Intense (Dark Hearts)

“Thank you.” I turn around and ask, “I’m sorry, but do you know why he’s here?”

“A heart attack.” Does he have another black widow on his hands?

“Thank you.” I tap the desk lightly and make my way to the bank of elevators. New wife, and he has a heart attack. I need a word with his nurses and doctors. She could have poisoned him to make it look like a heart attack. Don’t ask me how I know that, but I do. I reach the ICU and arrive at the nurses station.

“Hello, I’m supposed to go to room three thirty.”

“That’s just on the opposite side of the hall.” She points over to the left, and I nod.

“Listen, could he have been poisoned? Has he been given a toxicology test?”

“Um…no, but you’ll have to speak to his doctor on the matter. He’s not the first older man to have a heart attack while doing strenuous activities.” I nod and walk away from the desk. Making my way down the hall, I reach three twenty-nine and that’s when I see her. You have fucking got to be kidding me. It immediately hits me that he had a heart attack while fucking his barely legal wife. I can’t take my eyes off the little girl in a tight black dress and long brown hair in waves down her back as she wipes her makeup-covered face, faking those tears. God, no wonder my dad caved and remarried. My dick embarrassingly hardens, which infuriates me.

I storm toward her and want her as far as possible away from my father. This is bullshit. Why is she giving her gorgeous body to him? She’s nothing but a gold-digging whore. “Quit the crocodile tears, Princess. Did you give the old man a good blow job for a new car?” I bite out, fighting that mental image.

Her hand comes up and nearly lands on my face, but I grip her wrist tightly. There’s no wedding ring, and I find that a relief—that means my dad can get rid of her. “Took it off already?” I tap her ring finger.

“You are an asshole. You must be Roman.” She says it with such sweet hatred in her eyes that I’m actually turned on even more. “I’m your new stepsister.” She yanks her hand away as she glares at me.

That should have shot ice-water through my veins, but my body’s more heated than before. “Stepsister?” Fuck. I’m in more trouble than I thought.

“Yes. You’re just like he says. You hate women.” She huffs, crossing her arms under her ample breasts.

“I don’t hate women. I don’t trust them, Princess,” I retort, sharing the truth as I rake my eyes up and down her body with feigned annoyance.

“I’m not your princess.” Whose princess is she? She didn’t say a princess. She specifically said your. Damn it, she has a boyfriend. Why do I even care?

“Amelia,” a woman calls out. I turn, and there’s the older version of the beautiful girl in front of me. Seeing me, she asks, “Roman?”

“Yes, this is the wonderful Roman we’ve heard so much about.” Amelia huffs, walking right past me and down the hall.

“Should she be walking down the hall alone?” I question her mother, feeling irrationally jealous of any man with eyes getting a look at her in that tight, curve-hugging dress.

“She’s eighteen. I think she’s fine. Your father is awake. You should see him before you say something else shitty to me. I didn’t do anything to hurt him. We were making love when he had a heart attack.” I move to enter my dad’s room when she presses her hand to my chest, halting me. Not because she’s strong, but that she thinks it’s okay to touch me. I look at her hand and then back up at her. She releases it with a warning. “Insult my daughter again and I’ll send you to the hospital, but it won’t be from fucking.”

“I thought she was…” I attempt to explain.

“You thought your father was dipping into the baby pool.”

“Well, he didn’t mention getting married. I think that’s a big fucking deal.”

“That’s between you two. Go speak with him.” I walk past her, feeling like a prick because of the way I treated my new stepsister, but my head still can’t wrap around the fact that she’s now related to me, her round eyes turning to slits as she cursed me out. I mentally chide myself and remember why I’m here.

Taking a deep breath, I step into my father’s room, and his eyes are closed. He’s hooked up to all these machines, but thankfully he’s breathing on his own. “Dad, I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”

“Roman, you made it,” he says, cracking a smile even though he clearly doesn’t look like he feels well.

Still, it’s the first relief I find since I got the call. “Yes. I’m here.”