I tell myself all these things, yet the rage simmers under my skin like a kettle boiling over. Nero’s grey eyes bore into mine, and I know what I’m feeling is that quality Nero admires so much – loyalty. As much as I hate my father for what he’s done, it’s a hatred borne of love. I’ve looked up to him my entire life. He broke something inside me the day the Feds arrested him, something that Mackenzie’s disappearance had already cracked open. For all his bluster and bombast, for all the bribes I gave to the wardens and righteous indignation he works up about his appeal, I know that prison is breaking him, and this… this will be the final nail in the coffin of Walter Hart.
Despite everything, I can’t bear to see him broken. Because if Walter Hart can’t survive in this cruel world, then what hope do I have?
“Eli, you had to know this was coming.” Mom reaches across the table to touch my hand. I jerk away. “I’m not going to wait around for fifteen years for your father to get out of prison. Your father agrees. He’s already signed the paperwork.”
“What about his appeal?”
“We’ll still go. As a family.”
I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s leaping off this sinking ship. The civil lawsuits against my father’s company will bankrupt us if Mom’s spending in his absence hasn’t already done this. If she divorces now, she’ll stand a better chance of gettingsomethingin the settlement. This Nero doesn’t look like he’s wanting for money. She’ll be his arm candy and he’ll push his way into our lives, intomylife, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I shove my plate away. “I’m not hungry.”
“Elias Hart, you come back to this table right now—”
She lost the right to act like a mother many years ago, when she gave me to Maria, when designer purses and Botox became more important than playing with me. I’ve been the good son for too many years, trying desperately to please two people who never considered my needs.
I let them force me and Mackenzie apart.
No more. I’ve played by the rules my entire life, and all I have to show for it is a father in prison, an uncaring mother, and a gaping hole where my heart should be.
The Golden Boy of Stonehurst Prep isdone with this shit.
16
Claudia
Since Noah’s stepmother ended up in the hospital after my little stunt last month, the Marlowe house has stepped up their security. There’s a guard posted at the gate and a state-of-the-art alarm system that will stand up against even Antony’s best man.
Fortunately, I have the golden ticket – the son of Senator Marlowe, who’s been given the codes and security clearance and free rein to come and go as he pleases. Noah drives up to the gate and punches in a code. The gate swings open, and the security guard runs over and peers in the window. I’ve wrapped my hair in a scarf and I’m wearing dark glasses on the chance he’s been told to shoot Mackenzie Malloy on sight, but the guard doesn’t bat an eyelid as he waves us through.
He hasn’t even checked underneath the picnic blanket on the backseat, where Tiberius is hiding with his gun strapped across his chest.
We park in the garage – just one vehicle in a bank of fancy-ass cars. The one on the end is covered in a tarp that flaps in the breeze as the door clicks shut. I ease myself out of my door, careful not to clip it against the Mercedes next to us, and pull the blanket off Tiberius.
He groans as he unfolds his bulk and slides awkwardly out of the car. “Did you have to take those speed humps with quite so much enthusiasm?”
Noah is too wound up to appreciate Tiberius’ unique sense of humor. He lets out a sound that’s part caveman grunt, part tiger growl, but all pissy rich-boy. I itch to slap that expression off his perfect face, but I know he’s acting like a shit because he’s angry and afraid.
We’re in the lion’s den.
“Is your stepmother here tonight?” I whisper as Noah punches in a code to turn off the alarms and panic buttons. That done, we make our way through the darkened garage.
Noah shakes his head. “She’s staying with her parents. She says she doesn’t feel safe in the house anymore. The truth is, she’s never been safe here, not from the real enemy.”
He leads us through wide hallways and a towering foyer held up by fluted gothic columns. Malloy Manor is flashy in a typical Emerald Beach way, but the decor here is Murder House Chic – heavy wooden furniture, Victorian flocked wallpaper, chandeliers thePhantom of the Opera would dismiss as too grandiose. I turn to the sweeping staircase, but Noah tugs me away, leading us instead down a hallway on the eastern wing.
“Shouldn’t we got to the bedrooms?” I indicate the sweeping staircase.
Noah shakes his head. “Dad never sleeps there anymore.”
We pause outside a half-closed door. I listen hard, but the house is as silent as a tomb. And I’d fucking know. It’s got the feel of a tomb, too – the weight of six feet of grave dirt bears down on me as I stare at that door, teetering on the point of no return. Even the palatial rooms manage to feel claustrophobic, and my throat itches with the taste of stale, funereal air.
I will have my revenge on Brutus. I will make him taste the same fear. But it will not be tonight. Tonight is for Noah.
Cold moonlight beams through the window, glinting off Tiberius’ pistol as he presses his body against the wall, lifting his chin to wait for Noah’s signal. Noah’s eyes are two pinpricks of unfathomable blackness. Even in the gloom of the house, he is a creature of shadow and sin. Noah flicks his gaze to the door. His chest heaves. He makes his decision.
Pressing his finger to his lips, he shoves the door inward.
