by Lucy Smoke
"This picture I found—" She pulls it back up and I find myself drawn to the
man in the photo. Just like before, I notice all of the ways he looks like me or,
I guess, that I look like him. This was the man my mother had fallen in love
with, the reason she'd hated me so much. "Ava?"
I jerk and realize Rylie's been calling my name for what sounds like a
while. "What?"
"You drifted, did you hear what I said?" When she turns and looks at me,
her hazel eyes staring straight at me almost as if they can see right down into
my soul, I pull away.
"No," I say. "I didn't hear you. Just say it again."
She blinks and returns her eyes to the computer screen. "I said it looks
like someone spent a lot of time and a lot of money to try and erase his
existence online," she repeats. "I saw him in that photograph and thought he
looked familiar, though, I didn't realize he was your father until I found your
birth certificate. Well, an older version anyway. The one that's officially on
file actually has your father's name as unknown, but—"
The more she talks, the more confused I get. "Can you just skip to how
you connected the picture with the money?" I ask.
"Right." Rylie clears her throat and then clicks across the screen making
the image disappear. "So, I found that Chaz Mason was killed in a car
accident, but like your birth certificate, there were two reports. An older
report details that he had severe internal bleeding caused by gunshot wounds
to the chest and abdomen. Then, later, the report was updated and those
details were removed." Her fingers click across the keyboard as her words
flow into my head. "The only way I fucking found it was by sheer dumb
luck."
"That fucking asshole," I mutter.
Her fingers pause. "Huh?"
"Nicholas fucking Carter," I clarify. "He told me that my father had been
his best friend, but he never mentioned being an Eastpoint heir. He said he'd
died, but never mentioned how." I release the edge of the mattress and lift my
hands to find them shaking. I'm shaking all over, actually. Trembling with
barely suppressed rage. "He was murdered, wasn't he?" The question comes
out of my throat raw and hoarse.
For a moment, Rylie is silent, and then I feel her shift beside me. I don't
look up. I don't turn to her. I just wait for her to respond. When her hand
touches mine, I realize that she's moved her computer to the side. I don't
squeeze back as she holds it, but it's … I guess … kind of nice that she does.
It calms the anger down marginally at least, enough that I can think clearly.
"Yeah," she says. "It looks like he was."
I suck in a sharp breath. "Keep going," I tell her.
Rylie doesn't reach for her computer again. This time, she just starts
talking, and I realize—she knows this story by heart. She's probably run
through the details of what she's discovered for hours—long before she called
me here. The computer, the clicking, the typing, pulling up evidence, that
damn photo—it was all a distraction. For her and for me. Because the fact is
this is a heavy subject. I doubt she likes it any more than I do.
"The old file on his accident was supposed to have been destroyed years
ago," Rylie tells me. "Someone accidentally saved the report, though, when
they started doing online cataloging. Newer cases went first into the database
that I had to hack into, so his didn't pop up immediately. Ava … someone
went through a lot of trouble to cover up his death." His murder, she means.
This is dangerous now, not just for me, but for her, too. And though I
don't really care much for normal people—Rylie's grown on me. I almost feel
bad, even responsible for putting her in this position. Once you know
something, you can't take that knowledge back. No matter how much you
might want to.
Patricia's crazy ramblings are starting to make sense to me. She said that I
was the reason my father was dead. A part of me had wondered, but I hoped
it was just Patricia's justification for all the shit she did, for her own grief. If
he was murdered almost nineteen years ago—just months before I'd been
born—maybe she was right. Maybe it is my fault.
41
DEAN
I SIT IN THE SUV IN FRONT OF A FAMILIAR BROWNSTONE, GRITTING MY TEETH
as I dial Braxton's cell for what feels like the millionth time. This time it
doesn't even ring but goes straight to voicemail. The same thing happens with
Abel's number.
Three days is nothing. They’d been gone for far longer than that before.
Yet, something in my gut tells me this time is different. It doesn’t feel right.
Something is definitely off. I slam my cell into the console and grip the
steering wheel hard, fighting back the urge to hit something. With everything
we’d been through recently, not having Braxton and Abel nearby is like
having my arms chopped off. There’s no doubt I’m strong on my own, but
being without two of the most important people in my life when I’ve grown
so used to them being within reach for the last few years … it only amplifies
my feelings.
A knock on the passenger side window has me immediately reaching for
the gun I’ve taken to carrying at the small of my back. The familiar face that
greets me, however, has me pulling my hand away without bringing it out.
The door cracks and Viks leans in, gripping the top of the frame with two
hands as he arches a brow.
“You’ve been sitting out here for quite some time,” he comments.
“Staking out my place now to try and get ahold of your old man?” I scowl,
but before I can deny it, he continues talking. “You should know, Dean, he
doesn’t come here.”
