Page 71 of Filthy Secret

They don’t need to be, but it’s nice they are supportive. Then I hear the men moving behind me, my men. Fuck, I don’t know what in the hell I did to deserve these guys at my back, but I’m happy as fuck that they are.

“Ryan,” he begins, “agreed to repay her sister’s debts. That means spreading her legs for me.”

“Show me,” I demand.

The fuck reaches into his pocket, producing a packet of papers, and he shoves them against my chest. King growls, and Brew takes a step forward, but I lift my hand to keep them from advancing.

I look at the papers. It’s a bullshit contract. Not like a contract to whore would ever stand up in court anyway. But this is even worse than that. It’s basically saying that she is essentially his slave in every way possible, more specifically, his sexual one.

I assume it’s mostly bullshit, that it’s just some shit he created and is fake as fuck until I see the signature. I know Ryan’s handwriting. I memorized that shit a long time ago. And it’s hers. I don’t know what the fuck she thought she was signing, but there’s no way she knew what this shit was… is there?

Reaching into my shoulder holster, I pull out my gun, point it at the asshole, and pull the trigger. I don’t know if he thought he could talk me into or out of anything, but he’s dead, and that’s all I give a fuck about.

Gunfire erupts around me. Taking a few steps backward, I allow my men to handle this shit. They’re probably having a fucking blast anyway. It’s been a while since we fucked up some shit and shot up some assholes. I watch as they all fall, one by one, almost like a set of dominos. And if I weren’t so focused on this signature, on this contract, I would probably join them. But I can’t stop staring at her handwriting.

I know it’s hers.

And I need some goddamn answers.

RYAN

Adam lets out a heavy sigh, his head on my lap as he sleeps. Sliding my fingers through his hair, I close my eyes and rest for a moment. We’ve had lunch, a snack, and dinner. He’s bathed and in his pajamas. In all of that, I’ve yet to hear a word from Grover.

I don’t know where he is or if he’s safe. Shawn has gone to her room to take a nap, but I can’t sleep. Grover is a million times stronger, smarter, and a better person in general than Golden Joker ever could be, but that doesn’t mean Golden isn’t mean.

He is.

He’s a mean stupid asshole, which is honestly the worst kind of asshole to be.

So I worry.

When Adam is, without a doubt, asleep, his body becoming heavier against my lap, I decide to take him to the room to sleep. I cleaned Grover’s room earlier today. Washed the sheets, and although I wasn’t able to get rid of the whole smell, I was able to air it all out a bit by leaving the window open for most of the day.

Gathering Adam in my arms, I carry him to the bedroom and lay him down, covering him up so he can get some much-needed rest. Although, I won’t be getting any at all. I’m too nervous. Too upset. Too scared.

Watching my son sleep for a moment, I stare at his innocent face. I’ve tried to shield him from the life I had growing up, and for the most part, I have. But I’ve also traumatized him in different ways, and I hate that.

I always wanted to give him a perfect life, and I think I’ve fucked up a bit on that. But everything I’ve ever done for him has been in an effort to give him a better life than I ever had. I hope he doesn’t hate me as he gets older.

He probably will anyway.

Leaving him in the room, fast asleep, I close the door softly behind me until I hear it lock into place. Making my way back into the bar area, I let out a heavy sigh as I sink back down onto the sofa against the wall. I bring my feet up to the cushions, wrap my arms around my shins, and rest my chin on my knees as I stare at the door, willing it to open and for Grover to appear.

I don’t know how long I sit there against the wall, my eyes focused on the door and nowhere else when it flies open. It’s dark, so I can’t see who walks through, but I know it’s Grover. I instinctively know it’s him. I can feel his energy flow through me as soon as he walks through the door.

I expect him to stop at the bar. Maybe go to his office, but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes find mine, his nostrils flare, and his gaze flashes as he stomps toward me. The music fades as the blood begins to rush through my ears. I can tell by the look on his face that he is pissed off. Not just a little bit mad, but straight-up angry.

Wordlessly, when he approaches, he bends and slides his arms beneath my body as he picks me up. I gasp, wrapping my arms around his neck to attempt to stabilize myself, although I’m not sure it would matter. I’m being carried down a hallway and then dropped unceremoniously onto a sofa.

“Tell me what the fuck this is?” he demands as he throws some papers at me.

I don’t even have to look at the paperwork to know what he’s talking about. A secret I’d been keeping from him, but also being in denial about it myself. I didn’t want to admit that I did it. That I signed the contract.

But I did.

And now he knows.

I can feel my face heat, and I know my cheeks are likely bright red. I’m angry with myself, but beyond that, I’m embarrassed. I fucked up. Big time.