Chapter 4
FOUR
KANE
My head pounds from lack of sleep as I enter the sitting room. It was early morning when I dropped Ava off at home.
Cash jumps up from the couch. “Where the fuck were you last night?”
“I was out.”
Disgust twists his mouth before he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Let me guess, with Ava?”
“Just get off my fucking back, man.” I walk deeper into the room, pressing my palm against my throbbing temple.
Despite the Tylenol I took, my head still feels like it’s being crushed. Granted, it’ll take about thirty more minutes for the medicine to kick in. I just have to endure until then.
Cash exhales, his jaw tense. “Did you fuck her?”
I plop down onto the cream leather couch. “What’s it to you?”
The news blares on the TV—something about the prison escape of a notorious serial killer named Robbie Hammond.
In hindsight, I should have stayed in bed a little longer. Hell, I can’t handle the reporter’s constant drone.
“I didn’t help you out with Jessica last night just for you to jump into bed with a spoiled heiress at the first chance.”
A hollow laugh rumbles in my chest. “What the hell does it matter? I’m not with Jessica anymore. I broke up with her just like Beverly asked. So why the hell do you care who I fuck? I already hurt Jessica’s feelings yesterday. But you’d know, you were there—”
“I don’t care about Jessica or her feelings, Kane. This isn’t about that. It’s you I’m worried about. Come on, man. This isn’t you. You’re better than this.”
“But I’m not.”
“Yes! You fucking are! You’re not like me… You don’t...” He unfolds his arms to scrub his flustered face. “Dammit, Kane. You don’t bury your pain in pussy and drugs like I do. It leads nowhere fucking good. And I don’t want to see you—”
“Do what?” I interrupt, standing up. “Become you? Maybe I want to. Ever thought of that? Maybe I want to fuck my way through half the damn town like you.”
“No, you fucking don’t!” Cash all but roars, catching us both off guard.
I stare at him. It’s rare for my twin to flip like that. Only now do I notice the flickering pain behind his eyes. The pain he hides from everyone around him.
Pain he’d do anything to distract himself from, even if it ends up hurting more.
“You don’t have to worry,” I say after a moment of heavy silence. “I didn’t bang Ava. Nothing happened.”
The wind seems to go out of him. At first, he looks relieved. But then his eyes take on a harder edge as he fists his hands. “We’ll figure out what to do about Beverly. Together.”
“No. I want you to stay out of her way. This is for me to handle.”
“What? No! We’re in this together, Kane.”
“It’s me she wants.” My stern tone leaves no room for argument, and Cash reluctantly swallows his retort.
But he’s not happy about it, grinding his molars and rubbing the side of his jaw as if it aches.
“Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’ll be her fuck toy until we can figure this out.”
His hard eyes snap to mine, and he opens his mouth to respond. But I lean in closer and grab his shoulder before he can talk me out of it. “I promise you that we’ll take her down together. But we have to be patient. We need leverage.”
Just then, the floorboards creak outside the room, and we turn to see our father in the doorway. He’s dressed in a freshly pressed suit with gleaming cufflinks and a burgundy tie.
Part of me wonders how much he’s overheard of our conversation, but he wouldn’t look so relaxed if he knew we conspired against the senator’s wife. Either way, he cannot find out that we’re digging up dirt on him, or he will retaliate brutally.
As expected, he dismisses Cash just like he always does and shifts his focus to me. “Be ready in five, we’re going for a drive.”
As he leaves, I imagine a thousand ways to kill him, most of which involve blood. And a lot of it. I’m not one for gory violence, but that’s not how I feel when it comes to our father.
Because I know that if I step out of line, he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt my mother, Jessica, Lily or even my brother. Besides, when the day comes that I finally get to end his life, I want to see him beg for mercy.
“You should go,” Cash says with a quick nod. “Can’t let the old man wait.”
My father is a man of few words, yet his silence speaks louder than a hunter’s pause.
By the time I leave the house, he’s already waiting in the backseat of the Range Rover.
The streets blur past outside as I wait for him to start the conversation, expecting the familiar lecture about the Society and my future responsibilities—the same old worn-out talk—but nothing is said.
At least not until we cross the bridge that separates the Heights from the Falls.
Instantly, my muscles tighten and my heart stalls. Unaware, my father checks the time on his Rolex and sends a few texts on his phone. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why we’re in the Falls, but I know better than to ask questions now.
This is the part where I zip my lips and fight the urge to bounce my knee before I do something reckless, like play into his hands. That’s exactly why I focus on the streets outside instead of the countless questions swirling in my head.
Eventually, our driver parks across the street from the hospice and turns off the engine. We’re in the shade of a nearby tree. But even so, we’re not exactly inconspicuous out here in this expensive Range Rover with its tinted windows and five-thousand-dollar gleaming rims.
“Any minute now,” my father says, checking his Rolex again.
“What are we waiting for?”
Despite my best efforts to stay composed, I cracked just as he knew I would. And as I expected, a faint smile plays on my father’s mouth. He got me. I revealed my cards, and he won, just like always. He outsmarted me, using my emotions to get the upper hand.
“Right on time,” he says as a car pulls up outside the hospital.
Chris’s car. My blood runs cold, and I watch helplessly as Jessica steps out of her brother’s vehicle.
