Connor barks out like an actual dog, getting in my father’s face.
“You still can’t move enough to wipe your own ass, old man,” he says, before leaving his gun in front of me and heading for the door.
“I guess I wasn’t harsh enough with those boys since they don’t know their place.”
“You brought this upon yourself. But I’m curious, how do youlike my future wife? Is she ruthless enough for your standards?”
Mason’s lips tug to one side while a finger starts tapping on the table, and he doesn’t answer until said finger halts.
“My grandchildren will be real men with a mother like this. But you, my son, will never be a man enough for a woman like her.”
When an animal knows it’s dying, it stings with all it has, and my father found his twisted way to do so with me.
“Guess I’m man enough, if she loves me.” Taking the gun in hand, I press the muzzle against his forehead.
“Can’t fathom how you pulled that off when you’re so...worthless.” There’s a vicious smirk curling his lips. “Or maybe... you didn’t. You keep calling her Summer. Did you not know her real name when you met her, son? Did she... play you?” Eyes slitted, he tips his chin up, fixing me with a look of contempt and disappointment—the same one he’s always given me. “She did.And you think she loves you now? You’re such a pathetic fool.”
“I don’t care about your opinion.”
I wish I didn’t.
After all those years, after all those times of being called worthless, it still fuckin’ stings. My father made sure it would always affect me when two and a half years ago, he chained me down in the basement and forced me to listen to such words on repeat for twenty-four hours—his fucked-up punishment for a minor disobedience on my part.
“You do. That’s part of what makes me the villain in your story. But after hearing what I had to say... to your woman, do you see how little it takes to become a villain?”
I might still be experiencing the aftershocks of Mason’s confession, but that won’t stop me from seeing right through his bullshit. His little speech tonight gave me more than a hint to confirm my suspicions of what he’d done to my mother and brother. What does it say about both of us that I’m not surprised? The only consolation I get is that deep down, it seems he suffered the aftermathof his monstrosity.
“No!” I roar, slamming my fist into the table. “You don’t get to play the victim. You happened to my mother. You happened to my brother. You happened to Summer’s family—people who had nothing to do with your beef with Dante. You’ve scarred everyone you’ve ever touched.”
And just like that, his confession means nothing. He’s the same monster I’ve always known. He claims hehadto be, but pretending never lasts forever. Maybe it started as an act years ago, but somewhere along the way, he became the thing he was imitating.
When I look at Mason now, I don’t see a father. Just a man I feel nothing for other than all-consuming hatred.
I shove the barrel closer, forcing him to lean back. “Answer Summer’s question. Does death scare you now, when the gun is pointed at your head?”
Mason’s hand struggles to reach his face, feeling the blood Summer left there for him, or maybe that’s some of his own.
“It doesn’t,” he grumbles, staring at his stained fingers before pinning his eyes back on me. “I died the moment your mother did. Youwillwhen someone takes that woman away from you.”
My jaw tenses at the thoughts Mason tries to shake me with. But I won’t allow him.
“No one will ever take her away from me!” Those are the last words my father will ever hear.
A single shot. Straight to the head.
For my friends. For my mother. For my brother. For my Summer.
And for the man I refuse to become.
Chapter 46
Summer
Straightening up my black dress, I take in my reflection in the chipped mirror of this dilapidated hotel, and I get the urge to fuck myself. Or maybe that’s because my handsome Chocolate Bar Thief hasn’t done it for too long. Fourteen fucking days of waiting longer than I care to admit, like a misplaced, lonely statue in front of the Hemisfèric, contemplating every plausible and wildly implausible reason Atlas isn’t showing up for me.
I left a spectacular mess when I fled, but a few days of dealing with the fallout of my actions would’ve been enough before he got on the first flight here. Even if Atlas didn’t kill his father, he still would’ve found a way to come to me. That’s what I thought, until the days kept slipping one after the other, with neither a sign of him nor any news about one particular death.
But he’ll come. He has to. He loves me.
