Page 47 of Twisted Control

Fine. This thing between us is done. Dead.

Tonight was a lapse in judgment. Her in my hoodie, looking soft and pretty under those parking lot lights—I got temporarily confused.

Back to being a complete professional from now on.

I’m never touching her again.

14

DREW

It’s Saturday afternoon.

The steady scrape of steel against steel fills the cabin of Levi’s crappy old Mustang as he runs a knife along the honing rod in smooth strokes. My eyes stay fixed on the entrance of the Westmere Hotel.

Jamie King—a bellhop with an internet connection and a death wish—has been running his mouth online, making some very stupid threats about Grace. I don’t think he’s actually dangerous, but Grace comes here sometimes, and Maverick wants him dealt with.

For once, I agree with him.

Maverick’s a complete asshole. Talks to me like shit every time I see him. Half the time, the only thing getting me through the conversation is imagining creative ways to kill him.

The other half is knowing I’m fucking his daughter.

We did say we were going to stop.

That hasn’t exactly happened.

We spend the day pretending we have self-control. Going out and killing time. Then the second we end up alone, Grace is suddenly in my lap, bent over a sink in a restroom, or dragging me into a shed at the county fair yesterday.

Afterwards, she yanks her clothes back on, acts deeply offended by my existence, and pretends none of it happened.

Apparently, I’ve completely lost the ability to say no to her.

Alright, fine. Yesterday, technically I was the one who dragged her into the shed. But in my defence, she looks way too good in those jeans.

“So, what’s this about then?” Levi asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I pull up the screenshots Maverick sent over and scroll through the posts. The asshole made them on some local Alton Hills forum. Maverick’s got people monitoring that kind of shit around the clock—flagging anything that sounds remotely credible.

Most of it’s just bitter losers mouthing off online.

This one started getting darker.

I scroll through the screenshots, reading the comments out loud.

“Spoiled little bitch thinks she’s untouchable.”

“Girls like Grace Whitmore think nothing bad can happen to them.”

“Wouldn’t take much for someone to teach Grace Whitmore a lesson.”

“One day Grace Whitmore’s gonna run into someone who doesn’t care who her daddy is.”

My jaw tightens before I read the last one out loud.

“One day somebody’s gonna teach Grace Whitmore a lesson she won’t forget.”

“Jesus Christ,” Levi mutters, inspecting the freshly sharpened knife. “Some people are fucking deranged.”