Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I look at his hand as he makes another fist, gearing up to hit me again. This time, my gaze is caught on something, and he catches me on my cheekbone. My head snaps back as the sharp edge of his ring cuts skin.
The ring.
It’s the thing that distracted me. The sharp-eared, red-eyed ring of a fox’s head.
His fist slams into my jaw and I stumble backward, momentarily dazed. Ethan laughs and when he tries to punch me again, this time in the gut, I catch his fist.
“Where did you get that?”
“What?”
“The ring.”
He grins. “Part of my inheritance. Jealous much?”
I twist his arm behind his back, only giving him a hard shove away when I hear him cry out because I will break his arm if I don’t stop.
He stumbles a few steps and I follow him, spin him to face me and thrust him against the wall. I shove my forearm into his throat and hold him there, looking into his eyes.
I grew up with Ethan Fox. From the minute he was born, I was there. I’ve seen him laugh and howl and rail and sob. I’ve watched him break slowly, over time. And those eyes, they’re flat, without a hint of any light. Dead. Sullivan Fox made sure of that a long time ago.
He brings his hand to his face, touching his thumb to the cut on his lip. I see that ring again, and I remember something, a scene I witnessed more than a decade ago. Before Ophelia ever even walked into our lives. One that, at least for a time, had made me feel sorry for a much younger Ethan Fox.
But Ethan mutters some curse, spitting blood and saliva into my face. I step back, then wipe the spit from my cheek. Drawn into the present, I’m reminded that that boy no longer exists. The man before me now is a carbon copy of his father—maybe not on the outside, but definitely on the inside, and it doesn’t matter what made him that way. The fact that he is that is what matters.
“You listen to me, Ethan,” I say, hearing how level my voice sounds, how different than when I walked in here. “You fucking listen to me now, because I’m only going to say this once. Ophelia is my wife. And you will stay the fuck away from her or so help me, I will put you in an early grave.”
“Like you did Dad?” he has the balls to ask.
“Stay away from her.”
28
SILAS
Past
Scar Tissue
Iwalk into the penthouse and drop my backpack by the front door. I stop a few steps in to take in the view. It’s amazing. You can see all the way to Boston Harbor from the floor to ceiling windows. It’s a clear day. I cross the room to those windows and look down at all the people, then out over the tops of the buildings. Ours is the highest.
Well, it’s not ours. Mom and I live here as staff, but we’re more like servants if you ask me. The windows in our tiny apartment aren’t so grand, and our view is of the air conditioning units of the building next door. Then there’s the smell of the exhaust from the kitchen just beyond that wall that seems to seep into our kitchen. Mom doesn’t mind, but I do. I don’t know how she stands it, actually, to serve them dinner every night, to make their breakfast every morning. To wait on Mira and her friends for their liquid lunches and be treated with contempt by all of them. Sly, Mira, even ten-year-old Ethan.
“Silas, I didn’t hear you come in.”
I turn to find my mom coming out of the kitchen. She’s wiping her hands on her apron. and her forehead is damp, hair sticking to it. Still, she’s a hundred times prettier than Mira Fox. A thousand times. And Mira knows it.
“Hey Mom.” I let her hug me even though I’m getting a little old for the hugs. I’m the same height as her now. She always tells me how she’ll have to ask me to get what she can’t reach in the higher cabinets soon. I’m going to be tall, like my biological father. Or, as I like to refer to him, the sperm donor—although that’s also gross because of the visual it conjures.
“I made your favorite snack. It’s in the kitchen but pick up your bag first and take it to your room. You know Mr. Fox doesn’t like a mess.”
“He’s at work. I’ll get it after I eat.”
She unties her apron. “Get it now and put it away. You don’t want him to surprise you by coming home early.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.” I pick up my backpack, noticing the little shit had dumped his overflowing one at the door too. I kick it.