Page 181 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

For the first time, Thomas looked away from me. “My mate knew your father.”

I frowned. “Knew him?”

“They dated in college. Nearly two years.” His voice was flat, almost clinical. “Until your mother happened.”

I stared at him.

“Daniel was with my mate before me,” Thomas continued. “They dated for nearly two years. Then he met his true mate, your mother, and ended it. A mate bond doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

He took another slow sip of whiskey.

“Years later I married Cecilia. And one night I took her to a business meeting. The second she saw him again, I felt it through the bond. The surprise. The longing. She tried to hide it, but I knew.”

He finally looked back at me, eyes cold.

“He must have laughed behind my back, knowing he’d had my mate first. Knowing she would have chosen him if she could.”

Thomas leaned forward slightly, a cruel smile touching his lips. “So I decided it was only fair that I got to fuck his mate in return.”

The words landed harder than the blow ever could have.

“But he was already dead,” I said. “He wouldn’t have known. There was nothing left for you to take from him.”

Thomas’s smile stayed thin. “Yes. Rainy roads are dangerous. Especially when someone makes sure the car doesn’t make the turn.”

My father hadn’t died in an accident. Every anniversary. Every time I had wondered whether he’d been scared, whether he’d suffered, whether he could have done something differently… all of it had been built on a lie.

I looked into Thomas's eyes and saw the truth sitting there without a shred of remorse.

“You killed him.”

Thomas didn’t deny it. “He took what belonged to me.”

He took another slow sip of whiskey, watching me over the rim of the glass like he was studying something mildly interesting.

“Is that why you came back?” he asked. “For revenge? To kill us?”

I held his stare. “You already know the answer.”

Something ugly shifted behind his eyes.

“Is that why you went after my son?” he asked, quieter now. “Was he just another way to get to me?”

"No."

Thomas’s jaw flexed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything.”

That was enough.

“You should have stayed dead,” he snarled, and launched himself at me.

He was faster than I expected for a man his size. His hand slammed into my wrist before I could bring the hunting knife up. The blade flew from my grip and skittered across the floor. Pain exploded up my arm as I twisted away, but his other fist caught me square in the ribs. The blow lifted me clean off my feet and drove me into the edge of a heavy oak table. Wood cracked hard against my back.

I hit the floor a second later and rolled instinctively to absorb the impact. As I came up I pulled the folding knife from my boot.

Thomas lunged. I sidestepped and drove the smaller blade into the meat of his shoulder, twisting hard. He bellowed and locked onto my wrist before I could yank it free. Bones ground together under his grip. The pain was blinding.