Safe at Last (Slow Burn #3)

He pulled the small recording device from his pocket that had every damning piece of evidence Stuart had spilled. And it was a good damn thing he’d had the foresight to record the conversation, because who the hell would ever believe the outlandish, unthinkable events Stuart had confessed to? Hell, he wouldn’t believe someone with that kind of story. It was inconceivable that someone could be that diabolical. And that his own father, despite their many differences, had gone to such lengths to ruin his son’s future? For his own perceived selfish gain?

It defied all reason. His father was a psychopath in every clinical sense of the word.

In the distance, headlights shone and the faint sound of an engine registered, then shut off, followed by the headlights. Zack tensed, anger throbbing through his veins as he braced for the impending confrontation with his father.

He refused to go back to the house he was raised in. He’d give no physical evidence that he’d ever been there. Instead he’d called his father and told him to meet him here. He hadn’t responded to the questions, his father asking when he’d come back into town or why. He’d simply said he had something important to talk to him about and hung up, leaving him to make what he wanted of Zack’s cryptic statement. He hadn’t even known if his father would come.

Curiosity must have gotten the better of him. And as the old saying went, curiosity killed the cat.

A few moments later, his father shuffled up, a shadow in the darkness that blanketed the area above the lake.

“Zack?” he called.

“Here,” Zack said grimly.

The beam of a flashlight bounced erratically over the ground and then his father came into view. His appearance was shocking. He looked every bit his age, if not older. He had a beer belly that protruded well over his cinched belt, and he had the look of a longtime alcoholic. His hair had thinned considerably, a bald spot on top, and what was left was completely white.

The years hadn’t been good to him, a fact Zack took savage satisfaction in.

Harsh lines cut grooves in his father’s face and he had the haggard appearance of someone who didn’t sleep at night. Maybe his demons—and guilt—tormented his dreams. Zack could only hope that he endured half the hell that Gracie had suffered, though he doubted his father was capable of guilt or remorse.

“What the hell is going on, son? Why did you ask to meet here, for God’s sake? You should have come to the house. We could have had a beer and caught up. It’s been three years since I saw you. Not even a telephone call in that time. Christmas. Birthdays. Is that any way to treat your old man?”

Zack was seething. It took every ounce of effort he possessed not to lay his father out right then and there.

“I know what you did, you son of a bitch,” Zack bit out. “And don’t you dare fucking stand there, look me in the eye and deny it. Because swear to God, I’ll beat the truth out of you, you bastard. I’ll pull out every lie you ever told. Every law you broke and every sin you committed. And when I’m done, you’ll have nothing and you’ll be nothing.”

His father’s face flushed with anger. His cheeks mottled with rage, and his eyes bulged outward in clear agitation.

“Goddamn weak-ass pussies,” his father bellowed, spittle forming on his lips. “Which one was it? I bet it was Stuart. I should have known the spineless idiot didn’t have the stomach for it. It’s probably the reason his wife left him a while back. The dumb fuck probably couldn’t live with his conscience and told her everything. What a pathetic excuse for a man.”

Zack stared back at his father in shocked horror and complete incredulity. God, he wasn’t even going to deny it. There was no remorse whatsoever. No guilt. Just anger that he’d been ratted out. And he called Stuart a pathetic excuse for a man? What kind of man engineered the rape of a teenage girl? A girl young enough to be his daughter. The girl his own son was in love with and planned to marry.

Zack felt like he was stuck in some bizarre nightmare he couldn’t rouse from.

“You don’t even deny it?” he asked hoarsely. “What kind of a sick, twisted bastard are you? How could you do that to just a girl? She was a virgin, for God’s sake, and her initiation was a brutal gang rape that you instigated? A grown-ass adult man. A man sworn to uphold the law and protect the people of his town as their chief of police. Or did that protection only extend to those you deemed worthy?”

His father snorted in disbelief, ignoring Zack’s outrage and the issue at hand.

“You expect me to believe you hadn’t gotten in her pants already or that she wasn’t spreading her legs for anyone who looked twice her way? You’re a na?ve fool if you believe that bullshit.”