Travis gripped his shoulder and pulled him roughly back into his seat. “Sit down, boy. Stay.” He sniggered. “Good dog.”
Marty strutted down the aisle and opened the door, pushing open the stairs. Then he went down. Travis ushered Emily forward, holding Sebastian back. “Wait there, boy.”
Sebastian lurched to his feet and pushed a hand into Travis’s chest, shoving him back. “No.”
They locked stares.
The man at the back of the plane came forward, gun drawn. “Back up!” He pointed the gun at Sebastian. “Now!”
Sebastian drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled. He’d thought he could shut his feelings off, but when Emily was around, it was difficult to shut completely down. He could shut Travis out. He could block out everything when he was in the middle of a fight. But he couldn’t seem to shut Emily out. Right now the overwhelming urge to protect her screamed through him. He couldn’t let them hurt her. But he needed to calm down or he might screw this up. Getting himself killed wouldn’t help Emily. He had to get her out of this. So he had to stay calm. Detached. Emotionless.
I can do this.
Sebastian stepped back and allowed Travis and Emily to pass. Emily eyed him worriedly before Travis ushered her down the steps.
Sebastian let his gaze follow her until she disappeared on the ground below. The gunman—Tom, who’d been with his father for years—motioned Sebastian out of the plane, then followed.
The pilot was the last to depart. His father didn’t own the plane, but he paid the pilot—Chris, a hired gun who owned the plane—whenever he needed to fly. For the right price, anything was for sale. Travis’s addiction to gambling prevented him from owning anything as expensive as a plane. He got his high from betting—and winning. Since he’d masterminded the fight in L.A., Travis had made a hefty sum off the fight, even though Sebastian had lost. Charging the exorbitant price of five hundred dollars a head had made it possible for Travis to be able to afford to charter the plane from Alabama to L.A. and back. Though Travis was crafty, he wasn’t smart enough to own a plane, let alone keep one if he did own it. He always gambled away everything he had, even his own son. Sebastian wasn’t sure how his father had managed to buy—and keep—a house in Mobile for so long. Perhaps he’d gotten smarter over the years. Maybe he was wealthier than Sebastian guessed. Not that Sebastian cared. His father might own other properties, though Sebastian doubted it. If Travis did own other things, they had all been purchased with money earned from illegal activities. Sebastian didn’t care what his father owned or what Travis did. He just wanted the man out of his life for good.
Sebastian reached the ground, the heat and humidity smothering him, causing long-suppressed memories to swirl around him.
“You stupid shit. Fight back.” His father slapped his cheek.
Sebastian turned away. “No. I don’t like hitting things.”
Travis slapped his other cheek. “What are you, a coward? A girl?”
Sebastian gritted his teeth. He didn’t flinch this time. He’d been hit so many times, what was once more? “No. I just don’t like hitting things.”
“Why not? Come on, boy. Hit me! Show me you’re not a wuss.” His father grabbed his arm and yanked it behind his back.
Sebastian bit back a cry of pain. “No. I don’t want to.”
His father lifted his arm higher. Pain screamed up Sebastian’s arm.
“Come on, boy. Do something! If you’re going to be a fighter, you have to fight!”
He yanked Sebastian’s arm higher until Sebastian thought he would pass out from the pain.
Sebastian twisted away, pulling his arm loose. He spun back around and struck out, slamming the side of his hand into his father’s throat.
His father gasped, wheezed, then dropped to his knees. His eyes lit with satisfaction. “That’s my boy,” he gasped between breaths. “I knew you could do it.”
Sebastian stared at his father in horror. He hadn’t meant to hit him back. It had been an instinctive reaction. It had happened so fast he hadn’t realized he was doing it.
“I’m sorry Dad. I didn’t meant to do that.” Sebastian took a wary step backward. Now his father would retaliate. He braced himself for a painful blow.
But his father merely chuckled and rose to his feet. “We’re going to make a fighter out of you after all, boy. Yes we are.”
