I shook some pills out into my palm, poured a glass of water from the carafe on the table, and brought them over to him.
He swallowed the pills with long, thirsty gulps of the water. Sprayed the inhaler in his mouth. Waited for the instant relief the drugs usually gave him. But this time, it didn't come.
"You've done a lot of bad things to me," I told him pensively. "You've fucked with my head, and Kade's, and June's, and Rachel's. Probably Mom's too when she was still around. And you always called me the monster. I think you should take a long, hard look in the mirror first. See who the real monster is."
"What the hell are you...?" He started wheezing again, struggling to catch his breath. I grabbed him by the shoulders and guided him to the horizontal mirror on the wall. Another coughing fit took over, and I clapped him on the back as we stared at our reflections.
"You made me who I am," I told him. "The bad apple. But then again, Dad, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Remember?"
His eyes were turning red, and I knew my plan was working. He covered his mouth to cough, and when he pulled his hand back, there were spots of blood on the palm of his hand.
"This is all your fault," I went on softly. "Maybe in your next life, you'll make better choices. But it's too late now."
He braced himself against the mirror, smearing blood drops all over the glass.
"Take a deep breath now, if you can." I smiled gently, patting him on the back. "It might be your last."
He started choking then, and I watched with a smile playing on my lips, counting to ten in my head. Then I started screaming for help. But by the time Rachel, Kade and June raced into the office, it was already too late. He collapsed in front of them, hitting the floor hard. It was too late—we all knew it before the ambulance even arrived.
He was gone.
June never does ask about the painting again, which is a little odd. I thought she'd want to see herself, see how I've painted her. And it would give me a certain dark satisfaction to see the look of horror on her face when she sees how I imagined her. A helpless puppet on strings controlled by her Master—me.
But I never get the chance to show her, and she doesn't bring it up again. The next few days, she retreats into her shell more and more. She pushes me away, and every time I ask her about it, she denies the fact. But I knew something was up. I can feel our connection being severed, like a dull knife cutting into the fraying rope that holds us together. I'm not going to let that happen. I'm not going to lose my little sis ever again.
That day, as I come home early from the office, the face of my father on the family portrait in the hall mocks me. Rage boils in my veins, threatening to spill over. I need to hurt someone. It has been a long time since I've done that, and the desire flows through my body, reminding me I am still the monster Dad accused me of being two years ago.
When June comes home hours later, she finds me sprawled on the couch, playing video games. I can tell she's pissed off already, seeing what I'm doing, probably disapproving because I haven't spent enough time at the company today. I don't give a shit, though. The company pretty much runs itself now, and I see no point in wasting my days at the office when I can have other people do the work, and I can just reap the benefits.
June's got me on an allowance now, which makes me feel like a goddamn kid. But it won't be this way for too long. In my mind, I've already changed things up for when we're married. She won't have as much freedom as she does now, that's for damn sure. And she'll be the one with the fucking allowance like she's thirteen, not me.
"Come join me?" I pat the seat next to me, but June shakes her head with disapproval. "What's wrong?"
"Why aren't you taking this job seriously, Parker?" she wonders out loud. "I thought you were interested in working at the company. I thought you wanted to learn the ropes."
I throw the controller aside and groan, running my fingers through my hair. "June, why can't we just have fun together?"
"Because that's not what Mom and Mark would've wanted," she mutters. "Wildfox Miller Inc is a family company, and you know that."
"So?" I scoff. "They're not around anymore, are they? They don't get to call the shots from the freaking grave."
"Parker!" She looks so fucking scandalized it makes me laugh out loud. "How can you talk about them like that?"
I shrug. "It's in the past, little sis. No point in dwelling on those things."
"It's not right," she mutters.
"Not right?"
"No." She crosses her arms in front of her body. "It's not right how you're acting. My mom loved you."
"I know she did." I nod.
