10. Rhett
Irealize now why they tried to starve me. Sitting across from me at a long mahogany table is Alistair, dining pretentiously on his steak. I have the same meal in front of me, and though I want to fight taking anything from him, I have to remind myself it’s just sustenance and it can give me invaluable strength back.
So I eat with him.
Alistair’s mouth tugs a little as he chews, and I tighten my grip on the serrated steak knife against throwing it at him. I’m surprised he gave me one at all, but he knows me so well it’s getting under my skin. Two guys stand in such close proximity that I believe they’d stop me before the knife could effectively launch. I won’t risk inflicting the error on my little bird.
“Why are you doing this?” I grind out after too long in insufferable silence.
Alistair looks up, sets down his cutlery, and wipes his mouth before reaching for his wineglass. “We used to dine like this a lot. Don’t you remember, nephew?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You can’t bleed out your heritage.”
I don’t deny that, but the way he uses the family term is like a brand. He owned me once, and now he’s caught me to reclaim me. I’ve been suffering in torment about it. How all this time I was a damned fool to think I could catch him.
I’ve spent years reciting what I’d say to him. What I’d do. Now I have him right in front of me, I’m drawing blanks at his mercy, except for one thing.
“My parents died in a car accident,” I say.
Alistair leans back in his stupidly expensive chair. “That is the truth.”
My teeth grind because I don’t want to say it. I want him to fucking admit it.
“I’ve always thought it was coincidence. How you claim to know how perfect of a son I’d have been for you. Your twisted perception tried to make me believe my parents didn’t understand someone like me.”
“Because they didn’t,” he says, his tone taking a harsh edge. “They coddled you and reprimanded you.”
“That’s what parents fucking do.”
“No. They would have smothered you, and your dark side would have landed you in places that would try to fix you. Don’t you see? I saved you.”
“You took everything from me!”
The plates and glasses around me shatter with the rage that has me swiping my hand across the table. Men shift toward me, but Alistair raises a hand, and they don’t touch me.
“Look in the mirror, Everett. You know we’re not so different.”
“You killed them.”
“Yes.”
I’ve waited eighteen years to hear that confirmation. One single word with the weight of the world attached to it. Now I have it, that crushing force sinks me back into the chair.
I want to fight the defeat threatening my resilience. It’s not like I didn’t already know in my heart the truth, but I guess this suffering is proof I’ve clung to denial all this time.
It’s not that I’m shocked or that I believed it above Alistair. This is the sort of heinous crime he’ll stoop to, killing his own brother and wife. It’s that I wish it wasn’t true for how despicably my life was shredded by one calculated, evil person my parents trusted.
My eyes are dead when they lift to Alistair. I didn’t think I could hate him more, nor wish his death in their stead more powerfully, but I do. It’s the type of loathing that tunes out humanity completely. Cancels out the whole fucking world.
I don’t really judge movement or feel what I’m doing; I see blood and know my hand holds the knife plunged into the neck of one guy. Then I jab someone else with my elbow, my fist cracks against someone’s jaw, and the rest is just blind violence.
Until I can’t make another move, because something strikes hard against my temple, blackening my vision enough that I can’t catch my fall. When the pain returns, I guess my adrenaline-fueled rage is starting to wear off.
I come to in slow blinks that bring a round of agony pounding in my head.
Somehow I’m sitting against the wall, and I manage to lift my head. Alistair crouches down as I peel my eyes open.
“You are remarkable, Everett. You just need to allow me to guide your potential.”