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Chapter twenty-six
The next afternoon, I showed up at Kipton Donahue’s house with a shit ton of questions, only to be greeted with yellow police tape and a slew of men in black suits telling me that Mrs. Donahue had requested privacy and that I could pay my condolences at the memorial.
It had been almost two weeks since Caspian “died” and I’d already been to that memorial, which could only mean…
Well, I’ll be damned.Someone got to Kipton before I could.
Twenty minutes later, I was pulling into the circular drive at my parent’s house, too lost in my thoughts to remember if the traffic lights I’d passed were green or red. It wasn’t like I gave two fucks either way. Not anymore. The massive mansion made of gray brick with white trim didn’t look as inviting as it had when I was growing up here.
I put the car in park, then walked around to the side entrance off the kitchen, hoping the door was unlocked but knowing it probably wasn’t. Dad was as paranoid as they came, and if he’d gotten the news about Donahue, I halfway expected armed guards to be standing watch.
Thankfully, Myra, one of the housekeepers was on her way out as soon as I turned the corner.
I grabbed the door, holding it open for her because despite what the tattoos said, I was a fucking gentleman. “Afternoon, Myra,” I said with a grin.
Her cheeks pinked with heat as her gaze fell to the ground. “Good afternoon, Mr. Huntington.”
“Mr. Huntington is my father,” I said when she looked up at me. “I’m just Lincoln.”
She pulled her lip between her teeth.Aw, fuck. Here we go.“Good to see you again…” a pause, then a small smile. “…Lincoln.”
“Same here.” I eased my way into the house before she got any bad ideas. “Have a great day,” I said with a wave as I closed the door.
The house was quiet. I leaned against the large island in the kitchen, staring past the breakfast table through the wall of windows that overlooked the inground pool. I breathed in the fresh scent of lemon from whatever cleaner Myra had just finished using.
I grabbed a bright red apple from the fruit bowl and tossed it in the air. Then another. And a third. Until I was standing in the kitchen juggling apples like a fucking circus clown with nothing better to do, like I didn’t have a million questions running through my head.
I didn’t even know Dad had walked in until I heard his voice. “What are you doing here, Lincoln?” He sounded rattled. “And how did you get in?” Dad looked around like he expected to find broken glass, a busted down door, or some shit.
I tossed one of the apples across the room, chuckling to myself when he scrambled to catch it. I dropped another apple back into the fruit bowl, then brought the remaining one to my mouth, sinking my teeth in with a loud crunch. Some of the juice trickled over my lip and onto my chin.
“Good to see you too, Pops.” I wiped my chin with the back of my hand as I finished chewing. “You ready for me to whip my dick out and fuck your world? Or you want a little foreplay first?”
“Are you high?” He placed the apple in the fruit bowl, then glared at me. “You know better than to come into my house with that shit.”
“The dick, it is.” I cleared my throat. “Kipton Donahue is dead.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m aware.”
I lifted a brow. “Yeah? Are you also aware that I know what kind of man he was… what he did… whatyoudo…” I walked around the island and stood directly in front of him. “…to those girls. The ones who ‘run away’ or ‘disappear’…” I took another step toward him, but he refused to look at me. “…or ‘accidentally overdose’.” His eyes shot up. That got his attention. My heart was beating its way out of my chest, but I kept a calm voice and steady breath.
Deny it. Just fucking deny it so I can move on.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Not a denial.
Fuck.
“Oh, but I do.” I was there. I saw the things they did. I sawhim. A man who would help kidnap his own daughter wouldn’t hesitate to take her best friend. Tatum knew something wasn’t right about Lyric’s death. She’d asked questions for weeks with no idea what she was even looking for, what these men had been doing in the depths of the forest. I didn’t know either. Not about this, about the girls. But now I did. Now I had questions of my own, and someone was going to give me some fucking answers.
I leaned forward and clapped Dad on the shoulder, bringing my mouth right next to his ear. “I’m going to find out what really happened to Lyric, and when I do, you better pray to God you had nothing to do with it.”
He scoffed.
I wasn’t the thirteen-year-old boy who was clumsy with an axe anymore. I’d been to Hell and back, but I wasn’t the guy who walked through the fire and came out a stronger man. I didn’t rise from the ashes or any of that metaphorical bullshit. Nah, that wasn’t me. I didn’t survive the fire. I became it.
Anger flashed in his eyes. “If you had anything to do with Donahue’s death—”
I pressed a finger to his lips and clicked my tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I eased my finger away and narrowed my gaze on his. “I’m going to stop you right there. There’s only one murderer in this room, and it isn’t me.” Not yet, anyway.
He gritted his teeth. “Get out.”
I took another bite of the apple and gave him a wink. “Good talk, Dad. I’ll see ya soon.” And then I turned and walked toward the door.
He would break. I was going to make sure of it.
