Killer: A Dark College Romance (Hillcrest University Book 5)

by Candace Wondrak

  I could do nothing but stare at him. His words were not computing.

  He took another step towards me, a foot away from me now. I had to be careful; I was letting him too close. “Tell me you didn’t hurt her like you hurt your mother.” My father stepped even closer, and it was right then—as the sound of metal broke through flesh—that I realized something.

  He was right.

  I walked with a purpose through my parents’ room, knowing my mom was in the tub. Declan was downstairs, having fun, being a kid—it was something I could never do. Laughing, doing anything that involved this family, was not something I could ever sit back and simply do. I knew the horrid truth of this family.

  No one else could do anything. I had to help her. I would help her.

  It was why I carried a kitchen knife behind my back. I knew Mom would hate seeing me holding something so sharp. I was still her baby boy, even though I felt years older than I was.

  Mom was in the tub, bubbles around her, blocking out her naked body underneath. Her head was measured in turning to me, her hair piled up and pinned to the top of her head so it wouldn’t get wet. Her neck rested on a pillow of sorts, and she gave me a smile. It was the same smile she always gave me, the same smile she always wore in her makeup mirror as she applied coverup to the bruising.

  “Will,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “what are you doing?” Her eyes fell to my hand, noting the knife. “What’s that?” Her arms moved out of the bubbly water, resting the porcelain sides of the tub.

  I saw more bruises, which was all I needed to see.

  I was shaking before, but I wasn’t now. How could I shake, when I knew, right then and there, that only I could save Mom from Dad? It was up to me to stop him from hurting her, and I hated what I came here to do…mostly because I’d miss her.

  “You shouldn’t be carrying a knife, Will,” she said, reaching out a hand towards me, gesturing for me to come closer to her. “Give it to me, honey.”

  Water tickled my vision, and I was slow in stepping closer, inching towards my mom, the one woman I loved above all else.

  “Mom,” I whispered her name sadly, the only way I could. Her hand was so close to the knife, but I couldn’t give it to her. I couldn’t give it to her, because I knew she would never use it to defend herself from Dad.

  I did the only thing I could think of to do: I moved toward her head and took the knife to her exposed throat. It seemed simple and easy in the movies, but when I did, when Mom started struggling, her body thrashing around, there was too much blood. Maybe I’d gone too deep with the knife, too hard, too fast. It was sharp, so even a child could wield it with deadly accuracy.

  Blood oozed out of the tub, and I stood there, my mouth open, my eyes watering, as I watched Mom’s arm fall out of the tub, splattered in her own blood. Her head turned towards me, and she tried to speak, tried to say something—maybe ask me what I’d done—but it was too late. She was bleeding too much, too fast. There was no taking back what I did, no saving her now.

  The hand that held the knife loosened, and the bloodied steel fell to the floor, clanking as it went. I watched in horror, my clothes covered in her blood, as her throat muscles moved a bit, soon enough her pupils dilating and her eyes glazing over. Mom was dead, and even though I was technically at fault for doing what I did, I never would’ve done it if it weren’t for Dad.

  For my father.

  This was all his fault. He was the reason I saw no choice but this. I would make him pay for making me do this, for making me hurt Mom.

  My father’s eyes widened, and he glanced down between us, noting the knife protruding from his abdomen. It was deep, too. Slid into his gut like a hot knife through butter. Almost too easily. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Nothing but a croaking sound.

  He stumbled back, and I released the knife, letting him take it with him. I watched as his back collided with the front of the refrigerator, watched in silence as he collapsed, dark red smearing on the fridge on his way down. His eyes were slow to meet mine, and he made no moves to take out the knife.

  Maybe I’d stabbed him in the right place. Maybe not. Didn’t much matter now, because, even though I hated him for what he did, a tiny, miniscule part of me knew he was right.

  Mom never had bruises. All those times I went to her, she wasn’t hiding anything. Never in the mirror, not with coverup. It had always been mom—but it was like my belief that our father had hurt her overpowered the truth. I needed a reason to hate him, and so I found one.