“Is that a fact?” I deadpan.
“It is.” He smirks. “I can tell you, however, that he called a couple of
nights ago and said he had to fly out to California to deal with Miranda.”
I scowl. Of course he did, I think. My mother can’t fucking keep her cool
for two goddamn minutes. “Did she get dumped again?” I ask.
Viks shrugs. “She was asked to go to rehab for her alcoholism this time.
He’s dealing with that.”
“And he called you to let you know,” I snap. “How is it the two of you
aren’t fucking the same bitch again? You’re so close.”
Viks’ expression darkens. “You know I’m with Haley, Dean. I don’t take
kindly to anyone questioning that, even jokingly.”
I curse and turn my head even as a minor sliver of guilt eats at me.
After a moment of silence where neither of us say anything, he sighs,
making me look his way once more. “I know you don’t like your old man,
Dean, but Nicholas isn’t a bad character. I wouldn’t have worked for the man
as long as I did if he were.”
I sit there staring at him—trying to decide my next course of action.
There’s a reason I drove down here. A reason I’m sitting outside his fucking
house. It’s because I have no one else to go to. I have two best friends in this
world—and they’re both unavailable until further notice. Avalon is … she’d
listen, but I don’t want to dump more onto her plate than she alre
ady has to
deal with. Who the fuck am I—how the fuck can I call myself a man—if I
can’t keep her fucking safe?
“Come on,” Viks says, knocking the top of my SUV with his fist before
he pushes away from the car. “Come in and have a drink or something; talk
to me.”
My hands curl into fists. “Can I?” I ask.
His brows shoot up. “What the fuck kind of question is that, man?” Viks
asks. He shakes his head and turns away from me. “Get your ass in gear
before I rescind my offer.” I snort. We both know he’s not going to. He may
look like a badass with more ink than anyone I’ve ever seen, but there’s a
reason when he finally managed to get his degree it was in something like
psychology. A hardass with a fucking heart. Definitely never thought I’d
have one of those as my final option.
I cut the engine and slide out of the vehicle to follow Viks up to the
porch. When he reaches for the door, he pauses and looks back. “You don’t
need to worry about whatever you tell me,” he says suddenly. “Haley’s at a
doctor’s appointment.”
I press my lips together but nod my acknowledgment and he opens the
door. We trek inside and go immediately to the kitchen. It’s hard to believe
that a few short weeks ago I was sitting in this exact same spot with Avalon
at my side. Then, I’d blown up. I wonder if I’d kept my cool then, could I
have come back here earlier? Would I have figured things out that much
sooner? Fact is, I haven’t figured it out yet, but I hope by talking to Viks, I
might save my sorry ass.
“Alright,” Viks pulls out a couple of beers from the fridge and tosses one
my way.
I don’t flinch as I catch the thing and twist the top off before downing my
first swallow. It’s rich and kind of tastes like coffee. After I’ve drained an
inch or so from the bottle, I pull it away and look at it, smirking at the foreign
label. “Got used to the good stuff, I see,” I say, holding it up and shaking it
his way.
He laughs. “What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “Good place. Good
woman. Good beer. I’m living the perfect life.”
“Haley’s doing good then?” I ask. “With the baby?”
A warmth enters Viks expression. “Yeah, I’m happy, man. Can’t wait to
have two girls in the house.”
“Oof, man … a girl?” I tip my bottle up again. “What are you gonna do
when she starts getting interested in guys?”
His expression darkens, and then after a moment, the sunny warmth is
back. He smiles back at me. “I’ll kill any motherfucker who wants to put his
hands on my daughter,” he says pleasantly.
I shake my head, not shocked in the slightest.
“What about you?” Viks asks as he lowers his bottle and leans back
against the counter. “You thinking about popping out a few of your own with
that girl of yours?”
I freeze, stunned by the question—not because it’s not something I
haven’t half expected someone to ask, but certainly not so early. “I—ah—I
don’t think so,” I reply.
Viks tilts his head. “Oh?” That’s it. No demands as to why, no pressure or
talks about how great kids are—then again, his hasn’t even come out of the
oven yet, so maybe he’ll be different after he’s had a chance to hold her in his
arms. Still, though, that one little syllable makes me feel like I need to say
something. Damn man is good at that.
“I can’t imagine it,” I confess. “I love Avalon. I want her—for the rest of
my life, honestly. I’ve already proposed.”
“Congratulations.” He tips his beer towards me, and I laugh.
“I didn’t say she accepted,” I tell him. “In fact, she turned me down.”
He whistles. “Scared?”
I lean back on the stool I sit on. “Yeah,” I reply. “Out of her mind—
though she’ll never fucking admit it. I know she’s probably still half
expecting something to happen between us. She’s never had anyone stick
around before.”
