yeah, sorry. Not used to the fish smell. Where I come from, it’s normally already dead and wrapped in a pretty seal and probably pumped with tons of chemicals…” she rambles. “Okay! So, hi. I think I just saw you on the beach. Are you a local?” she continues, anxiously.

  Fuck, she’s a talker. Making her silent will bring me more pleasure knowing this simple fact. She checks me out, not subtly at all, and I know she likes what she sees. I wore shorts and a fitted T-shirt, showing off my impressive physique just for her. Her stomach will be humming with need and juices dribbling from her cunt, begging to be tasted. I’m easy on the eyes, and my structure always has women thinking about my stamina in the bedroom. They want to be picked up and thrown against a hard wall every now and then, and my strength can send their mind spinning with possibilities.

  Shit, she asked me a question. What was it? Oh, yes, am I local?

  “You can say that. I live not too far away. And you?” I ask, already knowing full well where she lives or resides for the time being.

  “Oh, I’m not from here. Well, I am now. Or for the next month.” She becomes flustered, tripping over her words. Her cheeks burn bright. “I’m staying here for the summer.” She chews on her bottom lip, and my cock stirs. When I have her one day, I’ll chew on that lip as well.

  Just the summer. At least I know the time scale I have to work with. This is disappointing, but not a game changer. I can’t not have her now, even if I only have a week to execute my plans.

  I curve my lips into a smile and take another step toward her until we’re impossibly close. I can sense the rise and fall of her chest, the heart behind her ribs pounding as I reach in front of her and grab a box from the shelf.

  “Well, welcome to the neighborhood…” I linger on the last word, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

  “Lucy. The name’s Lucy.”

  Oh, sweet Lucy. My lovely. It’s so fitting—so innocent and light. So perfect for her, for me. Mine. My lovely Lucy.

  She offers her hand, and I grasp it and bring it to my lips, placing a kiss there and stroking her pulse point. I refrain from inhaling, from sighing and tugging her closer. In time, I’ll do all those things. I already know how badly she craves me. She wants me to drag her into me, lift her onto the freezer, and tilt her ass on the edge. She’ll be quivering and soaking wet, begging, “Please.” Her hands want to roam and touch places I won’t allow. I need her still, under the mercy of my touch. I need to feel her pulse weaken, her chest slow its movements. I have to be inside her on the cusp of life and death—give her a moment others will never get.

  Oh, lovely Lucy, you will have me, and it will
be perfect.

  “Pleasure meeting you, Lucy.” And it’s the most honest I’ve ever been with anyone in my entire life.

  She’s different. She is perfect.

  “All right, my darling!” The old, decrepit woman who runs the shop steps between us. “You’ll make a great meal with these two. Make sure to come back again soon for more seafood.”

  Lucy smiles down at the woman before bringing her eyes back to mine, a spark ignited there. I almost want to stuff the old woman in the freezer and watch her body crystalize for interrupting our moment, but I’m already lost in lovely Lucy once more.

  “Lobster night.” She grins, holding up the box the old woman gave her.

  “I see.” I raise a brow. The compulsion to lean in and bite her bottom lip until it breaks under my teeth makes my head swim. I’m heady, and my cock is straining so hard against the zipper of my shorts, it will have a mark when I take the fucking things off later.

  She hovers for a moment, unsure what to do next, then pats the box and gives me a half wave. “Well, it was nice meeting you, uh...”

  “Jax,” I tell her, then scold myself internally. I shouldn’t have given her my real name. This one is different from my usual girls, though. I’ve never seeked out an interaction before. Usually, I meet my girls at random and keep a distance. It’s safer that way.

  “Got it. Jax. Well, hope to see you around!”

  You will, lovely little Lucy. I will be the last thing you ever see.

  “Oh, I hope so too,” I agree, my words almost slurred. I’m so high on her allure, it’s like being drunk.

  I close my eyes, breathing in the last scent of her sweet perfume, ignoring the raw fish pungent in the air around me before I leave her.

  Don’t worry Lucy, I’ll be back soon.

  Present…

  I go back to my car and slip into the driver’s seat and free my cock, stroking it hard in my firm grip. The actions are torturous and punishing as I picture Lucy bound by invisible ropes. A prisoner inside her own paralyzed body, naked, spread wide, and desperate for me to finally claim her. I’m just about to come, but I stop my movements before I do. The throbbing ebbs, and the eager need to come is so built up inside, my body slowly withdraws. It takes ten full seconds for me to breathe through the ache before I stuff my cock back inside my shorts. When I finally do come, it will be with her in sight, not in thought.