  I made one up, and I killed my own mom for it.

  “You’re right,” I said, finally speaking the truth after all this time. “You should’ve had me locked up, I guess.” I did not move closer, but I did kneel near him, meeting his eyes. He looked like he was either in shock or having a panic attack. Or maybe this was just how he looked as he was dying. “You came home early that day. You saw me.”

  It was true. I didn’t know how long I’d stood there, staring at my mom’s dead, bloody body, at the red bubbles and water in the tub, before Dad came home from work and found us, found me. Somehow convinced me to give him the knife, that no matter what, he loved me.

  Lies. All of it, lies.

  “You knew what I did, which was why you hated talking about it,” I said. My memories were jumbled, but that much I knew for a fact. He should’ve done something, turned me in, had me locked in a psych ward, something, anything—but he didn’t. He didn’t, so this…this was really my childhood dreams simply coming full circle. This was the end of the story I’d always wanted.

  Dad, dead.

  “I knew what you and Sabrina did, and I knew how much it would hurt Declan, so I had to do something. I had to get you both out of the picture. Time and time again Sabrina showed she never cared about Declan, just like you,” I told him, frowning. For so long, Declan had been it for me, so me going to the Salvatores’ house while the parents were away, while I knew her and Declan were broken up, was the only thing I could think of to do.

  I knew Sawyer would be passed out somewhere else, and I’d been right. That left Sabrina all to me. I forced her to get the diary at knifepoint—that’s when she’d showed me both. I took the one that had the truth, the one that detailed her tryst with my lying, piece of shit father, and left the other. And then I made her write a note.

  It wasn’t like I enjoyed it. It wasn’t like I dreamt of that day. I wasn’t a total psychopath—I didn’t take pleasure in other’s pain. Although, when it came to my father, maybe I would.

  The one thing I wanted to do was watch Sabrina hang, see the look in her eyes the moment she realized she fucked up, crossed the point of no return—but then someone else came, and I had to hide. I didn’t get a good look as I hid, but I was pretty damn sure it was Travis, the other one Sabrina was sleeping with.

  I always did hate that fucker.

  Perhaps I could’ve taken him, but I didn’t want to take the chance. And, at the time, my focus was on my father, on pushing his lies to the forefront of his life, on revealing the truth to everybody. Everyone would know, by the time I was done, that my father was not a good man.

  My father’s skin seemed almost abhorrently pale, and his eyes zoomed in and out of focus. The knife must’ve nicked something important inside him, for a thin trail of blood oozed out of his mouth. His voice came out broken, hushed, in a bare whisper I could hardly hear, “You’re a monster.”

  I blinked, thinking on his words. Me, a monster? I never would’ve called myself that before, but now, faced with a father who was dying, with my memories—what really happened and not the story I’d told Declan and Ash—how could I deny him? How could I ever hope to convince my father during his last, dying breaths that his eldest son was not indeed a monster?

  I was. I was a terrible, vile, evil monster who did what he did because he thought he was doing the right thing. After all, the world would be a better place without my father in it. I was really doing everyone a favor…
but wasn’t that what the villain believed in every story? That they were only doing what was necessary? Every monstrous man was the hero in his own tale, tragic as they usually were.

  My tale would not be tragic. This was the end of it. With my father gone, there was nothing left for me to focus on besides my brother and Ash. My life would have a new purpose, a new meaning, and I would do everything I could to see that those two people remained safe.

  As if throbbing in memory, my gut pinched in pain, right where I’d been stabbed. Ray had caught me off-guard, the only reason he succeeded in almost killing me. Maybe on level ground I could’ve hurt him back.

  “You’re right again,” I eventually told him, noticing that, by the time I spoke, his eyes had dilated, his ragged breathing stopped. My father was right: I was a monster, but you know what? Everyone was. Every single person on this earth was a monster in their own way.

  We were all monsters here.

