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Lifting the cover, I type in the code, jumping when the safe emits a loud beep and then an audible click as the lock disengages. Opening the lid, I pull out the contents and lay them on the floor next to me. There’s a couple of jewelry boxes, some paperwork, and a couple of portable USB stick drives. Opening one of the jewelry boxes, I’m surprised to find a simple solitaire diamond pendant nestled in the black velvet. It’s not particularly big or flashy, hardly something worth putting in a safe when she has so many more ostentatious and expensive pieces of jewelry up in her bedroom.
Placing it down by my side, I open the next box and find a matching diamond pendant. Placing that with the other necklace on the floor, I lift the paperwork and start to scan it. There’s some stocks and bonds, details of a bank account with a hell of a lot of money in it, and an envelope that has both mine and Izabella’s birth certificates, as well as our passports and a few other pieces of paper that I set aside to look at later.
Lifting up the two pen drives, I twirl them around in my fingers. “What would Mom have on a pen drive that’s worth hiding in a safe?” I say to myself.
“Sex tape?” Izzy answers from right behind me, making me jump and shriek. “Woah, sorry, I thought you knew I was here.” She chuckles, a handful of photos in her hand.
“You need a bell,” I hiss, shoving the paperwork into a pile and closing the empty safe.
“Are you taking those?” she asks, pointing at the jewelry boxes.
“Yep, they’re matching diamond pendants, so I’m guessing they’re ours anyway. Plus I got our passports, birth certificates, and these pen drives.”
“Awesome. I have these,” she says, flipping the photos around to face me, a huge smile plastered across her face.
My mouth falls open as I stare slack-jawed at the pictures of our parents before they found Dr. Hanson, their plastic surgeon. “Oh my god, I can’t believe that’s what Mom used to look like?”
“Yep, this is just plain, moderately rich Trudy Williams circa 1981, and this is richer than god, but butt ugly Barnaby Rhodes before Mom sunk her claws into him and his inheritance,” she says, waving the pictures of our parents before their multiple plastic surgeries a few inches from my face.
A giggle bursts from me, and I pick up the stuff I’ve pilfered from the safe and push up to my feet. “We have to show these to the guys and figure out how we can get them leaked to the press while the MIA story is still live.”
“Absolutely, Mom will lose her mind when she finds out there’s pictures of her looking like this in the media.” She giggles.
“God, I wish we could be there to see her face when she sees them on the news,” I laugh.
“Hey guys,” Izzy shouts as she dances down the hall to Dad’s office. “Look what we found.”
* * *
By the time midnight rolls around, we’ve informed every bank and investment firm that either Mom or Dad is involved with that they’re dead. We’ve canceled every utility and service for the house, listed all of the artwork and furniture on eBay, held one day auctions starting at a dollar, and advertised a free house clearance on Craigslist in two days’ time. It’s petty and childish, but with every small, insignificant act of revenge we take, my smile gets wider.
If I were a bigger person, I wouldn’t need this rebellious act of vengeance, but I’m not. I’m an eighteen-year-old girl with more issues than The New York Times, and annoying the hell out of my parents because they’re assholes is awesome.
“Are we staying here tonight or going home?” Izzy asks.
“Home,” I answer quickly, glancing at Hawthorn and seeing the heated look in his gaze.
“Some of us should stay here in case the housekeeper comes back,” Gulliver says, eyeing me and Hawthorn with obvious amusement.
“You can stay, we’ll be back in the morning,” Hawthorn tells him without taking his eyes off me. “Bag all this stuff up, and we’ll take it with us just in case you guys end up leaving quickly,” he says, pointing to the piles of photos and paperwork we’ve amassed on the kitchen table.
By the time the town car Hawthorn called pulls into the marina parking lot, it’s after one a.m., but I’m not tired, I’m buzzing with energy. The driver helps us carry the two cases—one full of my belongings, the other full of all the stuff we stole from my parents’ house—up to the gangplank, but Hawthorn waves off his offer of help to get it aboard the boat, and with a nod he turns and leaves.
“Do you want to unpack your stuff?” Hawthorn asks as he drags my case into the bedroom.
“Nope,” I say, throwing myself into him and claiming his lips with mine.
With a laugh, he wraps his arms around me, lifting me into the air and immediately taking over the kiss, dominating me with his mouth. Melting against his touch, I cling to him, ready for him to take complete control, because I know without thought that he’ll bring me more pleasure than I could ever imagine.
Pulling back, he lowers me to the floor and cups my cheeks in his palms. “I’m fucking obsessed with you, Penelope, and I don’t see that ever changing.”
“I want you,” I pant.
“I want you too, but I told you I wouldn’t fuck you again until you understood that we’re not temporary. I’m falling in love with you, Penelope, every fucking inch. The good, the bad, and the broken bits, I want it all. I know who you are, I see the dark, fucked-up parts of your soul, and I want you in spite of them and because of them. You’re mine, Penelope Rhodes, but I want to be yours just as much,” he rasps earnestly.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I try not to let them fall. His words are the most terrifying and amazing things I’ve ever heard. I want to be his and for him to be mine, but I don’t know if it’s possible or if I’m capable. “I’m scared,” I whisper.
“That’s okay, I’m fucking terrified.”
