Page 52 of Legacy

“Fine, I just want to talk. I’m sober. Haven’t had a drink in two days.”

I narrowed my gaze at him, studying his face. His eyes were clear, and he didn’t smell like booze. So maybe the man was telling the truth. He didn’t drink every day; it’s just on the days that he did, he went overboard and made everyone’s life a mess.

“You’re not coming inside, old man. What do that you want?”

“Are you sure you really want me outside when I know you’re about to have company across the street?” he asked, raising his brow in a way that was so similar to mine that it was once again a shock to the system.

Then his words penetrated, and I stiffened.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

Dad’s lips twitched. “You were never a good liar, boy. I know that little girl that you always lust after is moving across the street. Good on you for making sure that happens. You can get that little piece of ass whenever you want.”

My hand was around his neck, and his back was against my door without even the next breath passing.

“Watch your mouth. Don’t talk about her like that. Don’t talk to her at all. In fact, don’t even be near her.”

“And how are you going to stop that, boy? Look at you, always proving that genes run true.” I didn’t have my hand tightly around his neck, so he looked down, smiling at the sight of my grip.

“If I let you go, will you leave?”

“No. I need you to listen to me, and if you’re going to show how violent you are, how much like Daddy you are for the rest of the group while I’m here, you might as well.”

With a sigh, I shoved my dad inside the house and closed the door behind me.

“Talk.”

“You always were an impatient little bitch.”

The problem with my father was that he wanted to talk shit. But he was no longer bigger than me. He couldn’t take me, and we both knew it. Yet we also knew that I wouldn’t kill him. Not because it would be a stain on my soul. Or that it would be detrimental to my own life. It was because my family didn’t need another murderer in their midst. So my dad couldn’t hurt me, but he could hurt the rest of my family. And he was sneaky enough to not use his strength to do it.

“Just spill whatever you need to and get out,” I snapped before letting him go. I hated to see my hands on him. Another reflection of exactly who I’d become underneath his not-so-gentle care.

My father just smirked. “I need you to stop bullshitting about what you think I did to your stepmom.”

I stiffened, wondering why the hell he would even bring that up. He never talked about my moms. Ever. Because he’d fucking killed them. And yet here he was, bringing her up.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Because you’re just reminding the town of what this family is.”

“What you’ve made this family,” I corrected.

“Whatever you want to say. I didn’t touch that woman.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“And Mom?”

“She slipped and fell. We both know that.”

“After you pushed her.”

“The cops couldn’t prove that, and I’ve never said those words. So again, baseless accusations get you nowhere.”

“You must be sober if you’re using words like that.”