Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 4
the wolf
is someone squatting at the Styx property?”
I hear my father’s disappointed sigh reverberate through my car's speakers, and I know he made sure to breathe right into the phone so I didn't miss it.
“And what would make you think that?” There’s some rustling in the background, then a woman’s voice mumbles something into his other ear.
He should be home with Mom right now, keeping her company. It's the whole reason he's taken a 'step back' from his business—a process that has resurfaced a lot of resentment toward me for not being the perfect, prodigal son to hand his work off to, the same way his father did with him. But that wasn't her voice I just heard.
“I was driving past the house and every light seemed to be on.” The lie falls easily from my lips, just as they always have.
I panicked after the door handle rattled while I was there. Once enough time passed that I was absolutely positive no one was waiting outside for me, I looked around the property for any sign of the intruder.
Imagine my complete and utter horror when I walked to the back of the house and found a half-naked woman sprawled out on the couch, staring into a computer screen like she owned the place. I still can't decide if I'm disgusted or enamored by her.
She made no attempt at hiding herself from view. The wall of windows off the back remained uncovered to avoid any obstruction of the private lake and still she was lying there, completely exposed.
“No one is squatting. I rented out the place,” my father explains distractedly, as if he can’t be bothered with giving me his full attention.
“Why would you do that?”
“Why does it matter to you, Sebastian?” he snaps, and it only adds to my growing list of suspicions about him. This whole situation feels like too much of a coincidence.
“It would have been nice to know,” I say tersely, irritated that I’ve already given too much away.
My grasp on the situation in Styx is slipping. The delicately balanced charade I've created is starting to go dangerously off kilter. If I'm honest with myself, it has been for a while.
Each person I kill is leading me deeper into the wormhole, exposing far more people in the situation surrounding my sister's death than I ever expected. People I know and once respected. People like my father.
There were never supposed to be this many victims. I wasn't supposed to enjoy it this much.
And now this. This low-class, aloof girl who has stumbled right into my path and planted herself directly in my way. She's meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but she's the one thing that finally sets me off. The first domino to fall.
“I wasn’t aware you were still going to Styx.”
His tone is mocking. He thinks he's caught me doing something I shouldn't be. To his credit, I am. But he doesn't need to know how spot on he is.
“Just for the night.” I don’t try to muster up a weak excuse. He won’t listen anyway.
Another sigh, and then a door closes in the background. The familiar squeak of his office chair assaults my ear, and I can practically see him crossing his ankles on his desk and leaning backwards, that sinister smile splitting his face. He’s set his trap and I fell right in.
“Your mother can’t bear to visit that city anymore,” he begins, the weight of his words hanging between us. Since Sienna’s death, Mom hasn’t been able to bear much of anything. “I decided to rent it out until she’s ready to sell. Get some money out of it.”
“I'll buy it,” I say without thinking.
I'm instantly regretting the outburst. The last thing I need to do is further attach my name to the place I've been torturing and butchering people in, especially when my father is involved with it. But I need control. I need something to go my way.
My father scoffs, but thinks it over for a moment. “Your mother would never agree to sell. I've already tried.”
“She won't mind so long as it stays in the family,” I press, for no reason other than I refuse to allow him to deny me.
“I doubt you could offer anything close to what I paid,” he tries again. I can tell he's starting to give in.
I have far more money in my accounts than even he knows about. Ever since I abandoned the family investment business to start my own cyber security company, it's been a pissing contest between us to prove who's worth more. I decided early on that I didn’t want to spend my life making other people money—I wanted to make my own, and I wanted to revolutionize the world while I did it. He still resents me to this day. When I brought him my first design for my software, he threw his head back and laughed.
Billions of dollars later, I'm the one laughing.
I know he'll start with some ridiculously high number for the cottage, but I don't really give a shit anymore. It has more value to me than any amount of money could offer. Besides, my ego won't allow me to back out now.
“Send me what you want for it in an email, and I'll have my realtor look it over and draw up a contract.”
“There's still the issue of the tenant,” he points out. The quick flick of a lighter goes off, and then a second later, his Zippo snaps closed. I hear him take a sharp inhale. “I have a contract with her,” he strains through his exhale.
I've seen him do the motion so many times, I can imagine every detail of him lighting his cigarette as the familiar sounds travel through the line. It's disgusting. A repulsive habit I had hoped would kill him by now.
Yet, here we are.
“I'll have my lawyer worry about it.”
There's another pause, as if he's waiting for me to back out on the deal already. Or maybe he's trying to figure out my angle, though I'm fairly certain he already knows. Either way, I wait.
“Fine. You'll be hearing from me shortly,” he finally says, and then the line cuts short.
I tilt my head against the headrest of my seat just as there's a break in the landscape and I can see the distant New York skyline.
Control.
All I need is a little bit of control, and then I can figure out where to go next.