Page 137 of Hurt

Luther leaned forward on his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He let the silence torment, Noah.

Gasping, Noah couldn’t look up at him.

“Did you know?” he rasped. “Did you know Ezra was abusing him?”

Luther sighed. “Information is power, Noah. Of course I knew.”

“Why didn’t you stop it?” Noah finally looked up. His uncle’s face was blurry with unshed tears.

“Why would I?” Luther asked as if it had never occurred to him. He slid off the chair and knelt beside Noah.

“Why would I, when I was the one who told Ezra where to find him?”

Noah gaped. The breath caught in his chest, and his heart ached. “Wh…what?”

“Ezra would have been happy taking every cent Kurt had. He would have bankrupted him without a second thought. But I knew Ezra was a sadist and his playthings kept dying on him. I told him to find Kurt at the fights. A new resilienttoy.” He laughed as he looked back on his twisted machinations.

“Honestly, I thought he’d kill Kurt after a few months, and then I would get custody of you.”

Noah felt nothing. He couldn’t process what he was hearing.

“I had no idea Kurt would be so noble and give you up anyway,” Luther smirked. “Worked out in my favor either way.”

Luther had orchestrated everything. Everything that had happened to them—Ezra’s abuse, Noah being sent away, Kurt’s suicide attempt, Willow giving up playing violin professionally—all of it had been his uncles doing.

Because ofhim.

Because he was the heir of White Sand Mesa.

Luther patted the top of his head and stood. His joints creaked as he straightened, the only sign the man was human at all.

Noah stuck his hand inside his hoodie pocket and clenched it so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

All this pain and suffering boiled down to birth.

Kurt’s mother punished him for being born with less talent than Willow. Luther sicced Ezra on Kurt so he could get his hand on Noah and his Elliott blood.

Blood.

“You want Elliott blood so badly?” Noah asked coldly.

Luther’s eyebrow twitched. “What are you mumbling about?”

“I asked,” Noah looked up at his uncle, “if you wanted Elliott blood?”

Before his uncle could respond, Noah surged up. He withdrew the knife he had taken from Elijah, the one he had been keeping in his pocket since the day they had wrestled, and slammed it into the soft flesh under Luther’s right ear. The force of his attack brought them together, and they both fell backward.

His uncle gasped wetly, grabbing for the blade. Noah swatted his hands away.

“You wanted Elliott blood so badly. Let me give it to you!” He sawed at the blade, dragging it in jerky motions across Luther’s neck.

“Take it all, you bastard!” He was screaming. Spittle flew from his lips as hot blood gushed out from the jagged hole across Luther’s neck. It spread across his hands and pooled out over the carpet.

All the hate and fear he had felt at the hands of this man flowed through his muscles. A red mist covered his vision, and he no longer saw his uncle as a man. All he could see were those fathomless eyes and sneering smile. Dimples that deepened when he was hiding something. Secrets and lies spilled from this man’s mouth as easily as his blood.

His hands slipped off the handle of the knife, and the blade dug into his fingers. He brought his bleeding digits up and watched as their blood mixed on his hands.

It all looked the same.