Sebastian staggered backward and shook his head as the memory slowly faded. That was the first time he’d ever hit back. He couldn’t remember how old he’d been, but it had been after his mother left, so he must have been at least nine or ten. He hated that memory. He’d never wanted it to come back. It proved he was a brute like his father.
His father had become relentless after that, pushing and pushing until Sebastian finally snapped and hit back. And kept hitting back. He gave up his resistance and let his instincts take control. Soon he began to anticipate his father’s moves, intercepting his strikes, cutting off his punches, and learning to outthink his opponent. Sebastian became the skillful, cunning fighter his father wanted him to be. He became what he despised.
Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the memories out, willing them to go away. But the memories stubbornly remained in his mind, swirling around, reminding him that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Hit me!
No!
We’re going to make a fighter out of you after all, boy.
Sebastian hissed out a breath. He hated Alabama. Hated the memories of the run-down trailer where he’d grown up. Hated the man who’d sired him. But no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t deny Travis Wade was his father. Changing his name, running away…none of that mattered. He was the son of a monster and there was nothing he could do about it.
I’m not like him. I’m not.
Yes, you are. You became exactly what you despise.
A brute.
No. I show mercy when I fight.
Ha! Who are you kidding? Who do you think taught you? You’re still just like him.
Travis’s face leered in front of him, jerking him out of his thoughts.
Get it together, man. Don’t let him win. The war’s not over yet. You can beat him.
“Sebastian?” Emily’s soft voice came from off to this left. “Are you okay?” Her hand wrapped around his forearm, her touch soothing, healing.
Emily.
He turned toward her, his vision clearing.
Her eyes were sad and worried.
“Emily.” He squeezed her hand. What had he gotten her into? Sebastian’s selfishness might end up killing her. He never should have lured her to Coeur d’Alene. He should have left her alone, untouched, untainted. Now he may have ruined her, corrupted her with his vileness. He had no idea what his father had planned.
“Go get the car and meet us out front.” Travis’s voice boomed from Sebastian’s right.
Marty trotted off to do Travis’s bidding.
Travis glanced back at the pilot. “Get our luggage and bring it around.”
Chris hurried back to the plane.
Travis grabbed Emily’s arm. “No funny stuff, Sweet Cheeks, or Tom has orders to shoot you.”
Emily stumbled forward at Travis’s push. Sebastian fought the urge to yank Travis back and slam his fist into his face. He had to wait until the right moment or Emily could be hurt.
“Let’s go!” Tom motioned Sebastian after them. Tom kept his gun hidden beneath his jacket, but he made sure Sebastian knew it was there.
Sebastian followed after Travis and Emily.
Arriving at night meant less people were around to notice them. Travis wasn’t a fool. He always planned everything out.
Marty was waiting out front of the airport with the Suburban. He ushered Emily inside the vehicle and closed the door.
Sebastian stepped in front of his father. “Where we going?”
“Where do you think, boy? To your childhood home.” Travis yanked open the front passenger’s door and climbe
d into the vehicle.
Sebastian’s stomach churned. He took a deep breath and pulled open his own door.
Minutes later they were heading away from the airport and toward the place Sebastian hadn’t visited since he’d fled Alabama fourteen years ago.
The place of his nightmares.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
They pulled into the muddy driveway. The lights from the Suburban revealed that the pathetic, run-down trailer of Sebastian’s childhood nightmares was worse than he’d remembered, perhaps because as a successful actor, he’d been able to afford the many finer things in life.
The trailer sat nestled back in the pines of a three-acre lot right on the Tensaw River. Garbage and empty whiskey bottles and beer cans spilled out of an overfull garbage can off to the side of the sagging front porch and littered the overgrown yard. His father hadn’t even bothered to clean up the place when he’d left. He’d just abandoned it, leaving it as it was. The mobile home itself looked like it would blow away when the next tropical storm hit. Sebastian was surprised the place was still standing. It was obvious it had been vacant for years.
