“Or that Herbert Hawthorne tricked his partner into signing the company over to him?”
Wait a minute…Hawthorne Industries was co-owned? I don’t remember hearing that part of the story.
As my body tenses and I’m about to splinter apart, the pressure of his fingers disappears, and a harsh whimper of protest falls from my lips before I can rein it in. My heart thumps under my breast as I fight to catch my breath.
“Here’s what you don’t understand,” he murmurs against my mouth, “the entire town was ecstatic when the last Hawthorne finally kicked the bucket. We don’t want anymore in our town.”
The lips of my pussy throb with painful awareness as the orgasm that had been moments away from crashing over me dissipates, leaving behind a deep achiness to take its place.
The hold on my hair disappears as he steps back so we’re no longer touching.
“Disappointed?” A nasty sneer curves his lips as he says with faux pity. “And you were so close to coming.”
An avalanche of humiliation buries me alive. Thankfully, he doesn’t wait around for a denial. My knees nearly buckle as I sag against the door in relief.
Or maybe it’s regret rushing through my veins. I don’t know.
If I hadn’t already realized it, I do now. Kingsley is dangerous. Even more so than Sloane. Or anyone else at Hawthorne Prep looking to hurt me. I need to stay as far away from him as I can get. What I don’t know is if that’s possible.
But something tells me I’m going to find out.
Chapter Fifteen
“You’re becoming a real regular around here,” the carwash attendant says with a grin.
Unfortunately, this is true.
When I give him a tight smile in response, he asks, “You want the premium wash again?”
“Yes, please.” I hand over the credit card.
Before he runs it through the machine, he asks, “Have you considered purchasing a monthly package?” There’s a pause. “It might save you a couple bucks.”
This is my fourth time through the carwash in little more than a week. The little fuckers don’t egg my SUV every day, but it’s pretty damn close. I’m trying to figure out a way to sneak out of sixth hour a couple minutes early, but so far, Mr. Timmons has been a stickler about dismissing us after the final bell.
By that time, it’s too late and I have to do the walk of shame through a crowd of my peers who are eagerly waiting for me to meltdown. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing me lose my shit. I’ll cry and scream in private, thank you very much. At school, I’m an iceberg. Nothing they do can touch me.
“Yeah,” I grumble, “I’ll buy the monthly package.”
He nods as if agreeing with the decision and rings me up.
After the carwash, I drive straight home. Kingsley’s words circle madly through my head. We’re not going to talk about how he was touching me when he gave me a brief history lesson on my family. We’re also not going to talk about why I’m a little fuzzy on the details. I park behind the Volvo in the driveway and beeline for the house. I have questions and I’m hoping my parents will give me answers.
“I’m home,” I announce the moment I step in the cavernous foyer.
“Hey, hon!” Mom calls back.
Now that all of our belongings have been unpacked, she’s in full-on cleaning and redecorating mode. Some of Grandma’s furniture has been wrapped up and moved to one of the unused garage stalls until they figure out what to do with it. Mom is happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. Both used to work long hours to make ends meet. With the high cost of living in Chicago, they were always playing catch-up.
In Hawthorne, life is different. The pace is slower. Mom has found her rhythm and is enjoying small town life to the fullest. Dad goes to the office every day and works a lot from home. He’s still trying to wrap his brain around the business side of the company. There seems to be a steep learning curve involved. Honestly, I haven’t asked a lot of questions. I’ve been too focused on keeping my head above water and surviving. But now it seems like part of my survival hinges upon me figuring out the Hawthorne family history.
I peek in the study since that’s where I usually find them when I return from school. Both smile as I hover over the threshold, leaning against the doorjamb. I’m still not a fan of this room and go out of my way to avoid it.
“How was school?” Mom asks, like she does every day.
I shrug instead of giving an actual answer.
“It’ll get better,” Mom promises with a confidence that almost makes me believe her. It’s reassuring that at least one of us has remained the same. Austin is so filled with rage that I’m afraid of what will happen when he finally blows. And Dad has become more withdrawn. He’s constantly pouring over paperwork and muttering to himself.