Squeak

Sunday Dinner

Erik

I pressed the buzzer at the gate box outside Helen and Jacob's compound and waited patiently for the gate to open. They never returned to Washington, which pissed me the fuck off, considering my fallout with Jacob centered around my refusal to move back to Washington.

Stabbing him may have also had a little something to do with it.

The only reason they stuck around was to have access to Jezebel and Izabel. Jacob wanted to witness Jezebel's torment firsthand and play doting grandfather simultaneously. Like Adrian, Jacob was good to my daughter. Izabel wouldn't shut up about how excited she was to see her Papa and Nana King and how she'd show me her princess fairyland bedroom at their house.

Shockingly, Jezebel said she and Helen had called a truce for Izabel's sake. They even attend brunch and go shopping once a month. I laughed when Jezebel said Helen hated Adrian. She'd complain there was something about him that would make the roof of her mouth itch, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

It's the King DNA you don't like about him.

I couldn't blame Helen for not putting two and two together because Adrian and I were complete opposites. He had blonde, straight hair as opposed to my dark, wavy hair that sometimes curled if it was humid. He had blue eyes, and mine were hazel. The only feature we shared was our smile, but it was likely Helen was too spaced out to notice.

After several more impatient buzzes, the gate finally creaked open, and I parked in front of the six-bay car garage. I rolled my eyes, knowing there was an insanely expensive car behind each door, courtesy of Jacob's obsession with European supercars. I used to be obsessed with the idea of wealth and capitalism. Jacob taught me that power, respect, and fear came as perks of being wealthy. I didn't give a fuck about money as much anymore. I had enough to comfortably sustain my family for several generations. All Jezebel had to do was give me the word, and we'd kick off to some tropical island and live in a villa on the beach for the rest of our lives, swinging in hammocks while drinking from coconuts.

The sound of being a 23-year-old retiree doesn't sound half bad.

Helen was waiting for me at the front door, looking like she was seconds away from pissing down her leg. She opened her arms wide, intending to hug me.

"My baby boy," she whispered, enveloping her arms around me. She cried and buried her face in my shirt as she held me. The old me would've shoved her away—that was the natural response I had if it wasn't Squeak or Squirt, but Frankie was a hugger, and over the years, I'd gotten used to it. "I missed you sooooooo much. You shouldn't have killed that man. Why did you have to kill him?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know, Helen. Why did you have to kill Charles?" I drawled.

"We're talking about you, not me. Plus, killing Charles brought your father home."

"You would've been better off with Charles."

"Hmph...he wasn't endowed enough to give me as much attitude as he sometimes did. He had to go. Plus, he was sleeping with his receptionist," she said, leading me into their mansion.

"You knew about that?"

She grinned at me wickedly. "Of course I did. I was paying her to sleep with Charles so that the prenuptial agreement would be null and void if I had chosen to divorce him. Unfortunately, my late husband suffered a horrendous boating accident on a stormy day, and only pieces of his body were recovered. May he rest in pieces."

"You're a sick fucker, you know that?" I chuckled. She swatted at my chest.

"Erik, you flatter me. Your father isn't home yet. Would you like to join me for drinks in the parlor?"