He turned to his father. “Why did you keep this place? And why did we come here?”
“I kept it cause it’s where your momma’s buried. You’ll learn why we’re here soon enough.” Travis shoved his door open and stepped down from the Suburban.
The lights from the vehicle allowed Sebastian to catch a glimpse of the small, rotted dock out back that teetered out into the bayou. The same dock he’d played on as a child, diving off of into the river, catching turtles, snakes and frogs, then letting them go. The Tensaw had numerous back channels extending off the main channel that his father had loved to explore, hunting for anything that lived in and around the river, from sturgeon, to alligators, frogs, snakes, turtles, deer, turkeys, wild boar, black bears, beavers…
How many times had his father poached wildlife and gotten away with it? Probably too many to count. The closest neighbor was over a mile away.
Memories from Sebastian’s childhood swamped him, sucking him under like the river’s current. Memories he’d kept suppressed for too long.
“Whatcha’ got there, boy?”
Sebastian jerked around at the sound of his father’s voice. He rose from where he’d been kneeling near the back porch.
“It’s just a little tree frog. He was stuck under a beer can. I was going to let him go.”
“Lemme see.” His father motioned him closer.
Sebastian hesitated. If he handed the frog over, his father would kill it, probably throw it in a soup for dinner.
He took a step back, protectively cradling the frog against his chest.
“No. You’ll hurt him.”
His father’s hand snaked out. Snagging a handful of Sebastian’s dirty T-shirt, his father yanked him off the ground. Sebastian squirmed, his feet dangling in the air. His father pried Sebastian’s hand open and pulled the frog free by its hind leg.
He opened his fist, dropping Sebastian.
Sebastian hit the ground, twisting his ankle and falling back onto his butt.
Grinning, his father tore off the frog’s legs, one at a time, then smashed the creature between his fingers and flicked the animal’s guts aside, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“Too small to eat. So it’s worthless.”
His father strode up the porch and into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.
Shame washed over Sebastian as the memory faded. That was the sick, cruel man he’d had to live with as a child. At this very place. He’d never wanted to come back here. Swore he never would.
Yet here he was.
Against his will.
His stomach roiled.
Marty left the vehicle running and the lights on. He climbed out. Chris came around and opened the door for Emily. With a nervous glance at Sebastian, she slid out of the vehicle.
Tom waved his gun at Sebastian. “Get out.”
Sebastian shoved open his door and stepped out of the Suburban.
Frogs croaked from the underbrush, their repeated calls loud in the aftermath of a recent rain, welcoming him home.
No, this isn’t home. It will never be home.
Travis removed several large flashlights from the back of the vehicle, handing one to each of his men. With the flashlights lighting the way, they moved as a group across the yard, Chris steering Emily away from Sebastian. Emily glanced around, wide-eyed. Did she find the place as repulsive as Sebastian did? Would she find him lacking knowing this was where he’d come from?
Travis halted the group, pausing in front of Sebastian. “I know what you’re thinking, boy, lifting you’re high and mighty nose in the air, thinking you’re better than me. But you ain’t. This is where you came from, so don’t you ever forget it. A tree’s only as good as its roots. And this place here is your roots, boy.”
Sebastian didn’t answer. What was the use? Getting into an argument with his father wouldn’t help the situation. He needed to remain cold, detached, if he was going to do what he had to do to get Emily out of here alive.
Travis’s gaze hardened, narrowing on him. They were virtually the same height, though his father was wider through the shoulders and his gut rolled forward, obscuring a once-lean waist.
Years of intense workouts had toned Sebastian’s body to its current leanness, though he’d always been wiry, even as a small child. Sebastian had good reflexes, but so did his father. Though Travis had ten or fifteen pounds on him—most of it fat—Sebastian knew better than to think age and excessive drinking had made his father weak. If Sebastian was going to win this war, he would have to outthink Travis, as well as overtake him physically. He wasn’t foolish enough to think it would be easy.
