Ginger Fox Part 2

"Jon, play a little longer, and then we'll go!" I shout to him, but his thin body just keeps walking, not turning back to me.
"But already? I just got here!" Bob sits down on the sand, taking Jon's place beside me.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from giving him a rude reply.
"We're going to have lunch." I turn my face away from Bob, cursing him in my mind for showing up right now.
"I can't believe you managed to get that albino rat out of that mansion." I dig my nails into the palm of my hand, pressing hard, wishing I could punch his Joker-like mouth.
"Jon isn’t albino, he just doesn’t get out in the sun as much as he should, and I don’t think 'rat' suits him. As far as I know, the one who lives in corners and survives on crumbs in that mansion is you, not Jon." A cynical, brazen smile spreads across his lips.
"You really think I'm the rat in that mansion, Ginger?"
"I don’t think you’d be happy to know what animal I’d use to represent you, Mr. Bob." He throws his head back, laughing and shaking it in disbelief.
"How horrible! For God’s sake, just Bob. Save the formalities for someone else." His hand stretches out, resting on mine. "I think we're close enough to use first names, Gim."
His eyes soften with his smooth talk. I pull my fingers away from under his, closing off my expression.
"We're not close, sir. And if you don't mind, I'd prefer if you called me Miss Fox." I pull the towel out of the backpack on the sand to dry Jon so I can leave as quickly as possible from this disgusting cockroach.
"Whatever." He shrugs, turning his eyes back to Jon. "The truth is, that kid is as strange as the rest of the family." I turn angrily, ready to tell him off. "But the really strange thing..."
He cuts me off before I can speak, turning his eyes to the distance, looking at the jeep parked nearby.
"Was Jonathan letting you use his personal car." The information throws me off, making me feel uneasy as I look at the car.
"Actually, I didn’t ask permission to use his car. I didn’t know it was Mr. Roy’s personal vehicle. I was told I could use any car from the garage whenever I wanted to go out with Jon." Damn, this could really get me into trouble!
"I don’t think it’s the end of the world; Jonathan has so much money he doesn’t even know where it’s invested anymore. The car’s value is probably pocket change to him. At thirty-five, the bastard has his life completely set!"
His bitterness is so evident, and he doesn’t even try to hide his envy.
"Even so, it’s his. I’m not going to ruin it; I didn’t come here to cause trouble."
Bob turns his face to me, looking at me intently, as if analyzing my words.
"You still don’t get it, do you?" His Joker-like smile widens, staring at me as if I’m a big joke. "You didn’t choose to come here, Jonathan chose you. Nothing happens inside the Roy mansion without the diabolical Jonathan allowing it. If you’re here now, enjoying the beach, with his car, it’s because he allowed it."
I have no response to give him, after all, it was Mr. Roy who authorized me to go out with Jon, but Bob's information makes my brain burn. If nothing happens inside the mansion without Mr. Roy’s permission, then he might know what’s happening with Jon and still do nothing?
"That family is made of money and misery. Nothing more." I focus on Bob’s words, taking advantage of his bitterness to understand more about those people.
"Why do you call him diabolical?" Bob laughs, playing with the sand and pointing at Jon.
"Because that’s exactly what he is. Look, Jon’s maternal grandmother has been fighting for years in court for custody of the boy, and she always loses because of Jonathan’s army of lawyers," he sighs, tilting his head to the side. "And yet he gives the old woman a generous allowance to keep her close. In the summer, he brings her here, putting her up in one of his houses, so she can spend weekends with Jon."
I stay silent, thinking about that. Mr. Roy literally takes the popular saying to heart: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

"Almost the entire island belongs to the Roy family. Their father made a fortune in oil, only to find out in the end that he was being cheated on." Bob chokes, laughing as he tells the story. "Jonathan was five at the time when his dad put a bullet in the head of his whore of a mother, right in front of the boy."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, he raised the gun and fired." He raises his fingers, mimicking a shot.
"I get that, sir. I want to know how in front of him?" Bob just laughs, as if the trauma in Mr. Roy's childhood was some sort of joke.
"He was in the room when his father shot his mother. He saw everything. After that, his father was arrested and confessed to the crime. He even claimed he killed her lover too. I think he made the guy’s body disappear because only hers was found." He waves his hands in front of my face, opening and closing his fingers like I’m some kind of idiot. "After that, James was raised by the lovely and petty Aunt Charlotte, waiting for Jonathan to come of age, so he could leave boarding school and take on the family legacy."
I digest all this, stunned, not knowing how much tragedy this family carries.
"And then our dear Lorane fell into their lap when she fell in love with James. She was crazy about him, obsessed, and when he died, she got so depressed she tried to kill herself." He presses his lips together, showing his anger as he talks about Lorane. "And the diabolical Roy came up with a plan, married his idiot of a sister-in-law to stop her from making a scene, tarnishing the family name again. And soon after, Gollum arrived to complete the horror show inside that mansion!"
I can't hold back, not this time, when he points to Jon, comparing him to Gollum. My fist clenches and crashes into his arm with force, making him lose his balance and fall into the sand.
"Hey, what the hell is your problem?!" He looks at me, surprised. I stand up angrily, just grabbing my bag with the towel and flipping him off.
"You're a worm, a disgusting cockroach, not a rat! Just a jealous cockroach! Don’t you ever refer to Jon like that in front of me again, you jerk!"
Bob moves quickly, using my hand to pull himself up. I feel a quick sting in my wrist. He laughs, looking at me and brushing off his shorts.
"You didn’t have to get all worked up over your 'precious' Jon!" His taunt only makes me angrier, ready to punch his smug face.
I see him take two steps back, but my eyes aren’t on him—they’re on the scratch on my wrist, where a drop of blood is starting to trickle down. I look at his hands. The last nail on his left hand, the pinky finger, is long, sharp enough to hurt me, and rough enough to scratch sensitive skin.
"Stay away from Jon, or I swear to God, I’ll make sure you regret it!"
I leave him there, with his mouth hanging open, speechless. I walk to Jon, shielding him and pulling him into my arms as I get closer, moving away from that guy as fast as we can. I don’t know if he’s the one hurting Jon, but he’s definitely at the top of my list of suspects.
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