“No. I’m just tired,” I mumble, opening the car door. I hear Landon sigh as he steps out.
“Charlie, we really need to talk.” He looks at me with such pain it takes me aback. I cross my arms, rubbing my hands up and down my forearms, trying to soothe myself. All I wanted before was to be with Landon, have that normalcy. But now, knowing what I know… I’m not sure that’s what I want anymore.
I nod and shut the door. Talking is the first step in figuring out what the hell I want next, though.
Walking inside the house, it’s huge. The ceilings are high and the space is large, but it’s clean. There are no empty food boxes, or mail sitting on the counter.
“You live here?’ I question, surveying the place.
“Sometimes. Not often, though,” Landon admits, tossing the keys on the counter.
Walking into the kitchen, there is a white tiled island with matching counters behind it, stainless steel appliances of the best quality placed accordingly. I explore the space, venturing into the living area. A massive U-shaped couch made up of white cushions occupies the space, a large TV placed on the wall in front of it and a fireplace beneath that.
To the left of the living room is nothing but windows and a sliding glass door. Looking through, I see little twinkling lights from the city as the sky starts to cloud over. My eyes trail to the right of the room and find wooden stairs. I make my way up them, Landon following behind me.
I pass more windows and closed doors, my eyes set on the one door that’s open at the end of the hall. Entering, I find a large bed with white sheets, and a large floor-to-ceiling window in front of it overlooking the city of Vegas from afar. It’s like this house is tucked out of the eye of Vegas, just watching from its own safety. There are shelves lined with books, and of course a TV directly across from the bed.
I sit on the bed, the blanket so cushioned I sink. I vaguely smell Landon’s freshness and spice waft around me from the fabric.
He’s staring at me, the intensity making me shift uncomfortably. I slowly trail my tongue along my bottom lip and risk looking at him. He’s squatting, his elbows resting on his jean-clad thighs. His face is unreadable as he pins me where I sit.
“What?” I whisper.
“Charlie, I don’t even know where to start.” He looks down and blows out a tired breath. I shrug and purse my lips.
“You can start with why you killed my mother,” I suggest, my tone coming off snappier than I intended. Landon’s brows furrow, his jaw ticking as he takes in what I said.
“Your mother, Maria, was a turning point in my life,” he starts, his eyes leveling with mine. “Growing up, I envied my father. He had power, control, money, and women at his feet. He was like a king. There was nothing he couldn’t have and not a damn thing he couldn’t talk himself out of.” Landon’s face turns hard as he points to his chest. “I wanted that. I wanted to be on top. I wanted to be the king of the estate.”
He shakes his head and looks at the wall. “Roman and I fought about who it would be. Who father would chose to reign over the estate. Every Blackwell gets the throne until one of his heirs proves to be of quality. Hell, Roman and I couldn’t piss without making it a competition.” He chuckles and looks at me, but I don’t laugh.
“What does this have to do with my mother?” I ask, irritated, my fingers clawing at the sheets in anger.
“Your mother was one of our escorts, Charlie. One of the best, actually. She was very quiet, didn’t give much detail about her life, and my father had his sights on her. My father cheated on my mother regularly, but it didn’t seem to bother her so it didn’t bother me. I think she had her own partaking in cheating, but I’m not sure.”
I nod, not knowing what else to do. I just want him to keep talking, to tell me more about my mother.
He continues. “One day, my father brought me to the side, loaded a gun and slid it across his desk toward me. He said, ‘Landon, today is the day you prove that you’re the worthy son. The next in line to become king of the estate.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about. I was only sixteen. Holding a gun at that age, and given my time to shine, I was up for anything.”