  I was slow to get to my feet, never breaking eye contact with my father’s corpse. My hand went into my jeans’ pocket, and I pulled out my phone. The first number I dialed was a three-digit one, and the moment a dispatcher picked up, I closed my eyes.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” It was a woman on the other line, and she sounded bored out of her mind. Or maybe that was just her usual tone. Either way, I was about to liven her job up a bit.

  My breathing turned frantic, and I spoke exactly how a traumatized man who’d just stabbed his abusive father would, “My dad attacked me. I…I think I might’ve killed him.” My voice cracked a bit, just enough to show the operator that I felt terrible for my actions. So very terrible, I just might cry.

  I wouldn’t.

  I wouldn’t, because inside I felt nothing. Inside I felt an emptiness. It was easy to pretend to be normal, to wear a mask that said I was just the harmless older brother, the kind one, the one who loved his younger brother more than anything. Everyone always believed it, believed me. I doubted anyone suspected, not even the woman on the other line. If they went to play this tape back, they’d hear a worried, frantic man who sounded like he was both panicked and choked up.

  “What’s your location? Are you safe? I’m sending a car and an ambulance over.”

  I rattled off the address of my apartment, my act a good one, even as I stared at the lifeless corpse of my father. When she asked me to stay on the line, I told her I couldn’t, because I had to call my brother. She tried to argue with me, to get me to stay on the line, but I hung up. Police were coming anyway, and Declan…Declan had to know about this. I had to tell him.

  This next call, when I told Declan that our father had come to my apartment and attacked me, that he was dead, wasn’t a good call. My heart ached because I knew how much Declan cared for our father.

  If I knew Declan like I thought I did, he’d drop everything and make his way here. He’d probably tell Ash too. Maybe they’d both come.

  When I saw sirens flashing from the window, I knew it was time to put the mask back on.

  No one else played the game quite like me.

  Chapter Twenty-One – Ash

  Travis drove. Travis, of course, didn’t want to come, but I knew there was no way Declan was in any shape to drive, with the way he shook. And me? No way in hell I was ever going to touch a steering wheel of a car that probably cost the entirety of Hillcrest’s tuition.

  We were all crammed in the front seat, since there was no backseat. I sat in the middle of Declan and Travis, my mind racing about as fast as the car below was. Travis was itching to get us there as soon as possible, breaking a dozen speed laws as we went.

  Dean Briggs attacked Will?

  Will killed him?

  I mean, it didn’t make sense. Why would Dean Briggs attack Will? Sure, Will always was gruff when speaking to his father, he didn’t particularly like his father, but to go so far as to attack him? Seemed harsh.

  Although, I thought, trying to do my best to ignore the way Declan trembled as he held onto one of my hands, maybe Dean Briggs blamed Will for everything. Maybe he thought Will had something to do with him getting arrested. Stupid, because how the hell could Will ever get his father arrested, but it made just about as much sense as anything else I could think of.

  Which was nothing. I could think of nothing else.

  If Dean Briggs had abused his wife, if he’d killed Sabrina, it wasn’t that impossible to believe he’d go after one of his sons if he thought that son had turned him in. The decisions of psychopaths rarely made sense, unless you looked at things from their perspective—a thing easier said than done.

  I tossed a quick glance at Travis as he drove. He wasn’t exactly happy to have our time together cut short, and he definitely wasn’t happy to put on his clothes with a hard-on—after I let him out of the chains, of course. All that aside, he was doing this for me. Travis would be there for Declan because of me.

  It would make me feel all warm inside, if we weren’t driving toward another crime scene.

  What the hell was with me and crime scenes? It was like I couldn’t get away from them. It was like every week there was something new, some new body, some new development. Things would never slow down in Hillcrest; they’d expand and snowball, but they would never, ever slow down. My life was anything but simple, so I should’ve known to expect a new, sudden turn of events after Ray was taken care of.

  Two.

  This meant two of the guys I loved were killers. What the hell did that make me? A magnet for psychopaths? A glutton for punishment? Maybe it would be easier for everyone if I just walked away.

