15

-Malcolm-

"I'M SORRYbut I can't give out any information regarding that."

I slam my hands down on the desk and the receptionist looks at me with a tired expression that says she's dealt with far worse.

I must have broken every speed limit on the way to the county jail, but now I'm here they won't let me see North, or even confirm if he's here at all. And this lady doesn't look like she's going to budge an inch.

"I need to see him," I grit out through my teeth.

"Any contact between you and any suspect that we might or might not be holding will be made through their allocated phone call. Other than that, I can't help you."

"But I haven't had any calls," I say. North would have called me if he had the chance, I'm sure of it.

She raises an uninterested eyebrow and says, "That's none of my business."

I growl and tear away from the desk, slamming back through the station doors I entered ten minutes ago. This isn't getting me anywhere and there's no point in getting mad at the front desk. I need to think, but my head is spinning in a whirlwind of panic, so I pace in front of the station trying to get my head clear.

Why would North do this? My father must have provoked him, I have no doubt about that, but North swore to me that he wouldn't do anything. Now he's let my father ruin his life, too, and Patrick will throw everything he can at North just to see what sticks. North stood up to him, he tried to come between my father and me, and now he's learned what happens. Everything we had is ruined. North is going to prison, and I'm going somewhere just as bad.

My vision tunnels. My breathing becomes shallow. Anger flares inside me.

I told North, I warned him, my father isn't the kind of guy you fuck with. There are no depths he won't sink to for his own gain, and I should know, I've seen it. And North went and fucked with him anyway. Why didn't he just do as I told him? This is all his fault. Look what he's made my father do.

Now look what you've made me do.

The words echo in my head and I stop short, freezing mid-step on the pavement. Those are my father's words. Words I've heard a thousand times whenever my father went too far. Words that are etched into my bones. And now I'm directing them at North, the best person I've ever met. It's enough to make me feel sick.

What the fuck am I saying? I sound just like him.

Suddenly my legs feel weak, and I have to support myself against the brick wall of the police station. Why am I blaming North for this? All he did was react like any sane person would when faced with a man like my father. Am I really blaming him for defending himself and defending me?

I run my shaking hands through my damp hair.

My father has managed to control me my whole life, even when I'm on the other side of the country. He's sunk his claws in and left a stain on me that taints the way I act and the way I think. I always knew that, but now I realize just how deep it goes. He's twisted me so much that I'm blaming North for my father's shitty actions.

But it's my fault too. North was just doing what I should have done long ago. By not defending myself, I've forced North to do it for me, and now my father has hurt him too.

Now I have two options. I can roll over and give in to what feels inevitable like I have my whole life, or I can fucking do something about it. What would I do if it was anyone else but my father? I'd take him apart. So what's stopping me from doing that now, apart from the crippling fear?

I pull my phone out, dial with fumbling fingers, and hold my phone to my ear, listening to the ring tone.

Ten full rings go by. There's no way he doesn't have his phone on him, he keeps that thing glued to his hand at all times. He's letting me stew before he picks up, and it has the desired effect.

I remind myself that I'm doing this for North, and that gives me enough strength to keep going.

Finally, he answers, and I speak quickly before my nerve breaks.

"Where are you?" I say before he can speak. But when he replies he completely ignores my question.

"Have you got your stuff packed yet?" he asks.

I squeeze the phone, trying to keep my voice steady. "You got North arrested."

There's a pause. I can picture the irritation growing on his face. "He got himself arrested. The little prick attacked me out of nowhere."

I don't believe that for one second. "What did you do?"

His voice grows hot. "That's enough, Malcolm," he says sharply. "I'm coming to get you."

That sudden sharp tone sends me reeling, my stomach flying and twisting. But this time there's anger too. Anger that he can do this to me. And anger that he can do this to North.

I've secretly held the keys to my father's power for some time, but I've never had the guts to use them, too afraid of what's behind that door. But it's not just me this time, and that's enough to overcome my fear.

I know what I have to do, and, as much as the thought of seeing him face to face makes me want to throw up, I need to do it in person.

"I'll be at the house," I say, and hang up.

I've never hung up on my father before, and it sends a thrill of fear and unexpected exhilaration through me.

He calls back before I've even put my phone away, and I dismiss the call. He won't like that. At all. I take a deep breath. There's no going back now.

It's time I face my father.

***

By the time I get to the house his car is already in the driveway, parked diagonally and taking up most of the space. I pull up, fitting the Porsche in carefully next to it.

I feel oddly calm, although I know that underneath the thin veneer is a roiling storm I'll have to face, but for the moment it's held at bay by the sheer determination to do right by North. A compulsion I've never experienced before.

My father is in the kitchen waiting for me, just like he was six days ago. But unlike six days ago, he looks like he's been in a brawl. His nose is patched up with a white strip of gauze, his nostrils still crusted with blood. His left eye is swollen, the skin around it blooming into a dark rainbow of colors. And there's blood drops on the collar of his light blue shirt. He obviously hasn't had time to get changed yet.

