~Kendra
I’ve grown up in a house where the scent of expensive perfume and corporate greed always hung heavy in the air.
My dad is the kind of man who treats wives like he treats his pharmaceutical patents—he uses them until they’re no longer profitable, then swaps them for a newer, shinier model.
My real mother was a prude. She wanted to be honest, while Dad wanted to be the king of unethical medicine in LA. He’s sixty-five, looks forty, and is rich enough to buy silence from anyone.
He spends his days shipping questionable drugs across the globe, profiting from pain while he stays healthy by never touching his own supply. Total hypocrite. But that blood money puts food on our table, so I’ve learned to keep my conscience in a very deep, quiet box.
His latest "acquisition" is McKayl
