Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
“Back of the building in the alleyway.”
He snorts. “I’m not meeting you in the back of the hotel.”
Just the sound of his voice cuts me all the way to my black soul he helped create. “You afraid of the dark? Good thing I’m not or Harper would be in a dark warehouse dead right now.”
“I heard what happened, son. Why do you think I’m here?”
“You mean you ordered someone to kill her.” It’s not a question.
“You’re confused, son,” he says, using a familiar snide tone, “which is why we need to talk. Here. Now. In my room.”
“Not a chance in hell. You have five minutes and then I’m gone. Back service door.” I disconnect the line and a notification pops up with a voicemail from Grayson. I ignore it and head down the alleyway toward the back of the building. If my father won’t come to me, I’ll go to him, but on my terms, in my way. I walk to the rear of the building, finding the alleyway dark, with a dim overhead light spiraling down on a dumpster. I take a position in a dark corner by the door I’ve named, where I’ll wait to discover how desperate my father is to talk to me.
Three minutes pass and I become aware of someone else in the alleyway and he isn’t my father. A man, based on his build, dressed in all black steps behind the trashcan and disappears. Waiting on someone, and of course that someone is me.
Chapter sixty-three
Eric
The past…
Ileave the social worker’s office on the heels of my father, who never looks back at me. When we get to his fancy car, he flicks me a look. “Backseat.”
His message is clear: I don’t belong in the front with him. I want to punch him. I want to hurt him like I know he hurt my mom. God, I want to kill him. He must see it in my face, too, because he charges up to me, grabs my shirt and shoves me against the car. “You got a problem with me, boy?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yes. I am. I’ll teach you how to do it just like me and then maybe you’ll belong with us. Right now, you don’t. You forget that—you won’t like the results. Backseat.” He releases me and walks to the front of the car.
I consider leaving, but my mother’s letter is still in my hand. She wanted this for me. She wanted him for me. I get in the car and when I settle into the backseat, my “father” says, “People die. You’re going to have to deal with it.”
A swell of anger and pain fills my chest and I cut my gaze to the window. He starts the engine and I fight the burn of tears in my eyes. I won’t cry in front of him. Once we’re moving, I open the letter again and the first thing I read is: You will not fight your father. You will not go after him or anyone in the family. You’re smart enough to do it. You’re smart enough to hurt them, but DON’T DO IT. That is my final wish. That is my plea to you. Don’t do it. Because family doesn’t hurt family and they’re your blood, they’re your family now, until we meet again one day in a better place.
Present day…
My father did exactly what I expected.
He hired someone to shut me up, if not kill me.
If my mother were alive, if she’d written that letter she wrote me so many years ago, knowing what I now know, she’d have changed her tune. She’d have shown the side of her that was a fighter. The side that went after a DNA test and forced me on the Kingstons. She’d tell me to fight back. She’d tell me to win.
I stand in the dark corner, and I reach in my pocket and pull out a quarter, focusing on walking it through my fingers to calm my mind. Taking myself to that place I went all those years ago when I had to kill or be killed. It was natural then, an instinct that didn’t require honing, but I’m not in that place anymore. I’m in the one that came first. The one where my father lives, which makes this not quite as simple as the “kill or be killed” warfare presents. I’ll still kill if I have to, but I want answers.
The alleyway is an unmoving box, not even a shadow flickers. I listen for the enemy, and the man behind that dumpster is an enemy. Seconds tick by and turn into minutes and he doesn’t move, but neither do I. Anyone my father hired worth any salt knows my skill level. Knows I’m here, watching this fool, waiting to act. One of us has to make a move and I decide what the fuck. I’m game. It’s been too damn long since I played a game like this one and I find I missed the hell out of it.