“You’re an asshole! Why are you doing this? It’s not just because I punched another student who had it coming. And it’s not even about the drugs.” I step forward and his hands fist reflexively. “You just used it as an excuse to push me out. I’ve never been good enough. Never smart enough. Never just enough,” I shout with force. “I pushed myself every day, hoping one day I would be. And I’m almost there, right on the cusp of being fucking great at something and…” My words wither away, something inside me giving up as I stare into his stony eyes. It’s like a light winking out for the very last time, leaving my heart to finally accept what my mind has known all along. “You don’t care.”

My father’s lips pinch. “You’re right.” Jaxon sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t care. No one cares. You keep coming here causing scenes.” His voice rises. “Demanding attention.” Dad takes a step forward, ire building. “Making everything about you when it’s not,” he hisses. Planting both hands on my chest, he fists my shirt and shoves, pushing me back a step. “Well it’s not about you, and I don’t want you here.”

“This is about Annabelle, and you keeping me from her.” I yank free, my shirt twisted. “She needs her brother.”

Anger sparks in my father’s eyes. “You’re not her brother anymore!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jaxon asks.

“Screw this,” I mutter and start for the house, calling out, “Annabelle!”

Dad blocks me, a veritable wall of rage. Spittle hits my face when he snarls at me to shut my goddamn mouth.

“Move,” I growl, “or I will fucking end you.”

He keeps his feet planted on the drive, heedless of my threat. Shoving past him, I start for the door. He grabs my arm and I half turn, my fist pulling back reflexively. With a sharp jab, I punch him square in the nose. Bones crunch and pain blooms across my knuckles.

My father cries out. Letting me go, he covers his nose with both hands, blood spilling out beneath them. I didn’t want this—the inevitable confrontation and violence. Why does he push, and push, and fucking push? “Why?”

Jax grabs my bicep, trying to pull me away. I shrug him off, all the hurt I pushed deep now bubbling to the surface.

“Why don’t you care?” I shout as Dad wipes at his bloodied face.

“Because you’re not my son!” he roars.

Utter silence reigns for a single, heartrending moment. The air gusting between us stills. My voice lowers to a whisper. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Holy fuck,” Jaxon breathes, his feet frozen in place. “You can’t be serious.”

But he is. I know he is because it makes sense. Of course it wouldn’t matter what I did or how hard I tried. Why would it if I wasn’t his son? There’s no feat on Earth I could perform that would change something like that. “You’re not my real father.”

I say it more as a statement than a question, the words sounding foreign to my ears, as if someone else spoke them.

“No,” he reiterates. “I’m not.”

A feeling of emptiness steals over me—swift and consuming. I should feel something shouldn’t I? Even just relief that I don’t share the same blood that runs through his veins. But I’ve been sucked inside a void where it’s dark and cold, and ironically it’s a place more painful than anything I’ve ever experienced. My feet carry me forward a step. Jax puts a cautionary hand on my forearm, worried at what I’ll do. But even I don’t know what I’ll do. Everything I thought I knew is all wrong.

“Mom. Is she …” The question lodges in my throat.

Dad wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing a trickle of blood. “You’re hers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“By all means, let me explain in terms you can understand.” His upper lip curls with condescension. “Six months after we married, your mother went on a night out to celebrate a friend’s work promotion. She didn’t come home until mid-morning the next day claiming her drink was spiked. Nine months later there you were,” he spits out bitterly.

I stand stoic as he speaks, unresponsive, even as his words tear into my skin. I’m the product of assault. No wonder I’m unwanted. I’m a reminder of something ugly and sickening. The spawn of a monster. Does that make me one too?

My voice is a whisper. “Why didn’t you just get rid of me?”

His anger flares like a lit match. “It was too late! You were already there and they wouldn’t abort you. And once the media found out your mother was pregnant we were stuck. We couldn’t even give you away.” My father comes at me, hopeless rage twisting his face.

“Liam!” My mother steps out of the house, her face ashen beneath the flawless layer of makeup. I look between them, now able to see my parents with true clarity. They both wear a picture-perfect veneer to hide a fracture so deep it won’t ever heal. “Please. Stop!”

Dad keeps talking, too caught up to even hear her. “You wouldn’t die like I wanted you to. Instead you thrived. A fucking virus I knew would never go away!”

My shirt is grabbed and he heaves, snarling, and shoves me backwards, slamming me hard against the passenger side door of the car. I hear my mother cry out as air leaves my lungs in a rush.

“We never wanted you,” he gasps, his eyes so rabid I know he’s lost touch with reality.

Jaxon seizes Dad’s arms, his face white with shock. Mom cries my name, her voice desperate, begging me to do something. I’m not sure what she wants me to do. The most she’s ever expected of me is to just leave, so that’s what I’m going to do. I push an elbow between my father and myself, using it as a bracket so I can dig the keys from my pocket.

I’m halfway there when Dad wrestles free of Jaxon and launches himself at me. His fist smashes in my face. My head snaps back, hitting the rounded metal of the car where the roof meets the door. There’s no time to recover before an uppercut gets me in the ribs. There’s a powerhouse of muscle behind the punch and something crunches beneath it. A bone. Pain erupts. The intensity is like a starburst, brilliant and fiery.

But he’s not done. He comes at me again, and again. I can hear Jaxon shouting. I feel like I should do something. Defend myself. But all I can hear is the words we never wanted you. They batter my head like a broken record. You wouldn’t die.

Suddenly my father is gone. I stumble forward, dizzy and trying to catch my breath. Jaxon has him in an armlock. They grapple, and my cousin gets a hard elbow to the ribs. He grunts and lets go. Before I can blink I’m on the ground and a fist is coming at my face.

“Goddammit, you’ll kill him!” Jaxon yells. He’s trying to pull my father off me.

“No,” I rasp. Let him do his worst. Lance the poison and maybe then it’ll be enough. His large hands wrap around my neck and squeeze. It’s a vice, making my eyes water. My air is cut off instantly. I react instinctively, clawing his fingers, my body panicked.

The sound of a gun being cocked hits my ears. “Get off of him. Now.”

Hands release from my neck swiftly. Air floods my lungs, fast and sweet. I suck it in with hoarse gasps.

My eyes lift, landing on old man Lewis. Both his arms are outstretched, the gun in his hands steady as he presses it to my father’s temple. “You okay, boy?” he asks without taking his eyes from his target.

I can’t answer the question because I don’t know.

“Get that gun out of my face,” my father growls. He’s frozen beneath it, sweat trickling down the side of his face.

Lewis draws it back slightly, and Dad slowly shifts away and stands.

“Jesus. Brody,” Jax breathes in a shaky voice, sinking to his knees beside me. His hands hover above me, unsure which part is safe to touch.

I don’t spare him a glance. My stomach’s knotted with pain. I roll to my side and throw up on the front lawn. Even that simple action leaves me dizzy.

“Lay another hand on that boy,” Lewis growls, forcing my father to back away, “and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”