Murder For Hire Read online

  I looked at him incredulously. I simply couldn't believe he'd asked me something like that. Is this the first sign of dementia?

  "My medications for the seizures I have, remember?" I forced myself to reply without saying all those other things swarming inside my head.

  As far as I was concerned, his speaking to me meant it was time to leave this party, and quickly.

  He looked outraged. "I will not tolerate your taking drugs while living in my house."

  "It's not drugs." Well, technically they were, but prescribed for a real medical, life-threatening condition. "It's my epilepsy pills that I have been taking my whole life, not cocaine."

  So, what is wrong with you? was on the tip of my tongue.

  "You don't need those," he said, thoroughly disgusted.

  "Well, the doctors who actually went to medical school say otherwise," I replied with a little more attitude than I normally would. He was really pushing all my buttons from the early morning. This arrangement is not going to work.

  "I am warning you, boy. If you don't throw that filth away, I will do it for you."

  My blood boiled.

  "You know what—" I started, prepared to have a full-blown argument with the asshole.

  "Good morning," a new voice, soft and melodic, joined us, completely interrupting my rant.

  We both turned toward the woman who came into the dining room. She was all smiles when she saw me.

  "Oh, you must be Dean. I'm Melissa, and it's nice to finally meet you."

  What the actual fuck?

  It was completely ridiculous, stupid, yet I felt the need to really pinch myself, test if this was real or not. This perfect being couldn't be my father's new wife.

  Chapter Nine

  Stepping inside the dining room and reaching the table, Melissa offered me her hand and I took it.

  My father married her? My mind continued to refuse that as a fact although the big rock on her finger was a dead giveaway, as was the fact that she was inside this house in the first place.

  I cursed myself to hell and back because I instantly got turned on seeing her, touching her. It was such an adolescent reaction that I felt like hitting myself in the guts.

  It was great that Dr. Blake had opened my eyes by pointing out how I was always attracted to inappropriate women, but she’d failed to teach me how to stop it. At this point in space and time, I was seriously sick and tired of my reactions. It wasn't enough that I could seize up any second. I had to have a wandering dick as well, as my father said. I hated that I was agreeing with him.

  Come to think of it, it was like that with Bella as well. I met her at some student-teacher gathering where she was present with her father. That was enough for me, although I didn't make my move until she became my assistant.

  How considerate of you, I snapped at myself snidely, refocusing on the scene in front of me. My father was furious at me, accusing me of being a drug addict, and my stepmother was a complete knockout.

  I remembered my manners. "Nice to meet you too."

  For a second, I debated whether I should kiss her hand simply so my father would get thoroughly pissed off, but she pulled away before I could act. It was better that way, anyway. Part of me felt like I should really congratulate myself for choosing to act like an adult. Those things mattered, especially in strained, fucked-up relationships like the one I had with my father.

  That didn't mean I would choose the high road every time.

  Stop staring at her! I forced myself to look away and refocus on my plate. It didn't take. The way I was acting, one would assume I'd never had the privilege to be in the presence of beautiful women before, or simply that I was a fucking teenager. Calm the fuck down, I practically growled at myself, debating whether I should stab a fork in my thigh to let all the built-up pressure out.

  I don't think my father or his new bride would act kindly to the random act of violence even if it’s against myself, so I banished that.

  After the introductions were made and we shook hands, Melissa turned all her attention to my father. Are you seriously jealous of that motherfucker? I didn't dare answer that.

  Since he was still sitting down, she approached from behind to give him a big hug and a kiss on the mouth. Then I did look away, and it was completely voluntary. I didn't want to see something like that while I was eating.

  Instead of picturing my father's rediscovered sex life, I concentrated on something else. Melissa was older than I expected. Not that I personally believed that to be a bad thing. It was simply surprising.

  At the same time, I didn't know my father's preferences, nor did I care to think about them. Perhaps I was just being prejudiced.

  When my father informed me of his changed marital status from a widower to married again, my mind initially deduced that he'd tied the knot with some twenty-something-year-old gold digger who would be nothing more than a symbol to him, something that could stroke his enormous ego.

  Melissa was in her forty-plus years, which also made her a lot younger than my father. She was of normal height without the high heels she wore, voluptuous, with straight, really long auburn hair that caressed her behind with each step, and she had almond-shaped eyes.

  Her face was flawless, and not only because of the makeup she wore, which could suggest that she’d had some work done. I wasn't about to judge her for that. I knew a lot of women who underwent plastic surgeries or had small corrections who weren't necessarily insecure to their core or unhappy with their general looks. They only believed that was a way of preserving their beauty and juvenility, and I could understand that. Melissa looked gorgeous, plain and simple.

  Aside from being sexy as hell, which was reflected in her every move and gesture, she was kind as well, a fact I was about to discover.

  "What's going on here? I heard an argument even from my room."

  That was highly unlikely considering the size of the house. All the same, I appreciated the gesture. She was telling my father, and in a nice way, to calm the fuck down.