  No. No, I couldn’t do that. My heart was embroiled with theirs regardless of whether or not it was safe to be. I could no better leave any of these guys than I could cut off my own arm—I could do it, but it would hurt like hell, and I’d never be the same afterward.

  Three police cars, along with an ambulance sat in the parking lot of Will’s apartment building. Travis managed to find an empty spot, and Declan was the first out of the car, rushing to get to the building, to get upstairs, which surely was walled-off with crime scene tape. I lingered by Travis as we got out, tossing him a worried look.

  Travis seemed emotionless at it all, which was unsurprising. He studied the scene before him, the darkening sky above us, an omen of what waited for us inside that building. The police wouldn’t let us in to see the Dean’s body, but that was fine. I didn’t need to see it. No more corpses for me, thanks.

  I shoved my hands in my coat’s pockets, shivering a bit—not at the cold, but in anticipation of what waited for us up there. Hillcrest had taken my life on a crazy rollercoaster of a ride, and just when I thought it was time to get off, the ride took a sharp turn and then went upside-down.

  “I almost don’t want to go up there,” I muttered. Declan was long gone, having disappeared inside the side door to the building.

  “You don’t have to,” Travis told me, his blue eyes turning to me. If he had anything to say about it, we’d go back to his dorm room and continue where we left off, only reverse the positions. He’d have me restrained, my naked body his for the ravishing. It was a nice thought, but now wasn’t the time for it.

  “I do,” I said. “I have to be there for Declan and Will.” A sigh left me. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  “I have to be there for you,” he said. When it came to Travis, everything was for me. I couldn’t fault him for it; it was nice to have his loyalty. Or his obsession. Whatever the hell it was; I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It was times like these when the last thing you needed was to be alone.

  The wind blew against my face; if it wasn’t for my beanie, my hair would be whipping every which way. I turned to face the building across the parking lot, it seemed to loom, towering even though there weren’t that many stories. I didn’t want to go, but I knew I had to.

  My heart beat almost too fast in my chest as Travis and I walked through the police cars, heading to the side door. When we entered, we to
ok the elevator to Will’s floor, and the moment those stainless-steel doors slid open, it was a cacophony of sound. So many officers moving around, taking notes, talking to each other, it was unreal.

  Travis and I stepped out of the elevator, and instantly I spotted the yellow caution tape stuck to both sides of the door that led to Will’s apartment. I didn’t see Declan or Will in the hall; my best guess was Declan had barreled his way through regardless of the policemen and women around here—he had to get to his brother. That meant he was inside the apartment…which meant he saw his father’s body.

  I didn’t know for sure whether the body was still there, but I doubted they cleaned it up so fast. They needed to gather evidence, take photographs, get statements, and all that.

  Jeez, I’d been dealing with the police too much lately.

  A policeman came up to us, eyeing us up like we were suspects or something. An older gentleman with grey hair, wizened eyes and a sneer to match. “Do you folks live on this floor?”

  I shook my head, and Travis said, “We’re friends of Will’s. We heard what happened.”

  The policeman reached into the front pocket of his shirt, pulling out the tiniest notebook known to mankind. “Mind if I ask you a few questions about William Briggs and his father…uh, William Briggs Sr.?”

  “Of course,” Travis said, although I could totally tell by a tensing of a vein in his forehead that he really didn’t want to. Talking to the police was not something Travis ever wanted to do; he didn’t have a way with them like Markus did. Markus was…on his own level.

  As the policeman rattled off question after question, my eyes drifted. It wasn’t but a moment later when I saw Declan ducking under the caution tape and leaving the apartment, followed shortly by Will.

  The fingers on Will’s right hand were stained with red, his father’s blood. My stomach clenched at the sight of it, and before I knew what I was doing, I was rushing to him, throwing my arms around him and hugging him as tightly as I could, aware that every cop in the nearby vicinity was watching, taking in the interaction.