Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
The fucking coward killed his wife. I don’t know what decided me just now. Maybe the furtive look in his eyes when his brows drew together over them. That one single moment where I took him by surprise, and his reaction was authentic.
He was a man who knew the truth was close to biting him in the ass.
But he’s had a whole lifetime to practice faking his way through this. “You know what happened, son. It was an accident. It was terrible. I looked a long time for somebody to blame… I did. It took years for me to accept there was nothing I could have done.”
And that is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth, which is saying something. This man does not accept powerlessness. If he really wanted to find out who caused the accident, who sent Mom off the road—supposedly—he would have. There would be no stopping him.
Instead, we had a funeral, and he never mentioned her again unless I asked him. Even then, over time, he was less and less generous with his answers. “So why did I hear tonight that you killed her?”
His eyes bulge. “Who the fuck told you that? What sick son of a bitch—”
“It doesn’t matter who said it,” I murmur, watching him closely. The way he keeps glancing toward his pillows. The way his hands, sitting on the edge of the mattress, have tightened. “I heard she found out about all of your businesses. The things you do. It makes sense you would want to keep it from her, right?”
He’s confused. Not sure if he should agree or not. “That’s what men in my position do. We shield the people we love from the ugly parts of our business. That’s not a crime.”
“No, but it’s a crime to murder them when they find out the truth.”
His face turns a shade of red that tells me he’s ready to explode. “I did no such a thing. I would never! I loved her!”
“Really? Did you love her when you found out she was going to take me away? That she was leaving you? That’s what it was really about, wasn’t it?” I ask, watching as fear leaks into his eyes, as sweat beads at his temples. “It was about keeping control over what’s yours. She wouldn’t fall in line, so you killed her and kept me with you. Just tell me the truth. Tell me you did it. I see it on your face!” I shout.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He stands, and for one second, I think he’s going to square off, invite me to throw fists.
Instead, he shoves a hand under his pillow and pulls out a gun.
“What, are you gonna shoot me now?” The whole thing is so sad, but I can’t help laughing. “You’re going to pull a gun on your own son—why? To prove you would never hurt somebody you love?” The whole thing is too pathetic to witness a second longer. He knows I know. Right now, that has to be enough until I figure out my next step. I cannot live under this roof with him a minute longer. Not now. Not when I know what he took from me.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” he barks, but I’m not one of his gambling addicts late on a payment. I march down the hall, fists swinging at my sides, his feet pounding the floor behind me.
I’m in my room, the door half-closed, but he kicks it open. “I am not finished with you!” He’s still holding the gun, aiming it at my middle.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” I scoff.
“Nobody comes into this house and threatens me,” he warns.
“What did I threaten you with? The truth? Is the truth such a threat, Dad?”
“I did not kill her.” He levels the gun at my chest, his voice deadly soft, his aim steady. “And I will be damned if I let you spread a lie like that.”
I don’t have time to ask when I threatened to spread anything. No time to understand why he’s so threatened.
A blond blur comes flying out of the bathroom and jumps on his back, arms and legs wrapped around him as she screeches like some kind of demon. Kinsley. She’s clawing at his face when he drops the gun, viciously throwing her off him.
But he’s not quick enough to keep me from picking up the gun and aiming it at him this time.
It’s amazing what little it takes for a bully to lose their strength. His strength was never real. He needs a gun in his hand to feel strong, or other men to do the fighting. Without those tools, he’s nothing but an old man in a pair of silk pajamas, his eyes bulging as he takes in the sight of his son holding a gun on him.