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“Well, I never got the memo,” Zane quips. “It’s not like you gave me much choice in the matter either.”
“You were quite happy to benefit from your marriage,” Sal snipes back. “Don’t act so hard done to.”
Zane smiles, and in all honesty, it’s deranged, probably because he doesn’t do it often. “You’re right. I got a lot out of my marriage.”
Sal nods. “Precisely. You should be thanking me.”
Zane rears back. “For what?”
“Arranging it.”
“I think I did that on the day,” Zane deadpans.
“I think he means her death,” Miko tacks on.
Zane’s jaw falls open, and he glances from Miko to Sal, then back again and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Note to self: if I don’t sort my mess out, Sal will.
“I’ll handle it.” I might not want Amanda as a wife, but I don’t necessarily want her death on my hands. I’ve seen enough of that with the Carreras to last me a lifetime.
“And what about your little nightmare, will you handle her too?” Miko asks, and I swallow hard.
“Absolutely.”
Damn fucking right, I’ll handle her. I’ve been too soft on her, and it’s about time she realizes who her daddy is.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JENSEN
We drive home in silence, with the tension between us brewing, and I know I won’t be able to stop the explosion. I’m unraveling at lightning speed, and Amanda’s betrayal coupled with Immie’s promiscuity have me pissed. I need to get my house in order, starting with my fake daughter.
My jaw tics with the seconds that pass. She makes no attempt to explain her relationship with the kid at the pool, nor does she apologize for her lack of clothes. Not to mention, the way Fern spoke about the punk keeps playing in my mind on repeat.
Making out? I grimace at the thought.
We pull up to our house, I place the SUV in park, and Immie climbs out without uttering a single word, riling me further.
No thank you for collecting her.
No it was nice seeing Fern today; here’s what we spoke about.
She just sways her ass up the stone steps and goes inside, leaving me sitting here.
My nostrils flare as I throw open the SUV door, slam it behind me, then head up the steps after her.
With each step I take, my anger builds.
I’m pissed at the disrespect and annoyed at myself for the jealousy surrounding Immie.
The slam of her bedroom door intensifies the fury pumping through my bloodstream. I throw open the door, and a startled gasp leaves her. She quickly turns, giving me her back while clutching her gym top to her chest, which has me seeing red.
Her blue eyes lock with mine over her shoulder, and in only a few steps, I close the distance between us, pressing my chest flush against her bare back.
Wrapping an arm around her, I snatch the top from her hands.
“If you try to hide your tits from Daddy again, I’ll whip your ass with my belt. Do you understand me?”