  "That's between me and my son," he snapped sharply, sending daggers at me.

  My own face showed the same thing while staring back at him.

  I was not surprised that he spoke to her in such a way. He had no heart. My father had no other mode. Sadistic dictator was the only way he knew how to act with the rest of the world. That was great for business. For families, not so much. Not that I considered him my family.

  "Of course, it is," she sang, wearing a big smile on her face as she caressed his arms and shoulders. "I'm simply concerned about your blood pleasure," she continued in a soothing, calm manner.

  I could only gawk at the scene that was unfolding in front of me. Pointing out that my father had a weakness was a bad idea, and I mentally prepared myself for the lash out that was about to happen.

  "The boy is a drug addict," he growled.

  She looked at me all startled, concerned, and I shook my head in return.

  "For the last time," you stubborn asshole, "they are the epilepsy medications that I take to manage my seizures," I insisted in return, unable to help myself. Partly because I was pissed, partly because I didn't want the lady of the house to think poorly of me.

  At the same time, that was already a given since she was married to my father. I could only imagine all the lies he'd told her about me. No matter what I did, he was constantly disappointed in me.

  And exactly why do you care, on both accounts? I challenged. I shouldn't care what my father thought about me. That same should be applied to his new wife.

  "Well, that is something else entirely then," Melissa said.

  "I said stay out of it." My father was not pleased, and he expressed that with not only his words but with hitting the table with his open palm as well. The fine china displayed across the table rattled with the force of it. It was a wonder it didn't break. Something like that was known to happen.

  "I'm saying you need to calm down. This can all be easily sorted out," she insisted.r />
  "Melissa," he warned.

  I knew that tone of voice well.

  "Oh, my," she exclaimed, suddenly, cutting him off, "you're wearing mismatched cufflinks," she pointed out, and in such surprise, one would assume something serious had happened, like him dying his hair green.

  "Who gives a fuck?" my father grumbled in a piss-poor mood, not that I cared.

  He was impossible to reason with. As though I would ever take any medications that I didn't honestly need. What would be the point of that, anyway? According to my father, I was doing all of this, seizing, pretending I needed to take these pills because I was merely seeking attention.

  The man was certifiably mad. When he got stuck on some idea, that was it, no reason or evidence could convince him otherwise. That was what happened with my mother. He was convinced she was cheating on him, so he made her life a living hell.

  "Please come with me to change them," Melissa urged in her pleasant manner, but he didn't budge.

  "I don't have the time."

  With slow, almost practiced movement, she traveled down his arm with the tip of her fingers until she reached his watch. The whole movement looked sexy as hell. I almost got goosebumps. She checked the time. Without saying anything, it was obvious she was prepared to call his bluff. Even I knew that he had plenty of time before going to work. My father was nothing if not predictable.

  Melissa moved to stand in front of him, offering her left hand for him to take. "Are you saying you'd deny your wife the privilege of taking care of you?" she challenged while her voice deepened ever so slightly.

  I felt like a third wheel all of a sudden, yet there was no way in hell I was moving. I was too curious to see how all of this would unfold.

  Then she leaned forward, showing a lot of cleavage in the process so she could add something into his ear. She wasn't so discreet that I couldn't hear it.

  "Besides, you know I would use any excuse to drag you back to the bedroom." Her voice was beyond seductive, almost oozing sex.

  My throat felt dry.

  An absolute miracle happened when he accepted her hand and actually stood up. I knew he couldn't go to work wearing mismatched cufflinks. I was sure since he was such a control freak, his head was about to explode as soon as she pointed that out. Or he simply wanted to get some. Regardless of the reason, Melissa managed to drag my father off. All I could do was stare after them in return.

  So that happened.

  The woman was an honest to God Carson Andros whisperer. She’d found a way to tame the beast. I was in equal parts amazed, confused, and terrified by these new developments.

  Once I was left alone, I looked at my food and realized I'd lost my appetite. All this drama was tiring. It was no wonder I was so skinny while living here as a teenager. My father always had that effect on me.

  The nerve of him to accuse me of being a drug addict, for taking care of myself and the illness I’d inherited. The illness I’d inherited from him, I might add. It wasn't fair that he’d managed to skip the curse. At the same time, it was almost a miracle I didn't start using real drugs considering I was raised by him.

  It was beyond cruel that he felt the need to torment me for something I never had any control over. That was the core of the problem, after all. He had to control everything, and having a defective son wasn't something he could deal with. So, he turned to violence. That was what my father did, after all. He deemed me weak for being unable to control my illness and in return, being disappointed and all, he felt that any weakness should be used against me to try and 'make me strong'. It didn't work, and I’d had to learn a hard truth about him.

  My father was nothing more than a sadistic bastard who enjoyed making a living hell out of my life. He tormented me until I ran away and forced my mother to kill herself. So, no matter what happened from this day forward, I would always hate him for that.

  Suffice to say, it came as quite a shock how easily he’d abandoned an argument with me and walked away with Melissa. That woman must have some mad skills. I stopped myself right there, not wanting to think any more about my stepmother. I'd already embarrassed myself enough while meeting her. I really didn't need to add to that.