"So did your father." I can only laugh at that, and she shakes her head with sadness and disbelief. "Look at yourself, Parker. What would your father think if he could see you now?"
I tell myself June can't possibly know this is a sore topic for me, but the red mist still descends, and before I can stop myself, I've gotten up and advanced on her. She takes a step back, surprised by my sudden animosity.
"You don't know anything about my father," I tell her coolly. "You were just a kid back then. You didn't know anything."
"Like that he loved you and Kade more than himself?" she asks. "That he'd do anything to make sure you were taken care of?"
"You're so beyond wrong," I hiss. "You don't have a fucking clue, June."
"About what?"
"About anything!" I groan. "You didn't know him like I did. Didn't know what he was capable of."
"He was just a simple family man who—"
"Is that really what you fucking think, little sis?" This time, when her nickname falls from my lips, it's filled with venom. "You were his innocent little girl, and Kade was the prodigal son. But not me. He hated me. He thought he could change me. Well, he thought fucking wrong."
"What the hell do you mean?" June whispers. "What are you talking about?"
"This, June!" I grab my gray V-neck and rip it off my body. I'm so fucking angry it comes off in one piece, ripping down the middle. And then she sees it, sees who I really am.
My chest is covered in scars from his beatings. I still remember the sting of his leather belt as he hit me over and over again. The blood trickling down my chest. Him telling me the scars would serve as a reminder for all the bad shit I'd done in my life so far. A warning. A silent memento of him. Forever.
"Parker, I..."
"Look at me," I demand, and she does. Her eyes widen in horror as she takes in scar after scar after scar. "Look at what he did to me when none of you were looking."
She looks so pale; I think she might throw up. Her trembling fingers reach out, coming to rest on my chest as she whispers, "Mark did this to you?"
I nod. I don't have it in me to speak right now. June swallows thickly, her eyes finding mine as she begins to shake her head.
"No, no, it's not possible."
"What?" I glare at her. "You don't believe me?"
"Mark would never do this." She sounds so certain; I almost believe her myself. But my memories don't lie.
"You have to believe me." I sound desperate now, scrambling, grasping at fucking straws. "June. He beat me. From the age of fucking seventeen, he beat me."
"No," she whispers. "He wouldn't..."
"June." I make a grab for her hand when she pulls back, but she snatches it out of my reach. "Please, June. Listen to me. Let me tell you the truth. The whole truth."
Instead, she focuses her eyes on mine, and whispers, "I don't even know you anymore."
With those words, she leaves the living room, and me standing frozen in the middle of it. Her bedroom door slams behind her. My head is pounding, and so is my fucking heart. I can't believe her betrayal, can't believe she'd take Dad's side over mine. In my wildest dreams, when I thought about telling June the truth, I never thought she'd deny it. But that's exactly what she's done.
Anger makes me fist my hands. But it's a different kind of anger. Not the explosive side I'm used to. No, this is manip
ulative, slow, wanting to hurt someone; the kind of anger that kills. The kind that gave my father the wrong medicine, knowing it would kill him.
June stays locked up in her room all night. I take my time, bringing down my art supplies and stacking them in front of the fireplace where our family portrait still hangs, along with a tall ladder. I mix the most violent shade of red I can, and I climb the ladder. Standing up there, so very close to those faces I used to know so well, I wonder whether there's a way for me to forgive Dad for what he did, now that he's gone forever.
I remember the sting of the belt. The pain. The scars. The blood.
No.
Never.
I'll never fucking forgive him, dead or alive.
I scratch out his eyes then, and Rachel's, too. I don't give a shit about damaging the expensive frame, or the painting, or the fucking wall. I slash at the art with a knife. I splatter red paint all over our faces. I only leave June's out. Leave her innocent, unmarked, unmarred, and beautiful.
She won't stay that way for much longer.
22
June
Something's off.
