AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter three
Six months later…
Dad just came home from one of his “business” trips for the Obsidian Brotherhood, aka The Devil’s Bitches. They called it a meeting, but anyone with half a brain knew it was just a secret society of rich, powerful men gathered around a Ouija board comparing dick sizes and brainstorming fucked-up ways to add more money and power to their résumés. I was pretty sure all the men of the Brotherhood had sold their souls before they ever took their first breath. Not a single fucking one of them had an ounce of morals—not that I was any better. The difference was that I exchanged my conscience for adrenaline and pleasure. They traded theirs for silver and gold. Kipton Donahue was the ringleader and the worst of them all. That motherfucker would bleed a nun dry then fuck her corpse if it added a dollar to his pocket. The Donahues and Huntingtons had been enemies my whole life… and then some. Kipton’s son, Caspian, was next in line for the Obsidian throne, just as much of an asshole and always lurking around my little sister. Fucking prick.
Family dinners were another one of those items on the list of things we did for appearances. No one actually cared how anyone else’s day went or how the beautiful weather was. I dreaded dinner more than anyone because it was the one time when my father had me locked in place so that he could rip me apart for my life choices.
Tatum sat in the same chair every time and so did Mom and Dad. I liked to change it up and keep them guessing. It was my own little way of bringing chaos to their structure. I didn’t know why the fuck we had a table big enough for twelve people when only four of us ever sat here—five when Lyric joined us, which was rare because she hated the awkward conversation as much as I did.
Tonight, I was thankfully seated on the end next to my mom and as far away from my father as possible. He’d just finished telling us about some international business thing he’d started doing with King Winston Radcliffe of Ayelswick, which led to the typical line of conversation. It always started with him hounding me about not going to law school—the yellow brick road into Huntington politics—and me telling him I had other plans. I didn’t know exactlywhatthe plans were, but I knew none of them included college.
I loved being on the lake. When I was in the boat, I felt free. I loved being in the gym. Fighting was my release. And I loved being with Lyric. One night of temptation had turned into months of hardcorenot-fucking—a first for me. She wasn’t ready, and I didn’t push.Yet.Even though the shit we did damn near killed me. The touching and rubbing. The sucking and kissing. The torture of being so close but never fully inside her. But I still loved every fucking minute we were together.
Wasn’t that the point of life—to go after the things you loved?
Dad took a lemon slice from the small bowl in front of him and squeezed the juice into his water. “You should come with me next time. You need to get a feel for how things work if you’re going to be in politics one day.”
I was wrong about the tattoos. They didn’t deter him. He said you could hide anything underneath a three-piece suit and enough makeup.
When I was thirteen years old, I’d gotten a good enoughfeelfor how things worked in his world to know I wanted nothing to do with it.
“What if I don’t want to be in politics?”
It was blasphemy and I knew it. The Huntingtons were politicians and always had been. From my dad to his dad and his dad before him, all the way back as far as you could go.
He swirled his spoon, mixing lemon juice with ice water, a tinny combination of metal and ice clanking against the glass. His actions were casual even though his tone was harsh. “You’re nineteen years old, Lincoln. You need to figure out what you’re doing with your life,” he said, placing the spoon back on the table.
“You mean I need to let you figure it out for me. You seem to be good at that.” He’d thrust me into his twisted world when I was too young to have a choice.
The room was silent. Tatum looked at our mother the same way she always did when Dad started his shit, as if she were silently imploring her to say something, anything. Mom never did.
Fuck this. I’d sat through my fair share of family dinners and heard this speech enough times. It was never going to change.Hewas never going to change. I would never be good enough for him because I refused to be like him.
I dropped my fork on my plate with a clang and pushed my chair away from the table. “Thanks for dinner, Mom.” And then I walked out of the dining room without another word.
Twenty minutes later, he was standing in my bedroom doorway with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his suit pants.
He let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you.”
I paused the documentary I was watching. “Was that rhetorical or do you want a list?”
He walked into the room, stopping in front of the bed where I was lying with my head propped up against the headboard. “I have given you everything.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and stretched his arms wide, as if to demonstrate. “You’re a Huntington for Christ’s sake. You have the whole goddamn world at your fingertips and you continue to piss all over it.”
I looked up at him, bored with his theatrics. “Great talk, Dad. You really have a way with words. It’s no wonder you’re good in politics.”
The veins in his neck pulsed, and his nostrils flared with every seething breath. “You have no idea what I do for this family—the sacrifices I make.”
If bysacrifice, he meant bending the housekeeper over his desk while Mom was having brunch with her friends, making million-dollar deals with pharmacy tech companies to keep sick people sick, and taking bribes to let white-collar crimes go unpunished, then yeah, I’d watched him sacrifice a whole fucking lot.
“I know exactly what you do.”
“I’ve given you enough time to sort your shit out. You’re a Huntington. It’s time you started acting like one. Grow up. Go to college. Stay away from the drugs.” He shoved his hand back in his pocket and started to leave, turning to face me when he got to the door. “And get rid of the Matthews girl.”
My breath stalled and my body stiffened.He knew about Lyric.
He smirked when he noted my reaction. “Yeah. I know about that.” His gaze hardened. “It needs to end. Her father is mouthy, her mother was a junkie, and she doesn’t seem to be any better.”
The fuck did he know about Lyric?
That was my father—judging anyone who didn’t fit in his box. No wonder my sister always tried so hard. But the thing about being put in boxes was that once the lid was on, you were destined to suffocate.
“Her father stands for everything I’m fighting against, and he rallies his minion fans together, getting them riled up about things they don’t understand. She has no class or restraint. They aren’t like us. They don’t belong in our world, Lincoln. It’s an embarrassment to even have her around Tatum. I won’t have you making it worse with some inappropriate relationship or unwanted pregnancy.”
There it was again, the need to take her hand and run. It was more forceful now, like a fist pounding inside my chest.
“Then I guess this will be another way for me to let you down.” I clicked the remote and the documentary came back on just in time for the narrator to explain that most serial killers are driven by a morbid fear of parental rejection inspired by something traumatic from their childhood. My mouth curved in a slow grin as I glanced over at my father. “You should be proud of me, Dad. I could have been a lot worse.”
He swallowed hard, then walked out of the room.
