Page 40 of His Trick

By the time I left the showers, where I had no fucking business being in in the first place, my jaw was sore from how hard I’d been clenching it.

My body still felt wired, like I’d swallowed a bolt of electricity from the storm starting outside.

I stalked through the hallways, dripping water like blood, half expecting someone to stop me and demand to know where I was going in just a fucking towel. But no one did.

It was quiet.

I must have been standing in that shower for hours because everyone, including the actors, had left. The foyer was empty, except for some staff rustling in the kitchen, cleaning up the massive party they had here after the hunt. There was a light on in the upstairs hallway, like a beacon pointing me to Alexandra.

Xanthy’s room was safe. Xanthy was always safe. It was my light.

When I slipped inside the door quietly, I could smell the scent of the fruity flowers from her perfume and fabric softener.

Her hair spilled across the poofy pillow like golden thread, as her chest rose slowly in sleep.

She looked so peaceful, no chaos whatsoever in her mind, but the biggest issue she worried about was her designer bags matching her designer clothes. It was painfully easy with her. I fit as her future trophy husband, as a doctor to be. I knew eventually I would get on one knee and propose to her.

She would be the perfect Stepford Wife.

I looked down at her smooth, soft stomach and imagined it swollen with my seed. She would be a good mother. I didn’t know how to be a damn father, but I sure as hell wouldn’t be like mine.

You couldn’t get worse than Edmund Anderson.

That was what the papers said. Thousands upon thousands of articles were printed with his name. Celebrating that he had been caught and imprisoned for life. I remembered that day like it was pressed behind my eyes.

“Shy.I am so proud of your hunting skills. I think you are ready to take on some bigger game, don’t you?”

I blinked up at my father, the final screams fading of the boar underneath me. My father looked different today. His jacket was wrinkled, the usual perfection creasing like his brow.

“Bigger game, Dad?” I parroted with a shaky laugh. My breathing was already off from the fight with this damn boar. Ever since I turned fifteen, he had been pushing me to go after a bigger target, and I thought going hand-to-hand with a couple of hundred-pound boars would have gotten him off my dick, but apparently not.

“Yes. There is always room for improvement, son. I have something for you. A gift, to show you how proud I am of you in all you’ve done.”

A gift?

My ears perked up, getting to my feet, I dropped the massive hog into the pool of its blood. “Can’t say I’m not intrigued. But what’s the catch, Dad?”

My father wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was the smartest man I knew. Ever since my mother died, he’d kept me too busy even to mourn her death, or to question the strange non-answers about how she even died.

I knew he was different from the way he used to be, but he was my dad.

Hell, my best friend, and the only person I had in my life. He took me hunting whenever he got the chance. He knew I needed to release the strange energy that buzzed in my blood. He always knew how I felt, even before I tried to explain.

“No catch. I caught your next hunt. You only need to end its suffering. Can you do that, son?”

I tried to catch my father’s gaze. It was wavering and unsteady. He went hunting while I wrestled the boar to its death. That must be why he was covered in dirt and specks of red. My dad never had a hair out of place, so this made sense.

But why would he do all the work for me just to kill some animal?

“What kind of animal is it?” I said, as I gripped the hog’s thick legs and readied to pull it back to the truck nearby.

“Don’t worry about that hog, Shiloh. This is the greatest animal of all. It’s my favorite trophy to claim, and I think it will be yours too.”

I was confused, but I let my father drag me away from the bleeding boar and followed him through windy paths and scratchy bushes. It was so fucking cold. I hated hunting in the winter.

It hurt my nose to breathe, much less run after stupid prey.

Dad didn’t make small talk as we walked past the truck.