I can't quite put my finger on it, but I know something's wrong. My body just doesn't feel right. My breasts feel impossibly tight as I pull on my dress that morning, and my bra won't fasten behind my back. I groan and decide to forgo the bra. My nipples harden beneath the fabric of my blouse, and I do my best to cover them with my hair.
I'm meeting Kade today, and the thought of seeing him again is making me nervous, my cheeks flushing a nervous bright red.
I texted him last night. I couldn't help myself. After Parker's explosive outburst, I was so worried, and I needed to know whether there was any truth to his outrageous statements. Kade texted back right away, and it hurt me how formal he was with me. Like I was a business associate or something. Like I didn't mean anything to him at all.
We set a time to meet in a local coffee place downtown. I deliberately picked a place that was a short drive away, not wanting to run into Parker. But I needn't have worried—his bedroom door is still locked by the time I emerge from my quarters. He's sleeping.
When I come downstairs, I stop in my tracks. My eyes go to the painting above the fireplace. It's been one of the rare constants in my life, that painting. Every morning, it would remind me of the special family connection we all shared. But it's ruined now. Desecrated. Someone's slashed at it, scratched out Mark Miller's eyes. Red slashes of paint cover the canvas. It must've been Parker—who else would think to ruin the family memory like this?
I swallow thickly and head outside. I don't have time to dwell on this. I have to meet Kade and get some answers from him.
My driver takes me to the coffee shop. I'm ten minutes early, but as I exit the limo, I notice Kade is already there. He's wearing his signature navy peacoat, sitting at a private table for two by the window. He glances up just as I emerge from the car, and his eyes drink me in hungrily. I guess those formalities in his texts were just a false pretense... But I don't know how I feel about the way he's looking at me.
A part of me wants this. Wants him to just pull me in and tell me how much he missed me. That he'll take care of me, watch over me. Make sure I'm okay, and not let anyone hurt me, not even his twin brother.
But the other part of me is afraid. Afraid that the same darkness that seems to be running through Parker's veins is in Kade's, too.
I shake my head to get the thought out. A bell rings as I enter the coffee shop, and Kade stands when I approach the table. We stare at one another awkwardly. I don't know where to put my hands. My stepbrother sticks his in the pockets of his coat.
"You look good," he finally says.
"So do you," I mutter, the lie slipping from my lips slowly, like molten honey. The fact of the matter is, he does not look great. Kade looks fucking terrible. His eye is bruised and swollen, and he has a split lip.
I sit in front of him at the table, and he looks anywhere but into my eyes, nursing a cup of coffee. I order a chai latte with almond milk and glance around as I settle in my seat. Parker isn't here—obviously. But I can't fight off the paranoia following me like a thick cloak since last night and our stand-off.
"So what's up?" Kade finally wonders. "You said it was something to do with Parker?"
Nodding, I find myself speechless. I want to say so many things to Kade, but now that we're finally sitting in the same room, I'm struggling to get the words out.
"What is it?" Kade asks after a moment of silence. "What did the kid fucking do now?"
Despite the grave situation, a smile creeps onto my face. The kid. They always called Parker that. He hated it and kept repeating there was only a minute's difference between the two brothers, but nobody cared. He was forever stuck with the curse of the younger brother.
"What do you know about Parker's relationship with your dad?"
"Dad?" Kade knits his brows together. "Not much to say. They spent a lot of time together."
"Not with you?"
"They were alone a lot." He shrugs. "They were close. Why do you ask?"
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. "Parker... He told me some disturbing things about your father. And it made me worry, a lot."
"Like what?"
I squirm in my seat, unsure of how much I can tell him.
"Did you know Parker has scars all over his body?"
"Yeah." He shrugs. "On his back. He... he's into some weird sex stuff. Why?"
"He wouldn't let anyone do that to him," I mutter as Kade's eyes find mine.
"Then what do you think happened?" he asks.
"He says it was your father."
"What?" Kade laughs out loud. "That's ridiculous. Dad would never hurt either one of us."
