Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Everything clicks into place. Each event, everything he’s done and how he’s played each piece.
I take a careful step forward, so aware of how close he is to her and the gun. Too close.
“Mason,” Jules cries out. God I want to go to her, I desperately want to hold her, but as I take another step closer, my only goal is to get between the two of them. To keep him away from her.
This all ends tonight. I won’t let him live to breathe the same air as us. His greed is deadly. If he did it once, he’ll do it again.
“Stay behind me,” I say as I rip Jules away from my father, grabbing her hand and forcing her behind me. I kick the gun behind me as well as I keep my gaze on him. His cold gray eyes darken and narrow at me.
“You can’t pin this on me,” he huffs. Naturally he’d think I was trying to save her and destroy him. It’s all he’s ever thought. Everyone’s always out to get him. This time I am.
“Stay away from her.” I swallow and say, “It was you.”
My father’s eyes dart to the gun behind me and I take a step to the right, keeping my arms out as Jules grips onto me. “Mason,” she whispers desperately, her cries waning as she realizes there’s still reason to be afraid. That this isn’t over.
“Jules,” I say although I stare straight ahead, keeping my eyes right where they belong. “He’s the one who wrote the note. The one who set me up to meet your husband. He set Liam up and used all of us. All for a fucking payout.”
All over a chunk of property in New York City that Anderson bought out from under him. One corrupt man upping the ante in a game he couldn’t afford.
“Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” my father says easily. “It wasn’t meant to turn into this, Mason.”
Jules releases me, letting out a gasp from behind me. I can’t feel her, I can’t see her, but I can’t turn around. I have to keep my eyes on him. On the liar and murderer and sinner I was born from.
He raises his hands defensively, as if giving up the fight and says, “I swear to you, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.” All the lies, the spinning of a delicate web woven with manipulation and deceit.
“I don’t believe you,” I tell him. “I think you didn’t care how many people had to be sacrificed.”
The corner of his lips twist into a wry smile. “I certainly didn’t intend for this, Mason.” He shakes his head and adds, “Never.”
“And Mom?” I ask, feeling the rage come back to me. Knowing this isn’t the first time. I don’t know how many lies he’s told, or how many people he’s killed. “Did you intend for her to die, or was she just a casualty of your games?”
The mention of my mother gets a rise from him, his eyes heating and his expression morphing into a snarl. “Your mother was a whore,” he sneers. It’s all I can take.
I heave in a breath as my body lunges for him. No punches, no hits. I wrap both of my hands around his throat. The weight of my body makes us topple over, both of us crashing to the ground as my blunt nails dig into the thin skin around his neck. I grip him with everything I have in me. My teeth clench and every muscle in my body is tight as I squeeze the life from him.
He tries to slam his fist into me at first, but he’s not the young man he once was. I lean forward, balancing my weight as he tries to buck me off. I have him pinned.
Finally, he reaches up to his throat, desperate to pry away my fingers. His nails scratch at my skin, but I have no intention of letting go. All the desire in me focuses on leaning my weight into his throat. But the victory is stolen from me.
Bang! Bang!
My body tenses with the shock and fear. Two bullets have been fired. The noise rings in my ears as my father stills beneath me. His eyes are wide and lifeless, staring at nothing. His nails no longer digging into my hands.
Jules shot him. Once in the forehead, the other just an inch from his nose on his left cheek.
I stare at his face, the vision distorted by the blood dripping from the bullet holes down his weathered face and onto the carpet. Even knowing he’s dead, I can’t relax my grip around his throat.
Tell me! I scream in my head as tears prick the back of my eyes. I just want to hear him admit it. I want him to tell me to my face how he plotted my mother’s death. How he hired someone to make it look like a suicide. My body trembles as I come to terms with the fact that it will never happen. His secrets will never be told, and my fingers loosen as I take in an unsteady breath.