Page 39 of Quiet Rage (Wicked Falls Elite #5)

Kellen

It’s for the best. I did everything I could for her, but I am the last obstacle standing in the way of her ultimate happiness and safety.

Amazing what can go through a guy’s head while he’s sitting around, waiting for the person who matters more than anything to him to have their stomach pumped. There are all kinds of thoughts and ideas that can run through a mind under that kind of stress.

There’s a lot of guilt that comes with it. Self-hatred, too.

I did that to her. I might as well have poured those pills down her throat. Everything that’s going wrong in her life from the day we met has been on me.

And there was really nothing I could’ve done about it.

That’s the worst part. If I’d said no, Dad would’ve found somebody else to do his dirty work.

And somebody else wouldn’t have fallen for her like I did.

He could’ve had Dante do it from the beginning, and as bad off as Tamson is now—in the hospital, after her close call—there is no way to know for sure she would be alive today if I’d left the job up to anybody else.

Because I am what’s wrong with her life. I’m the reason for her destruction. That’s why I’m removing myself from the equation now that I know she’s going to be all right.

For once, she’s not the only thing on my mind as I roll up the driveway.

I’m like the lead actor at the end of an action movie.

I feel like somebody kicked the shit out of me, like I’ve lost everything I ever thought was important.

Somehow, I need to find it in me to pull together the strength for one more fight.

The biggest fight. The one everything hinges on.

It’s a fight that’s been brewing for eleven years, ever since the day I lost Mom.

As much as I hate looking back, I force myself to sit with the memories after I park in front of the house.

It’s quiet, peaceful, lit in its normal way by lights shining upward, highlighting the immaculate grounds, the shining windows, the manicured topiaries.

Nobody would guess a killer lives behind those walls.

But did he kill his wife? Was she acting strange in the days before she died?

There I was, eight years old, with my head firmly up my ass.

All I cared about was my video games. She could’ve marched a fifty-piece band through the house with a banner in front of them that said Your dad is a murderer, and I would’ve gone back to whatever I was playing. I was that oblivious.

So maybe she was planning to take me away. I have a hard time believing she never knew anything about what Dad did, how he made his money. Maybe back then, he actually tried to hide it. Now, what’s the point? There’s no reason to.

I know what I’m doing. I’m stalling. I need to know if Dante was telling the truth, but this is the kind of pivotal moment I can’t pretend never happened. There won’t be any way to forget whatever it is he tells me.

I can’t let it go, though. I need to know, either way. For Mom. For me.

Slowly walking up the front steps, I think of her. Making Christmas cookies together in the kitchen. The way she beamed with pride and love, crouching next to me while I sat in front of my birthday cake with all the candles lit.

I only got up to eight before she was taken away from me. Eight candles, that’s it.

Her sweet voice used to sing all of her favorite songs from when she was a kid, sort of off-key but with plenty of enthusiasm. She used to say that made up for her lack of talent. And then she would sing louder, and I would sing with her, until the car was filled with our voices and laughter.

All this time, I believed a story someone told me about how I lost her. I tried to put the past behind me because it hurt too damn much. That was wrong.

I’m sorry, Mom. It’s not that I don’t love you.

Tonight, I’m going to set things straight. I’m going to honor the memories I fought against for so long.

He’s already upstairs. The first floor is quiet; his study is dark.

My heavy feet take one slow step after another to the second floor.

There’s light coming from under his bedroom door.

My heart thumps slowly, all of tonight’s events replaying in my head.

Watching the light leave Dante’s eyes. Holding Tamson’s limp body against my chest before tearing through the night.

The complete, soul-crushing guilt in those tense moments before I knew she’d be okay.

The almost crippling relief when one of the doctors told me I got her there just in time.

The agony of having to say goodbye, though I knew it was for the best.

I hope this is for the best, too. Knocking against the door, opening it when he grunts.

He’s sitting up in bed, a glass of whiskey on the nightstand, a MacBook open on his lap.

“Everything all right?” he asks with a wary look in his eyes.

He sets aside the glasses he uses for reading, closing the computer.

I guess I look pretty much the way I feel if he’s turning his full attention on me.

“No. It isn’t.” I’m not going to bother wasting time.

Too much time has been wasted already. And I want to catch him like this, off-guard so his reaction will be real.

He taught me more than he knows over the years about interrogation.

“What happened to Mom? I mean, what really happened? How did she die?”

He doesn’t jump in surprise, doesn’t put on a big show.

Instead, he moves slowly, probably trying to come up with a good excuse while he pulls the blankets back, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The master of his domain, wearing silk pajamas like some kind of kingpin. It’s all so sad and shabby underneath.

The fucking coward killed his wife. I don’t know what decided me just now. Maybe the furtive look in his eyes when his brows drew together over them. That one single moment where I took him by surprise, and his reaction was authentic.

He was a man who knew the truth was close to biting him in the ass.

But he’s had a whole lifetime to practice faking his way through this. “You know what happened, son. It was an accident. It was terrible. I looked a long time for somebody to blame… I did. It took years for me to accept there was nothing I could have done.”

And that is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth, which is saying something. This man does not accept powerlessness. If he really wanted to find out who caused the accident, who sent Mom off the road—supposedly—he would have. There would be no stopping him.

Instead, we had a funeral, and he never mentioned her again unless I asked him. Even then, over time, he was less and less generous with his answers. “So why did I hear tonight that you killed her?”

His eyes bulge. “Who the fuck told you that? What sick son of a bitch?—”

“It doesn’t matter who said it,” I murmur, watching him closely.

The way he keeps glancing toward his pillows.

The way his hands, sitting on the edge of the mattress, have tightened.

