“Mona, stay inside,” Colt orders, but nothing is keeping me away.
The trees where I saw the person watching the house. Ice saturates me in a wintery sheen. Tears form and burn a track down my cheek. The woman, Annemarie, is naked, her skin ashen, a gaping hole in her chest, blood…so much blood. Her eyes peer up to the sky, lifeless.
“She was laying here. I tried to close the hole.” Cash quakes.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Colt swipes his hands through his hair, pacing.
“This has to be dad, right? Sending a message,” Colt steams.
My knees buckle beneath me, and I fall to the ground. This was how Clara was left, like a dead animal carcass abandoned as trash. Vomit races up my throat, spewing onto the grass.
“Get her inside, Cash. I need to get this sorted. Fuck.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask, trembling.
“I need to report it. I have to call the police. And then I’m going to fucking kill that bastard.”
Twenty-One
Colt
“I’ve already told you what happened for two fucking days,” I tell the detective, who asked me to come in and have another chat with him. Like before, they have no fucking clue who’s responsible. The storm caused chaos, knocking out power all over the place. There were no cameras to track activity, and no one knows who she was last seen with. I’m exhausted. This shit just reminds me of Clara. No one knew fuck all then either.
“You’re free to leave, Mr. Ward, but don’t be taking any out-of-town trips.”
“Am I a suspect?” I sneer.
“Everyone is, until we get proof otherwise.”
I approach Cash where he’s sitting in the waiting area. He looks how I fucking feel. Like shit.
“They released Dad yesterday. He has an alibi.” He shakes his head.
“Of course he does,” I snap.
“I need to sleep,” Cash groans. “There are cameras out front. I parked in the back. They’re going to let us out the rear entrance.”
“Where’s Mona?” Fuck, I need to hold her.
“In the car. I didn’t want to leave her at home, but didn’t want to bring her in this dump either and get the cops asking questions about who she is.”
Good thinking. Not wanting them to know who she is is why they keep asking me to come back down here. She’s my alibi and I can’t fucking use her.
When we get outside, Mona opens the car door and runs toward us, throwing herself into my arms. “Are you okay?” she sobs.
“I’m fine.” I smile, clutching her to me, breathing her in.
“Come on, let’s grab food and go home. We need to figure out what we’re going to do.” Cash pats my back.
He understands what we have to do. This has to be our Father. There’s no one else. We have to fucking end him once and for all—end this.
The shower blasts over my skin, washing away the past couple days. My mind runs rampant with theories of how to get rid of my father without raising suspicion. I hear the soft click of the door over the torrent of the shower and inhale sharply when Mona walks through the steam clouds fully naked. Her dark hair lays over her tits. Her tiny waist dips in before her hips flare wide. She’s so fucking perfect, like a fantasy straight out of the mind of a God.
Dainty hands stroke up my chest in slow, torturous movements. Her thick, plump lips taste the water on my skin. “Hey.” I smirk down at her as her large amber eyes look up at me through thick lashes. “Hey.” She flicks her tongue out, teasing.
“Tell me what you want, little islander?” I groan when she palms my cock.
“I want you to fuck me,” she tells me, breathless. My heart pounds loud in my chest, the blood roaring through my body and settling in my swelling cock.
I grasp her under the armpits and lift her effortlessly. Her legs wrap around my waist, my cock cocooning in the crease of her pussy, pulsing with need to be inside her. I shift us toward the wall, leaning her back against the tiles, devouring her mouth with hungry, needy stokes of my tongue. A growl rumbles up my throat when she moves her hips, lowering her cunt over my shaft. Her tight walls squeeze me on entry into her warm pussy.
“Damn, girl,” I grunt, placing my head against hers to gain some control.
“I have an appetite for your touch,” she murmurs, rotating her hips, moaning in pleasure when my fat head strokes her in all the right places.
My lips latch on to her neck, marking her there. I lower a hand to her pussy, pushing the pad of my thumb through her folds, finding her clit and stroking, adding pressure, circling.
Our combined groans fill the room. “I think your pussy is my new fucking fetish,” I rumble, thrusting my hips into her, skin slapping skin, reckless and pure. I buck my hips, pulsing into her in a rhythmic state of pleasure, sensation and desire driving our movements into an desperate climax.