The Bastard (Filthy Trilogy 1)

“Not just about the interruption again. About how she acted earlier, Eric. You’re being really great about her and she doesn’t deserve it.”

“You already said all this.”

“I know. I just needed to say it again.”

I soften with her concern, and I wonder how anyone that thinks about everyone else the way she does, me especially, has made it this long in this family. “Talk to your mom,” I order playfully and head down the stairs.

Once I’m at the bottom of the stairs, I punch in a text to Adam, who I’ve had in my phonebook since a job Walker did for Bennett Enterprises a few months back: How do we look out there?

Like we’re both in Denver instead of New York City, he replies. In other words, he’s a smart ass and everything is clear. I walk into the living room, snag our wine glasses and the bottle and head back upstairs, ready to dig into the data Blake sent me before grabbing a few hours of sleep.

I re-enter the bedroom to find Harper missing and the bathroom door shut. I walk to the bed, set down our glasses and fill them before I sit down myself to wait on her, keying my MacBook to life. It’s just about ready for use when Harper’s phone buzzes on the bed next to me. My gaze lifts instinctively and lands on a flashing text message from Gigi that says: Do not tell him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Eric

I’m standing at the bathroom door, my arm resting on the jamb when Harper opens it. She jolts. “Eric.”

“Start talking, Harper. No more fucking lies.”

“You read my text messages,” she says, and it’s not a question. She knows I did, but I go ahead and drive that point all the fucking way home.

“Damn straight I did,” I say. “You left your phone on the bed to flash right at me.”

“If I wasn’t going to tell you, do you think I’d leave my phone on the bed?” she challenges and yanks her phone from my hand and starts reading. “He has to know everything. You wanted him here. I’m telling him.” She looks at me. “Does that sound like I had something to keep from you?”

“Looks to me like you ran to the bathroom to pull yourself together.”

“I had to pee, Eric. I’m human like that. Do you want to listen to me or are you just going to attack?”

“Talk.”

“I sent Gigi the message and she freaked out. She thinks it’s a wire transfer number that points to her. She said she had wires into her account that were large and random. Isaac said they were bonuses, but then he asked for the money back as loans. And for the record, she just told me this. I didn’t have a secret to keep. I just found out.” She tries to duck around me.

I catch both of her wrists and pull her to me. “Why the fuck are you telling Gigi anything?”

“I thought she might know what the sequence was. I thought she could help.”

“Don’t tell Gigi anything you don’t talk to me about first. Do you understand?”

She sucks in a breath and nods. “Yes,” she whispers. “I get it. You hate her. You have reason to hate her. I just—”

“Don’t say another word. I don’t want to hear anything but your promise that it won’t happen again because I want to trust you, Harper, but I can’t if you’re with her.”

“I’m not. I’m not with her. You know that. We’ve talked about this.”

“And yet you were texting with her about the note.”

“I was trying to help. I thought—I thought she could help.”

I stare down at her, searching her eyes for the truth that is hers, but all I find is the one that’s mine. I release her and leave her there, exiting the bedroom to the hallway and my hands come down on the railing, the past playing in my mind. Gigi. That fucking bitch Gigi. I squeeze my eyes shut with a flashback, me at sixteen, my mother barely forty and sick, but all she thought of was me. I’d gotten a ride home from a buddy. I’m back there now and I never go there:

Kevin pulls his Jeep into the drive, in front of our trailer that seems more broken down these days since my mother got sick. “Who’s the old lady with your mom?” Kevin asks of the woman standing with my mom on the wooden porch a neighbor built us a few years back.

The answer to that question punches me in the chest and I stare, squeezing the stress ball in my hand that the special teacher I’m seeing swears will calm my mind. “No idea,” I say, squeezing harder now, fighting the assault of numbers threatening my mind, “but the church has been coming around a lot lately.”

“They helping you guys?”