Viks barks out a responding laugh. “She’s in for a hard time then,” he
says. “When you want something, you’re as sticky as it gets.”
“Damn right, I am,” I agree. My eyes lower to the bottle in my hand and I
rim the top with my thumb as I speak. “I’m not going anywhere. I know that.
She doesn’t. That’s okay … but kids?” I can’t picture it. Okay, that’s a lie. I
can. I can picture a miniature Avalon, or hell, even a miniature me—but her
with kids? That’s hard. “I just don’t think it’ll be for us.”
“Why not?” There’s no judgment in his tone, for which I’m grateful.
“I hate the idea of sharing her,” I tell him honestly. “I’m too …
possessive. I think about having to give a part of her to someone else, even to
my own damn kid, and I get jealous. If we ever do have kids, it’ll be because
she wants them, but I’ll be honest, man, I don’t think she will.”
“That could change,” he replies lightly.
“Yeah, it could.” I lift my thumb away from the rim of my beer. “But I
don’t think it will. We’re too damaged—both of us are.”
“Damaged people sometimes make the best parents.”
I inhale, lift the bottle, put it to my lips, and down at least half of what
I’ve got left. “Yeah, maybe,” I concede. That still doesn’t take away the
feeling I have in my soul. Abel’s always been the family guy. Maybe he’ll
have one, and if he does, I’ll love that little shit like the best damn uncle in
the world. I’d be happy with that. I shake my head. “I didn’t come here to
talk about my relationship with Avalon,” I say, getting serious as I look up
and meet Viks’ gaze.
He nods. “You didn’t.”
“I’m worried about Braxton and Abel,” I confess. “Elric and Lionel called
them back a few days ago, and I haven’t heard from them.”
Viks sets his beer down on the counter and crosses his arms over his
chest. “That’s not unusual,” he replies. “That happened often when you were
still in high school.”
“No, I know.” I down the last of my beer and set it on the counter as well.
“Things are different this time, though.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “How so?”
“It’s different because of what we’re dealing with when it comes to
Avalon. We just finished tracking someone down and getting rid of a
problem,” I say. “Then all of the sudden we come back to find the fucking car
and Mr. Andrews ready to take them away. You don’t fucking think that’s
suspicious?”
Viks takes that in and doesn’t say anything for a moment. He lowers his
eyes to the floor, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. I’d
give anything to be inside of it right now, to follow his thoughts and see if I
can make sense of what is happening around me that much faster. I’d been
able to distract Avalon as much as I could over the last few days, but she’s
just as concerned as I am, and there’s only so much I can do.
“Have you figured out who’s behind everything happening with your girl
yet?” he asks sud
denly.
A scowl forms over my face. “No, my father still hasn’t told us shit.” I
pause. “Well, he did finally fucking tell us who Avalon’s father was—though
it was like pulling fucking teeth.”
“Oh? And?”
I turn away, blowing out a frustrated breath. “He said the guy was his best
friend from his college days. Chaz Mason.”
Viks moves so quickly, he knocks over the bottle he set down on the
counter and I hear the glass shatter on the tile floors before I feel his hands
grip the front of my shirt and he jerks me half over the island. “What did you
just say?” he demands.
I stare at him, stunned. “Chaz Mason,” I repeat the name. “Why? Who is
he? I thought you’d know since you said you knew of Avalon.”
Viks looks shocked to his fucking core—his face pale and brows drawn
down low. “I knew of her, Dean, but I didn’t know Chaz fucking Mason was
her father—shit, I should have. She looks just like the man.”
“Did you know him?” I ask.
“I did—a long time ago,” he answers. “I was a fucking teenager. One of
the high school program students and he was…” Viks releases me abruptly
and turns away, his foot smacking into the half of the bottle that had
somehow managed to stay intact when it smashed into the floor. The neck
however, is scattered all over. Not that he fucking notices. “Chaz Mason was
an Eastpoint heir. He died. This is—shit, you need to go. Go get Avalon.
Bring her—no, fuck!” He shoves a hand over the top of his head and scrubs it
down his face as he looks around between the baby shit in his living room
and me. “You can’t bring her here.”
“Why the fuck would I bring her here?” I demand. “Viks, man, tell me
what’s going on.”
Viks spins to face me. “Fucking think about it, Dean,” he snaps. “Your
father knows who’s behind everything—have you ever fucking known him to
keep from throwing his power around? Is he tracking them or has he found
them? I guarantee you if he knows who they are, then he knows where they
are.”
“Yeah? He said he can’t do anything yet—”
“Did he say why?” he cuts me off. “I’m guessing the answer is no, but
Dean, you’ve been so mad at him for not telling you what’s going on, that
you didn’t think about the fact that him not telling you is a clue within itself.”
