Page 68

“Pumpkin, I already got away with it.” My father smiled as he tilted his head tauntingly. “The police think your mother killed herself, and guess what? They're going to think the same for you, too.”

I let the gun drop to my side as I grinned. “No, they're not.” I pulled the phone from my back pocket and showed him the running recording.

My father bared his teeth, and without warning, he jumped from his seat and lunged forward, trying to grab the gun from my hand. I attempted to move out of the way, but he tackled me to the ground.

We wrestled for the gun. He was grabbing it, and I was trying to pull it away and keep control of it. My father was grunting and growling and mumbling as we rolled around on the ground. I was doing my best to not let go. If he got the gun from me, there was no doubt in my mind that I'd be dead. I was going to turn his world upside down with his own admission.

I felt a hard thud to my stomach, which knocked the wind out of my chest. I tried to take a deep breath but couldn't. My lungs were on fire, and my stomach muscles were clenched tight. I looked down to see the end of a knife sticking out of my gut. The gun was no longer in my hand. I didn't even know where it went.

My eyes were frozen on the knife protruding from my stomach. Blood began to seep through my shirt. The warmth trickled down my skin, cooling to an icy chill as it hit the trim of my pants. The tips of my fingers softly touched the edge of the handle. I didn't know if I should pull it out or leave it in place.

“You stabbed me,” I said, ruminating.

“What the hell did you think was going to happen, Poppy? You show up here and threaten my livelihood, and I'm just supposed to allow it? That's insane.”

“You actually stabbed me,” I said softly.

My father scoffed as he tapped the end of the gun against his palm. “I didn't stab you. You stabbed yourself. You stopped taking your medication, and your illness just grew out of control. You went AWOL, your delusions began to rage, and you ended up stabbing yourself.”

“They won't believe you.”

“Oh no? You don't think they'll believe a doctor? You don't think they'll believe someone who donates thousands of dollars a year to the homeless and food banks? You think they're going to believe you instead? They're going to believe someone who has schizophrenia? Someone who has a family history of mental illness?” He angled his head and softened his brows. “Come on, Poppy. Don't be so naive.”

I didn't say a word. My eyes kept drifting to the gun as my father stalked around his office, talking, berating, and sadistically laughing at my expense. I was angry. I was so fucking angry. He had ripped my entire life out from beneath me. This man had come in, manipulated my very existence, and then set it on fire.

“Everything I've done for you. Everything I did for your mother. Neither of you ever appreciated what I could give you. I was trying to hand the world to you on a silver platter, and instead, you were going to walk away from it.”

My lip curled high as I snarled, “You think I care about your fucking company? You experimented on us! You killed my mother! I don't give a fuck.” I had enough of his bullshit. I wasn't going to let my father shame me into feeling bad or guilty. “I was a child. And you took the only thing that mattered to me. I needed my mother, and you decided I didn't. That's not fair.”

“Life isn't fair, Pumpkin.” My father casually swung the gun around in the air. “Sometimes people have to do things that might seem unreasonable. But I did it for you.” He smirked and winked. “She wasn't good for you. Look at what I had to give you.” My father tilted his head and squinted. “And you fucked that all up. All you had to do was take your medicine and do what I asked of you. Now you get nothing.”

My father came closer and pointed the gun in my direction. “Your mother tried to ruin me. I took care of that really quickly. I won't let you ruin me, too.”

“Fuck you,” I barked. “You're weak. You're a weak fucking man.”

“Am I?” He pressed the gun to the center of my forehead. “You want to rethink what you're saying?”

“You're a pussy. You couldn't handle my mother, so you killed her.”

He pressed the barrel of the gun deeper. “I think shutting you up is the best option.” I heard the hammer click as he pulled it back.

“Then fucking do it,” I said.

I lifted my chin high and closed my eyes.

If he was going to kill me, then I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

I wasn't going to beg him for my life.

Chapter Twenty-One

Vega

I hit the highway and floored it. The speedometer danced between seventy and eighty miles an hour until the road went straight. After that, I didn't bother looking down. I had to find Poppy. She wasn't safe out there on her own.

I racked my brain about where she could have gone. Poppy had one thing she was dead set on: confronting her father. She was either going home or to his office. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she wasn't going home. Her father was most likely at work. He was a man who lived for his work, not for his family.

I was lucky there wasn't a cop in sight. I was able to make it to Aneska Pharmaceuticals in an hour. The tires screeched as I whipped into the parking lot. I didn't bother trying to park all neat and tidy after I spotted my jeep tucked in a spot against the side of the building. I slammed on the brakes and threw my mother's car into park.