“I’ve got one more job for you to do, boy. Then I’m wiping my hands free of you. Come on.” He turned away, motioning for the others to follow, and headed around the side of the house toward the backyard.
Sebastian followed, his gaze warily scanning the trees, searching for other dangers. He would have to incapacitate Marty, Tom and Chris, in addition to his father, in order to free Emily. Of the four men, Sebastian was the most worried about his father. The others he felt could take with the right timing. They might have guns, but Sebastian doubted the men had the fighting skills he had. They were all just hired thugs, paid to do his father’s bidding. With the right amount of money, Sebastian might even be able to sway them to his side, though he wouldn’t bet on it. This was one of the few times in Sebastian’s life he was glad he was a skilled fighter. He would need those skills tonight if he was going to save Emily. Travis would be the most difficult to take down. Not only was his father a fighter, but a dirty one. If Sebastian was going to win, he’d have to fight dirty too, even though the thought of engaging in a life-or-death combat with his father made his stomach roil.
If you want to win the war, you’re going to have to kill him tonight.
Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing the bile from his throat.
They strolled across the backyard, the flashlights illuminating the small overgrown lawn, the huge oak tree, and the dock that led out into the water.
A slight breeze picked up, causing the screen door to squeak on rusty hinges as it blew outward. Sebastian glanced up at the trailer.
A shadow moved by the kitchen window.
Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. His step faltered. Someone—or something—was inside the house. Did his father have more men hiding inside? Why? What did his father have planned?
Sebastian stared hard through the window, but the flashlight beams had moved away and he could detect no further movement. Had it merely been a figment of his imagination?
Tom shoved him forward.
The men gathered in a circle around the white oak, their lights illuminating branches and leaves that littered the ground beneath the huge tree. A large hole that had been dug near the base of the tree caught Sebastian’s eye. A mound of dirt was piled off to the
side of the hole.
What the hell? If Sebastian wasn’t mistaken, he was looking at a fresh grave. Whose? His? Maybe.
Then the more likely victim crossed his mind.
Emily.
His breath caught.
Fuck no.
Whatever Travis had planned, it had something to do with Emily. Why else would he have brought her here?
Travis paused at the edge of the hole. He motioned to Chris. “Bring her here.”
Emily let out a soft gasp as Chris marched her forward.
She halted beside Sebastian. “Don’t fight the memories,” she whispered, clutching his arm. “You’ll need them to fight him. Don’t be afraid of them, Sebastian. Set your emotions free. You can feel and still beat him. You don’t need the coldness to win.”
“Get moving.” Chris shoved her past, stopping before Travis.
Don’t fight the memories.
Shit, could he do that? He’d been fighting the past for so long, afraid to set the memories free, afraid of what might happen if he did. Each time he turned one loose, it weakened him. What if he unleashed those memories and it ended up being his downfall?
You don’t need the coldness to win.
Could she be right? Was feeling the only way to win this war? Would setting all those memories loose free him—or destroy him?
Travis snagged Emily by the back of the neck and squeezed, hauling her up against him. She whimpered, her gaze darting to Sebastian.
Sebastian’s heart stopped. “Don’t hurt her.” He stepped forward, but Tom shoved him back, pointing the gun in his face.
“If you let Emily go, I’ll do whatever you want for the rest of my life. Please, just let her go. She never did anything to you.”
Travis chuckled. “I was smart to take her. She’s your biggest weakness. Want to know why we’re here, boy? You see that spot on the other side of the tree?” He motioned at the ground near the base of the giant oak. Sebastian narrowed his eyes at the dirt and overgrown weeds, trying to see what Travis was talking about. What spot?
“That’s your momma down there. I buried her there twenty-two years ago.”
Scarred (Unlikely Heroes Book 5) Page 29
