Giving me to that house and the horror I had to swallow.
And I looked up at him, clenching my jaw and channeling it all, knowing I would never give him any grandchildren to get his hands on.
“I thought you were so much more perceptive than that,” he told me. “But I guess she wasn’t very smart, either, so—”
I growled, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving the goddamn dagger right into his fucking stomach.
My friends gasped behind me, and I heard Banks cry my name, but it was barely a whisper.
He jerked, his mouth falling open as he stood there wide-eyed for the first time in his miserable fucking life, and looking like he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden.
I pulled it out and stuck it in again, feeling it dig into his flesh and feeling a chill spread up my angry arm and filter through my blood, the rage cooling just a little.
I pulled it out once again, stared into his eyes, and rammed it into his fucking body, burying it in his stomach one… final…time.
“Just…die,” I bit out right in his face. “Die.”
He sputtered and rasped, his knees giving out and his body crumbling to the ground as he slid off my knife and collapsed.
Someone sobbed quietly behind me, but everyone else was silent as we watched him spill all over the roof, his white shirt turning crimson as it soaked.
I stared down at him, holding his eyes. Someone approached from behind, but I waved my hand from where it hung at my side, gesturing for them to back the hell off.
The weight in my gut started to dissipate, and I wasn’t running.
I wanted to see this.
I wanted to make sure he died.
“Are you okay?” Winter asked, wrapping her arms around me as I sat with my hands cuffed. “What’s going to happen?”
I nuzzled her, burying my face in her neck.
I had no idea. But I wasn’t scared anymore. She was safe. My friends were safe. No matter what happened, I had that, at least.
“It’ll be okay,” I whispered.
Strangely, I felt only tired, not even worried or upset or guilty, like maybe I should be. I was just happy he was gone and happy she was free. It was worth it.
The coroner was putting my father on the gurney, already zipped into a body bag, while the police talked with each other and waited for forensics to arrive.
Kai made sure none of us said anything until we talked to lawyers.
But I was the one found with the knife and the blood on my hand.
I’d be going in.
“Go with Banks and Kai,” I told her.
I wanted her out of Thunder Bay tonight. In the city with new air and space.
Away from this shit.
She held in her tears as she kissed me and whispered, “That’s not your life anymore. I don’t leave.”
I couldn’t help the smile that broke out as she kissed me again. I wouldn’t admit it to her, but that fucking made my night.
Banks pulled her back as the cop yanked me up and started to take me away.
I watched her over my shoulder, praying like hell that wasn’t the last time I touched her.
As I passed Rika, our gazes met, and she knew there were things happening she didn’t understand. I wasn’t supposed to kill him. That wasn’t part of the plan.
But she hadn’t heard any of the conversation between me and my father.
That shit was for another day.
For now…
“One down,” I told her. “The rest is on you.”
Hours later, I’d received medical attention for my wound and a pre-packaged cinnamon roll which still sat unopened on the interrogation room table in front of me.
My eyes burned from exhaustion, and my stomach growled, but I couldn’t get the damn roll, because I was handcuffed, and I couldn’t reach it. They knew that.
They hadn’t tried questioning me yet, though, probably knowing I was smart enough to know my rights.
But they hadn’t taken samples of the blood on my hand or had me remove my clothes, either. I was getting curious about what the hell was happening out there, because no one was coming in, and I hadn’t gotten my phone call. What if I had to piss?
I rubbed my face on my shoulder and yawned as the fluorescent lighting beat down on me.
Where was Winter? I pictured her in my head, in our bed and sleeping peacefully like I wanted her to be.
But I knew she wasn’t. She was awake and frantic, just as tired and worried as I was. It dawned on me after I arrived that, while I was happy she was out of harm’s way with my father gone, I still didn’t want her walking through this world without me. I didn’t want to miss anything.
For that reason, maybe I regretted doing what I did.
The door suddenly opened, and I turned my head, seeing a short, pepper-haired man in a gray suit but still pretty young and fit.
“Hi,” he said, stepping aside and allowing the officer in behind him. “I’m Monroe Cason.”
The cop came over, and I watched as he uncuffed me and turned away to leave, only to turn back with tight lips and pick up the cinnamon roll, setting it down in front of me.
Huh?
I leaned my forearms on the table, picking up the roll and turning it over in my hands a moment before I flung it at the door just as he was closing it.
Jerk.
I looked up at the dude, cocking an eyebrow. “I didn’t call a lawyer,” I told him.
He smiled small and shot his eyes up. I followed his gaze, seeing the video camera, and after another moment, the power light went off.
What the hell was going on?
I glanced at him again.
He dug in his briefcase, pulling out something wrapped in plastic. He set it on the table in front of me.
“I can have it taken care of, if you like, but I thought you’d want to see it destroyed yourself,” he informed me.
I leaned over the package, making out Rika’s dagger inside. Clean and shining new. Maybe particles of blood could still be found on it, though, which was why he suggested it be destroyed?
Why would they let me destroy my murder weapon?
I thinned my eyes on him. “What is this?”
“You’re free to go,” he said.
My heart leaped. “Why?”
He let out a small breath and placed his case on the table, unbuttoning his jacket and having a seat. Pulling out a paper from his briefcase, he placed it in front of me.
“No one will mourn your father,” he told me. “In fact, there are many who are quite happy—and grateful—that he’s gone. The testimony is that you and your friends showed up at the parade to celebrate. When you arrived, one of your father’s disgruntled employees had done him in, and you found him lying in his blood up on the roof.”
I scanned the paper, the testimony written there.
“Everyone has signed it,” he informed me as I spotted the signatures.
That was why they hadn’t taken samples of the blood on me. Or my clothes.
“His guards…?” I argued.
What about his bodyguards? They knew things.
But he was quick to answer. “They are now on your sister’s payroll, as she is the sole heir of your father’s estate. She assures me that she has her house under control.”
Her house. It was strange to hear, but it had a ring to it.
The cops, though. The blood that was on the dagger. My prints. People might’ve been happy to see my father go, but they weren’t shoving this under the rug out of the goodness of their hearts. There were many who still didn’t like me, either. They were rid of my father, so why not let me go to prison for it and be rid of me, too?
“Who’s your employer?” I asked, suspicious. “Who’s paying you? Who’d pay the city off to look the other way about this?”
He just stared at me, unblinking and then answered, sounding almost serene. “Someone who wants you to have a chance, Mr. Torrance.”
And I sat back in my chair, my eyes finally open and knowing the answer without him telling me.
Christiane Fane.
I unlocked the front door, Winter and I stepping inside her house an hour later.
I couldn’t believe I was out of there.