“I heard she found out about all of your businesses. The things you do. It makes sense you would want to keep it from her, right?”

He’s confused. Not sure if he should agree or not. “That’s what men in my position do. We shield the people we love from the ugly parts of our business. That’s not a crime.”

“No, but it’s a crime to murder them when they find out the truth.”

His face turns a shade of red that tells me he’s ready to explode. “I did no such a thing. I would never! I loved her!”

“Really? Did you love her when you found out she was going to take me away? That she was leaving you? That’s what it was really about, wasn’t it?

” I ask, watching as fear leaks into his eyes, as sweat beads at his temples.

“It was about keeping control over what’s yours.

She wouldn’t fall in line, so you killed her and kept me with you.

Just tell me the truth. Tell me you did it. I see it on your face!” I shout.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He stands, and for one second, I think he’s going to square off, invite me to throw fists.

Instead, he shoves a hand under his pillow and pulls out a gun.

“What, are you gonna shoot me now?” The whole thing is so sad, but I can’t help laughing.

“You’re going to pull a gun on your own son—why?

To prove you would never hurt somebody you love?

” The whole thing is too pathetic to witness a second longer.

He knows I know. Right now, that has to be enough until I figure out my next step.

I cannot live under this roof with him a minute longer.

Not now. Not when I know what he took from me.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” he barks, but I’m not one of his gambling addicts late on a payment. I march down the hall, fists swinging at my sides, his feet pounding the floor behind me.

I’m in my room, the door half-closed, but he kicks it open. “I am not finished with you!” He’s still holding the gun, aiming it at my middle.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” I scoff.

“Nobody comes into this house and threatens me,” he warns.

“What did I threaten you with? The truth? Is the truth such a threat, Dad?”

“I did not kill her.” He levels the gun at my chest, his voice deadly soft, his aim steady. “And I will be damned if I let you spread a lie like that.”

I don’t have time to ask when I threatened to spread anything. No time to understand why he’s so threatened.

A blond blur comes flying out of the bathroom and jumps on his back, arms and legs wrapped around him as she screeches like some kind of demon. Kinsley. She’s clawing at his face when he drops the gun, viciously throwing her off him.

But he’s not quick enough to keep me from picking up the gun and aiming it at him this time.

It’s amazing what little it takes for a bully to lose their strength.

His strength was never real. He needs a gun in his hand to feel strong, or other men to do the fighting.

Without those tools, he’s nothing but an old man in a pair of silk pajamas, his eyes bulging as he takes in the sight of his son holding a gun on him.

“You okay?” I ask Kinsley, never taking my eyes off him.

“I’m fine,” she whispers. From the corner of my eye, I see her scramble onto the bed, positioning herself behind me.

“Now listen to me,” Dad urges.

I cut him off. “You are going to tell me the truth. And in case you want to know where I heard this from in the first place, I heard it from Dante earlier tonight.” With a smile, I add, “Before I killed him. Don’t expect him to show up for work tomorrow.”

His tongue darts over his lips. “He was lying.”

“Pretty convenient to accuse him of that when he’s dead.

” I take one step toward him, then another, while he backs into the hallway.

I can’t let him get to his room—who knows what he might have stashed there?

“Now you’re going to tell me the truth. That’s all I want.

Did you kill my mother because she was leaving you and taking me with her?

Don’t make me kill you, Dad. I just want to hear it from your mouth.

I want the truth before I leave this house forever. ”

“Where do you think you’re going to go?”

“The truth!” I bark, loud enough that he flinches.

Sweat trickles down his temples. An innocent man wouldn’t sweat like that.

“All right! All right, I’ll tell you the truth. Yes,” he hisses, teeth bared. “Yes, because she was taking what was mine! My son! My legacy! She thought she could walk out of here with you and get away with it? She honestly thought she could do that to me. She found out, didn’t she?”

I knew it, but that doesn’t mean the truth doesn’t hit like a ton of bricks.

He must take my silence as a good sign. “That’s what we do, Kellen.

That’s what an Archer does. We protect what belongs to us.

You are my son. She was not going to take what was mine.

And I offered to have her back, I did,” he babbles, shaking, red-faced.

“I told her we could forget the whole thing so long as she fell in line and went back to being the wife she was before. She refused. She paid the price.”

Paid the price. I like the sound of that.

And I still do when I squeeze the trigger, firing into his chest.

Somehow, I hear the pounding of footsteps, the shouts of surprise over the ringing in my ears.

Dad’s mouth falls open in shock before he looks down at the wound in his chest, the blood spreading like a flower, soaking into the silk.

He drops to his knees by the time the first guards make it up the stairs, then falls to his side with his eyes still open but now blank by the time they join us.

He’s dead. And with him goes everything he built. Instead of the sight of his corpse dragging me down, a weight lifts off my shoulders. Otherwise, I feel nothing for the man lying in his own blood.

“He’s dead,” one of the guys mutters, crouching next to Dad and slowly looking up at me. “You killed him.”

“I wasn’t going for a flesh wound.” Looking around at them, I read almost identical expressions of shock.

Like they didn’t think I had it in me. “And unless every single one of you fuckers wants to end up like him, you will accept the fact that I’m in charge now.

I’m the boss. Do we all understand each other? ”

There are a few quick, confused looks exchanged, but all of them nod and a few back away from me. “Sure. You’re the boss,” one of the guys murmurs, and the rest mutter their agreement.

After looking around at all of them, I notice Kinsley peering out around the door to my bedroom. “You can go now,” I tell her. “You’re free. Go ahead.”

Tears fill her eyes. “Thank you,” she whimpers.

My first act as the new boss is one of mercy. I’m thinking it could be a trend.