I’m slightly shocked, and I hope he can’t tell. I want to hear that kind of happiness escape his lips again. I take a drink of orange juice, then swallow down the food in my mouth.
His deep laugh echoes throughout the large kitchen. It’s infectious. And I start laughing. I’ve never seen Damon so at ease, and it makes me happy and less nervous. Our carefree morning routine comes to a halt though when his cell phone rings. His eyes gloss, and all happiness drains from his face. The mask I often see him wear slips back into place.
He lets the call go to voicemail, then the phone chimes again.
I try to focus on finishing my breakfast and less on what he is doing, but my appetite is gone now.
“It’s Xander, and he wants us to come to dinner. He’s also invited the rest of our family.”
My brows pinch together in confusion. “The rest of your family?”
“Yes, I have two uncles left alive, and they’ll be joining us.”
Damon doesn’t elaborate, but he looks less than happy. And although I don’t want to pry, I am dying to know more about his family. Partly out of curiosity, and partly out of fear. For some reason, I feel like knowing more about him may make this less scary.
At least if I know what I’m walking into I can prepare myself.
Forcing another bite of food into my mouth, I decide to ask him some questions.
“What happened to your parents?”
Damon’s mood darkens, and I regret asking him. Maybe bringing up this conversation right after his asshole brother contacted him isn’t such a good idea.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” I swallow the food in my mouth even though I feel like vomiting.
“My father wasn’t what you would calla father. Every choice he made was for himself and his businesses. He was selfish, and he scared my brother and I in the worst ways. He did things to us no man should ever do to a child—let alone his own sons. We needed someone to protect us, but my mother turned a blind eye, as if she didn’t see the fucking things he was doing.
“My mother died when we were ten, and that’s when things took a dark turn.” The most sinful smile I’ve ever seen appears on his lips, and it makes me shiver with actual fear.
“Thankfully, the fucker is dead now. A bullet to the heart will do that, though. In the end, he got what he deserved. The scars he left on my brother and I might not be visible to the naked eye, but that’s because they’re more than skin deep.”
When I get the courage to look at him again, I see a sadness in his eyes, and I understand what he’s saying. His father did this to him, trained him, taught him to be this man, and it’s not something he can change—or give up. He didn’t have a choice, and I’m sure he hates that.
“And your brother? Xander? What happened to him?” I hate to ask more questions, to dig deeper, but I want Damon to tell me everything. I want to know him inside and out, even if that includes learning about his sick, twisted brother.
“He took the brunt of the pain. He took the beatings, the jobs. He becamefather’s right hand, and because of that I’ll never be able to repay him. He protected me when mother wouldn’t and when our father wanted to kill me.”
I gasp, but Damon continues as if he didn’t hear me. “But that doesn’t mean I like him the way he is. I care for my brother. I care about him because he is my brother…my blood. But blood doesn’t always mean family, and I hate knowing my brother is a crueler monster than our father ever was. I hate that he let our father control him, train, and groom him to be the leader of our family, and that even after our father died, Xander could have changed—he could have become better, made the family better—but he ended up becoming just like him…worse even.”
I lift a hand to my throat, knowing the bruises are still there. Damon would never do that to me. He’d grab me, stop me from going somewhere, pin me down, but he’d never rip the air from my lungs. He’d never look at me with a hunger to kill.
Not the way Xander stared at me when he pinned me against the wall.
Damon clears his throat, breaking my train of thought. “He will pay for touching you, Keira. He knows you’re mine, and he touched you simply because he knew it would hurt me.”
“He looked at me with a desire to kill.”
“And he would’ve killed you. I know, because he is my brother. I know what makes him tick. I know what sets him off. But he didn’t because he has other plans for us. I’m not stupid. He wouldn’t call a meeting like this after years of being absent from my life without having some type of plan, and he doesn't let anyone live unless they serve his purpose.”
The thought terrifies me. Does that mean he’ll kill Damon and I outright? I don’t want to die yet, not when I’ve just finally started to enjoy life again. I’ve lost so much already—my parents, my brother. But Damon has too. He lost both his parents and technically his brother.
“Did he kill your father?” The question is on the tip of my tongue. I feel I know the answer, but I want Damon to confirm it.
“Yes. Not that the bastard didn’t deserve it. It changed him, though. It made him evil.” Damon sighs, and I can see the conversation is bothering him. I don’t want to ruin our morning further.
Desperate to change the subject, I try to think of something else to ask. “Does it matter what I wear tonight? Is it the kind of dinner party you dress up for? Because if I’m expected to wear anything besides jeans and a T-shirt, we’re going to have a problem.” I force a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
Damon doesn’t skip a beat. “I’ll have Candy pick you up something, and you can dress at the club. I have to swing by there before dinner anyway. It’ll work out perfectly.”
