As the meal progressed, I heard more stories about War. Mostly, it centered on sports and not on what I really wanted to know—of his life with Caleb and especially Justin.
Lunch was almost over when he cruised into the dining room. Without a word to anyone, he dropped into his seat and piled his plate with food.
“Justin, this is Charlotte Jones,” Caleb said. “Eli’s girlfriend.”
“I know.” He twirled the pasta on his fork, then slurped it into his mouth, ignoring us.
I had my share of uncomfortable dinners with my mother’s husbands, but this was of a whole different caliber. The tick in War’s jaw signaled the cold anger brewing inside him as his foster brother continued eating. At Justin’s rudeness?
“The least you can do is say hello to your brother,” Caleb said, his tone stern.
“I’m here like you demanded with your summons. I have no desire to acknowledge your guests. He’s no brother of mine.”
Caleb’s expression became granite. “While you live here, you will follow my rules.”
Justin’s mouth thinned.
I stopped eating.
War set his cutlery down. “Caleb, it’s fine—”
“Yes, listen to the prodigal son,” Justin drawled. “No, wait, that’s the golden boy. I’m the prodigal.”
Man, that guy sure was petty. Now I understood why War hadn’t been happy about coming here. This little twerp really disliked him. Or was it plain jealousy?
Justin looked up, cocked a taunting eyebrow at War. “How’s life in the limelight?”
War went dead-still, eyes narrowing. “If there’s something you want to say, spit it out.”
The chair dragged back, and Justin shot to his feet, his pale face flushed in resentment. “I like my meals with people who don’t lord it over us poor folks.”
“Enough!” Caleb jerked up. “You chose this path! You could have had it, too, but you preferred to run with those layabout friends of yours, getting into trouble, and not pursue the same opportunities I gave you.”
“Sure, you did,” he spat. I half expected him to foam at the mouth in his righteous anger. “You cared more about him than your own kid, so don’t sell me that shit—”
War shot up, chair dragging. And then he was on the other side of the table, grabbing Justin by his t-shirt. I leaped up to my feet, heart pounding.
“I don’t give a damn what you say about me, but you will apologize to your father. Now!”
“Go to hell!” Justin’s face screwed with flat-out hatred. Snarling, he swung his fist. War grabbed the hand, twisting it behind his back. “Let me go, you bastard!” he roared, eyes spitting rage. “You think moving with the jet-set makes you a better person? Did you tell your high-society girlfriend exactly what you are?” He laughed, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. “She’d dump your trailer-trash ass if she knew she’s screwing a murderer—”
“Justin!” Caleb snapped.
Oh, shit. I heard the rumors of the bloodied fights War had gotten into, and I didn’t want this to turn into one. Before I reached him, he flung Justin away, and the jerk hit the island with a thud. War stormed out through the kitchen door, the door slamming shut behind him.
Justin straightened, his raging, vitriol eyes flashing to mine. “You should run. Or else he just might kill you too—”
“Enough!” Caleb said in a voice so cold it would have petrified me if I wasn’t already frozen to the spot. “I’m ashamed to know we share the same blood.”
Much as I loathed this ass, why would Justin accuse War of…of murder?
“Get out!” Caleb’s voice was an icy whiplash.
“I’m gone, old man. You can keep your golden boy, the blah car, and all the measly pennies thrown your way.” He stalked out to the front.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, his features etched in pain, his stare not at the door Justin vanished through but at the one War had stormed out. “It’s not as Justin made it out to be.”
I hurried past Caleb, but he started talking again when all I wanted was to go to War.