She’s wearing denim shorts, a V-neck T-shirt, and Nike Air Max.
My heart twinges when she turns and shuts the door before she leans down to speak to him through the passenger window.
To say I miss her would be a serious understatement. Even now, I ache to go there and make things right between us, but I can’t.
“She’s a pretty girl.” There’s an admiring edge in my father’s voice, an appreciative tone that chills me to the bone. He’s looking at her in ways that make me clench my teeth against the surge of rage rushing through me.
Sometimes, I wish I could unleash this suppressed, vicious part that wants to rip him to tiny little pieces. I don’t care that we’re the same flesh and blood.
If anything, it makes me more eager for bloodshed.
“She’s got a nice set of legs.”
“Shut. Up.”
If he knows what’s best for him, he’ll quit while he’s ahead and stop talking.
Otherwise, I won’t be responsible for my actions.
My knee bounces now. I try to keep my emotions in check, but I can’t, especially with my father in the car beside me, still looking at her with that appreciative male gaze.
“I’ve fucked my fair share of whores from the Falls. All screamers. Tell me, is that pretty little thing across the street a screamer, too? Or does she whimper when you fuck her?”
My shoulders square, and I swallow hard, but I say nothing. Granted, I don’t need to because the old man loves to listen to himself talk.
Case in point, his heavy cologne lingers in my throat as he leans closer with a sadistic smirk. “But I already know the answer to that question after her sleepovers at our house.” His voice is low, his breath a whisper away from my cheek.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of pulling back.
He presses play on his phone, and a voice recording of Jessica’s loud moaning and my rough grunts cuts through the heavy silence.
My stomach turns cold. He actually stood there and listened.
I run my tongue over my teeth. For some reason, as naive as it was of me, I never actually thought he’d be twisted enough to stand outside my bedroom door and record us fucking.
“She’s quite the screamer,” he notes, chuckling.
“Turn it off.” The grit in my voice sharpens the edge of every word.
He peers past me at Jessica, who watches her brother drive away. “Don’t be such a spoil sport, son. The best part is yet to come.”
“What the fuck do you want?” I glance at our driver, but he’s focused on the road.
My father fast-forwards to the part where Jessica orgasms, his eyes wild with deviant amusement. “She’s louder than your mom.”
No amount of deep breathing can keep the hatred at bay. Not only does he threaten the girl I love, but now he has the fucking audacity to bring my mom into this.
“What. Do. You. Want?” I repeat slowly.
He finally silences the recording and pockets his phone before nudging his chin across the street. Jessica enters the building, and we watch through the windows as the nurse greets her.
A packet of Jolly Ranchers crinkles in my father’s hands as he pulls it from his pocket. “Want one?” he asks, holding it out for me, and I give him a dead look before shifting my attention back to the parking lot when another car pulls up.
Part of me thought he’d play the tape and that would be it. Lesson learned.
But that’s not how my father manages business. Because A, he’s not satisfied until he’s instilled the fear of God in you. And B, he’ll break you down gradually. Until there’s nothing left of you but fragments. And even then, he’ll pour gasoline all over your remains and set you ablaze.
The hard candy clacks against his teeth as he moves it. “See those two men? I wonder if she’d scream like that for them, too.” Then he chuckles, dark, low, and drawn out, like he’s savoring his own sick, twisted joke. “Come to think of it, she’ll scream either way.”
Understanding hits, and my pulse spikes.
“Don’t.” The choked word barely escapes my lips.
“No?” He bites into the sweet and offers me the packet again. “Sure you don’t want one?”
“I don’t fucking want one!” I snap, and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Whoa.’
“Suit yourself.”
He pockets the packet, and I take a breath, trying to stay calm. If I try to make him see reason, he’ll think I’m weak, and that won’t help me. Maybe he’ll even send his dogs after her just to prove a point. Anyway, I’ve got to keep my mouth shut and do what he wants.
“Don’t look so worried.” His conversational tone does little to ease my fears.
I’ve seen him negotiate with enemies before.
I’ve seen him break them down to the point where they’ll cut off their own fingers to protect their loved ones.
My father likes to make a game of that. How many kids do you have?
Three? Give me three fingers, and I’ll let them live.
I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. How did I ever think I could outsmart him at his own game? That I could somehow beat him? Fucking naive.
“Relax, son. They’re only here to keep an eye on the girl. What happens to her is up to you. As long as you behave and stay in your lane, they’ll keep their distance. However, test me, and I’ll make sure you get to listen to a recording of her screaming for them instead.”
“I’ll stay away,” I whisper.
He leans in, pretending he didn’t hear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I won’t see her again,” I strain, forcing the words out.
“Good. That’s what I want to hear. I’m glad we’re on the same page. Girls like her”—he waves a hand dismissively in her direction—“are only good for one thing. And you, son, can’t afford any more distractions.”
He taps the driver’s seat. “We’re done here. Take us back.”
The car pulls away from the curb, and my shoulders finally loosen, though only a little. That car is still parked outside the hospice, and those two men are still paid to follow her. No, my father won’t shake them until he feels he can trust me again.
“Now that’s out of the way,” he says, adjusting his tie. “Let’s discuss more important matters.”