"I don't know what to believe anymore," I mutter. "Something's definitely off, though."
Kade looks shocked, still contemplating what I've told him as I lean forward, lowering my voice. I know nobody's listening, yet I still worry someone will overhear our conversation.
"Parker's been acting weird."
"Isn't he always?"
"Weirder than usual." I cover my mouth. I feel sick suddenly, thinking of all the things I found out last night. "Fuck, I feel sick."
"Sick?" He looks at me with concern. It shouldn't fill me with hopeful gratitude, but it does. "Here, have some water."
I take deep gulps of the drink but soon realize it won't be enough. My eyes widen, and I rush from my seat straight into the bathroom while Kade stares after me. I throw up in the toilet and spend several minutes trying to make myself feel clean again.
By the time I emerge, Kade's paid for our bill and is waiting for me by the counter.
"We need to get you home," he tells me. "You look as pale as a ghost. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," I mutter. Kade puts a protective arm around my waist. It doesn't feel romantic, though—it feels brotherly. And this time, I don't fight him off.
We head outside, and I call my driver to pick me up. I really don't feel well, and Kade seems to notice, making me sit down on a bench in front of the cafe just as a limo pulls up. It's the same brand and model as ours, and I get up when another figure emerges from the car.
It's almost like looking into a mirror. The girl is tall, willowy, and dark, and she's wearing a huge pair of sunglasses. It takes me a moment, but then I finally recognize her.
"Dove!" I call out. "Dove, over here."
She turns to face us, then hesitates. I knit my brows together, uncertain why she's so stand-offish. We've been good friends for years, and this is unlike her. Finally, she approaches us, and I gasp at the sight of a huge bandage on her face.
"What happened?" I ask. "Is this why you haven't been answering my calls?"
My friend's hand flies to her cheek, and she silently nods. Something's off here. Dove's bottom lip is trembling, and she won't quite meet my eyes.
"Dove, this is my stepbrother, Kade Miller." They shake hands, but Dove still hasn't taken her sung
lasses off. "Why the bandage? You didn't get your nose done, did you?"
"No," she speaks up hoarsely, not offering a different explanation.
"Dove." I reach out for her forearm, but she flinches when I touch her. "What's going on?"
With shaky hands, my friend takes off her sunglasses. The bandage covers almost half of her face, and she has tears in her eyes.
"I didn't want you to see me like this," she whispers.
"Like what?" I ask, wanting to comfort her, glancing uncomfortably between her and Kade. "What happened, babe?"
"It... it was..." She swallows thickly, fighting to get the words out and failing. "I..."
"Show me," I urge her, and she nods. Shaky fingers lift the bandage off her face, and when I see the damage to her left cheek, I gasp. "Dove!"
She covers the stitches up quickly. It's still healing, but the gash is long and deep. Her pretty face is ruined forever.
"What happened?" I demand. "An accident?"
She shakes her head.
"Then what?" I ask. It's then that I remember our night at Pulse together. The fact that Dove kept asking about Parker. That I gave her his address. That I haven't heard from her since she went to pay him a visit. My hand flies up to my mouth. "Dove... Did... Did Parker do this?"
She doesn't answer, but she doesn't need to. The truth she can't admit is written all over her face.
"I'm so sorry, Dove... This is all my fault..."
Hurriedly, my friend puts the bandage back in its place, placing the sunglasses on top of her nose.
"You can't tell anyone," she begs. "Please."
"Why not?" I demand. "If he did this to you, he deserves to be punished."
"You don't know..." she mutters, shaking her head. "I have to go. I have an appointment with a plastic surgeon to see what he can fix."
"Dove..." I'm running out of words to tell her how sorry I am for bringing Parker into her life. "I'm... I'm so..."
"Just don't tell anyone," she mutters, checking to make sure no one saw our interaction. "I have to go, or I'll be late. Don't tell anyone, June."
Tyrant Twins: A Dark Twin Romance Page 16
