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Before Serena can respond, my father shoves his hands in his slacks pockets, and blurts out, “He’s dead.”
Blinking, I’m too stunned to speak, and before I can open my mouth, Sophie gasps from behind me. “What?” The three of us turn toward her, and I notice the color has drained from her face.
“Soph…” I don’t even know what to say, so I stop myself. I hold out a hand, but she doesn’t take it as she walks closer. We direct our attention back to my dad and Serena.
“Are you sure?” she asks softly.
My father and Serena both nod.
“How? What happened?” I ask.
“Does it matter?” My dad scoffs. “The bastard who tried to kill you and your friends is dead. That’s all that matters.”
“It matters to me,” Sophie retorts. “How’d he die?”
Serena swallows hard, looking down at her shoes, and I know something’s off. “Serena, what is it?” I push.
“Two guards were transferring him from the hospital to take him to get processed at the jail. He was supposed to have his hearing next Monday to get officially charged. Then he would’ve stayed there while waiting for trial,” Serena explains.
“Right…” I know how it all works. “So then what happened between leaving the hospital and going to the jail?”
“There was a struggle during the transfer,” my father starts. “He reached for the guard’s gun and started fighting him. The other guard tried to get control of the situation and meant to tase him.”
I narrow my eyes, not buying any of this. “Meant to tase him?” I probe, crossing my arms over my chest.
“He was startled and grabbed his gun instead and shot him,” he continues. “There wasn’t anything they could do. The gunshot was right in his chest. He bled out.”
Looking at Sophie, I see she’s expressionless. I’m not sure what she’s thinking and don’t want to ask with other people around. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into my side, her breathing uneven.
“You okay?” I lean down and whisper.
Liam walks over before she can answer. “So let me guess, the Westbrooks are gonna come after the state for a wrongful death suit?”
“Possibly,” my dad answers though he doesn’t look the least bit worried. In fact, he looks like he’s already handled it. Handled them.
My jaw tightens. The events surrounding Dalton’s death are suspicious as fuck, and knowing my dad’s connections, this no longer sounds like an accident.
“If you’ll excuse me…” Sophie walks around me and goes upstairs. As soon as I hear the bathroom door shut, I step closer to the monster of a man in front of me.
“What’d you do?” I hiss, narrowing my eyes.
“Why do you assume I had something to do with this?” He asks it so casually, and it’s all the answer I need to know he’s responsible.
I hear Liam grab Serena’s attention, and they both take off toward the kitchen. Things were tense between us before, but now they’re about to snap.
“You called the hit, didn’t you? How many prisoner transfer deaths are there really?” I ask tightly.
“At least a dozen since I’ve been the DA,” he responds. “It’s not that uncommon. It happens.”
“Quit your shit,” I growl. “Why’d you do it?” I ask, more calmly now. I don’t need him to admit it for me to know the truth. I just want to know why.
My father leans in, clenching his jaw as he lowers his eyes at me. “You should be thanking me,” he hisses, his voice low and guttural. “As long as he was alive, he’d always have the opportunity to fight for bail, parole, or take an insanity plea. Hell, you know the justice system is fucked. Why do you think I’m constantly stepping in to protect you?”
“Protect me?” I glare. “Or protect your reputation?”
“Both,” he admits shamelessly. “Now you don’t have to worry about anything. I did that for you, son.”
I scoff. This man is unbelievable. “You mean you did it so there’s another thing you can rub in my face, hold over my head, and use to try to control me. You should’ve just let the system take care of him. He murdered a woman; he would’ve had to do his time.”
“You and I both want to believe that, but there are too many people who slip through the justice system. It would’ve pulled you and Sophie back into court to continue fighting. Is that what you would’ve wanted? For her?” he challenges, and it causes my hands to ball into fists.
“Don’t…” I warn at the mention of her name. “You might be able to live with having blood on your hands, but I can’t. Not anymore.”
“And what’s that mean, Mason? You have more blood on your hands than I do,” he nearly spits in my face before shoving me aside and walking toward the door. My feet stay planted, not wanting to give him another glance. “Oh, and Mason?”