  Overall, between living with my tyrant of a father on one side and having a seductive beast-whisperer of a stepmother at the other, I realized one thing. I needed to get the hell out of this house as soon as possible. Preferably right now.

  Chapter Ten

  After the turbulent morning I'd had, I dragged myself to therapy. Part of me really wanted to stay home and fume, but I couldn't do that for several reasons. I needed therapy to surpass all the shit that marked my life. I didn't want to disappoint Dr. Blake. And that big house wasn't my home at any rate.

  "This was a bad idea," I said from the start, entering her office. "We slipped into our old pattern like nothing changed, like no time passed at all," I offered, trying not to sound too whiny.

  Dr. Blake offered me a chair before speaking. My leg bothered me a little, but I ignored it.

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "My father happened. We were at each other's throats as soon as we woke up and started breakfast." Honestly, I was completely amazed we’d lasted that long.

  "Are you sure you're not overreacting?"

  I looked at her, outraged. I couldn't believe she would ask me something like that. "No, I'm not," I replied through my teeth. "He accused me of being a drug addict."

  "How so?"

  I told her everything.

  "Okay. I believe you acted accordingly since you were provoked," she allowed.

  "And? What do you think I should do now?" I really didn't want to return to that house.

  Dr. Blake had told me a couple of weeks prior that I needed a peaceful, calm place to heal my body and mind. My father's place was something else entirely, a gateway to hell, a training polygon for Satan's domain.

  Overreacting, much?

  "Wait it out," she replied with a shrug.

  I was so wrapped up inside my head that I almost missed her comment. Almost. What?

  "What do you mean, wait it out?"

  "From what I heard, your first assessment is correct."

  "That this is a bad idea?"

  "That you simply slipped into your old patterns of behavior, but over time, you will start to realize neither one of you quite fits into those old roles and will adjust, change."

  "I know I don't fit into that role anymore. Not so sure about him," I countered stubbornly.

  Of course, she called me out for it. "That is not productive of you."

  "Say that to him."

  I had a feeling I was being treated as the only one responsible for the failed relationship. That wasn't fair. I could try my best and still accomplish nothing if my father continued to be stuck in his ways.

  Maybe I should suggest that we come to therapy together. That thought almost made me smile. Besides, I didn't want a relationship with my father, not after everything he did to me and to my mother, period.

  She gave me the look. "I think it will all settle down once he sees you for what you really are."

  When pigs fly, I thought but refrained from sharing that. I didn't see the point. Dr. Blake and I had different views on the matter, and although I promised I would give her way a go, I wasn't about to tolerate my father or his abusive nature indefinitely.

  All the same, I asked, "And if it doesn't?"

  "Then I would admit I was wrong regarding your father and we will find another solution for your living situation."

  I really liked the sound of that. "I've already started searching for employment," I informed her.

  That surprised her and I understood why. She was concerned since I still had a long way to go regarding my physical therapy, and my seizures were pretty wild and out of control.

  They were always unpredictable, but there were signs that came before them that I used as warnings since they gave me time to prepare. As of late, no rules were applied, and Dr. Blake and
I were working on remedying it.

  "How is it going?"

  "It's not. No one wants to hire a seizing invalid who has a reputation for sleeping with his students."

  Although to be perfectly fair, I'd only slept with one, but that was one too many.

  "It is a very small market," she deadpanned.

  Despite myself, I had to laugh at that. She knew just the right thing to say to uplift my spirit, if only for a little while.

  After speaking with Dr. Blake, I continued to have mixed feelings about my situation. On one hand, I was stuck for the time being. I had no other place I could go apart from my father's house and no money to pay for something else either.

  At the other, I was dead sure things would not simply settle down. My father would remain the same, and I was fearful, concerned that the strained relationship between us would only intensify. Our arguments would escalate, and fast, and for the first time, I couldn't say what kind of outcome that would bring. Because this time around, I wasn't backing down.

  Thinking about all this, I got curious as to why Dr. Blake was so convinced my father was on the path of redemption. What did he say to her during their conversation that would cause her to think like that? He was an outstanding manipulator. The point was, why would he bother to convince her that he was a good guy? She was nothing to him, so he really didn't need to bother. What was his end game? Why did he want me back in that house?

  Since that all started to sound a bit too paranoid for my taste, I stopped thinking about it. I had so many other problems that it wasn't that difficult to switch my focus to something else.

  I stayed out all day, walking through the park until my leg started to bother me, sulking, thinking, returning only when I started to feel dead tired and hungry, in need of some food and sleep.

  I knew my father was back from work as well. No, I wasn't clairvoyant. I simply noticed his town car parked in its usual place. I didn't go to wish him a good night.

  Thinking of his favorite ride, I started to wonder if Stan was the one chauffeuring him around. Making a little detour, I visited the small gatehouse the chauffeur was allowed to live in. Yup, I could see his form through the window.