It's a shock seeing him like this. I don't think I've ever seen him physically hurt before, he's always seemed so invincible. But now he looks like a real man, who can hurt and bleed.

North did that to him . . . for me. I don't know how that makes me feel, but it makes my heart thump hard in my chest.

He glares at me, the steely grey only visible in his one good eye.

"Why don't you have your shit packed up yet?" he barks. "I told you I was taking you home, now get upstairs—"

"And I told you I'm not leaving," I say.

His eyes darken, and his lips lift into a sneer. "How dare you talk back to me. That boy has turned you into a spoiled brat."

"So you decided to get him arrested?"

"I didn't do a thing. Your psychopathic boyfriend attacked me," he spits. "Luckily for him he caught me by surprise, otherwise he'd be in the fucking hospital right now instead of jail."

"If he attacked you, it's because you deserved it," I say.

His eyes widen a fraction before going even more narrow. "Excuse me?" The threat in his voice is enough to make my palms sweaty. I fist them.

"Drop the charges," I say.

He gives a sudden bark of cruel laughter, hard and sharp and cold. "I don't think so. He's going exactly where scum like him belongs. That little cock sucker thinks he can fuck with me? I was willing to be reasonable, but he's about to learn his lesson the hard way." A fleck of spit flies onto his lip. "Ha, he'll probably enjoy life in prison. I'm sure all of the other perverts in there will be only too thrilled to butt fuck a pretty boy like him. He's going away for a long fucking time."

"No, he isn't," I say. My whole body is shaking. "You're going to recant your story, you're going to pay his bail money, and you're going to do everything in your power to get any charges against him dropped."

He moves toward me, thunderous, ready to deal out retribution. "And why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because if you don't I'm going to let the authorities know about every single shady thing you've ever done."

He stops. His face freezes for a split second, the pause so small I could have blinked and missed it, but it was there. And it tells me exactly what I already knew. I've hit him where it hurts—his business. The thing that feeds into his ego and narcissism. He might not care about me, but his business is the son he never had. His true pride and joy. And if I want to fight back, that's where I need to attack.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he says.

My father will stoop to any level to get what he wants, and that includes his business. In his eyes, the law is something weak people let themselves be constricted by. I've known about his activities since I was a kid, and I've hidden the fact, because even knowing would have been enough to ignite his rage. I've never once had the guts to do anything about it because I'm a fucking coward.

But now he's fucked with North—my beautiful, chaotic, dazzling, puppy dog, ball-of-sunshine boyfriend. And no one, no one, fucks with North but me. If my father taught me one thing, it's how to be a possessive asshole.

I stare him dead in the eye. "Do you remember when I was twelve and those guys came around, in the dark suits and shades? Because I do."

He blinks, standing perfectly still.

"Yeah." I nod. "You didn't think I saw them did you? You thought you'd locked me in my room, but guess what? I figured out how to get out of there a week after you had the locks installed. One thing you taught me, how not to get caught."

Finally, he speaks, shaking his head slowly. "You've lost your fucking mind."

"I was hiding at the top of the stairs, and I heard everything. It didn't make sense at the time, until I looked up some of the words you were using, and realized my father was a crook as well as an asshole."

"You watch the way you talk to me—" my father starts, but I can see the hesitation in his face.

"And then two years later, when those shareholders came over? I'm pretty sure the deal you made with them breaks at least three federal laws. And then there was your alibi for when all that money went missing," I say. "That always struck me as a bit of a lucky coincidence, considering you didn't have a property in the Cayman Islands at that time."

I keep my gaze steady on him, staring into his eyes, one steely grey, one swollen and red.

"I know all of it, Dad. The tax evasion. The blackmail. The bribes." I pause for effect. "And that's just the start. What about the prostitutes?"

His eyes widen. He opens his mouth but then closes it again and clenches his jaw.

"Did you really think I was that fucking stupid? You think you hit me enough to knock my brains out?" I swallow the venom in my throat. "I'll get the IRS, the DOJ, the FBI, fuck I'll get even the local sheriff on your ass so fast you won't know what's hit you."

He's still angry as all hell, but now he's weighing me up, too. I can see the cogs grinding in his head as he stares at me.

Then he says, "You don't have enough on me to make anything stick. Whatever you think you saw or heard, they won't take it seriously. You don't have any physical evidence."

"Don't I?" I jab back. "And even if I don't, I have enough to make the police investigate. These are serious crimes. And I don't think your business partners and investors will like the look of that very much. Especially if certain rumors get out."

His nostrils flare. The anger builds in his face, joined by a parade of different emotions. Incredulity, fear, frustration, rage.

It's almost mesmerizing to watch him flounder, but at the same time, his unpredictability sets off the alarm in my head telling me to find shelter. It takes everything in me to ignore it.

His face settles on bitter betrayal, mixed with hatred for his traitor of a son. "How could you threaten me like this? I have only ever tried to do what's best for you—"

I explode. "Don't give me that bullshit. You don't give a fuck what's best for me. You never have. You only care what's best for you."

"How dare you? I'm your father, I gave you everything."

"Apart from the one thing I actually needed. But you're going to give it to me now. You're going to drop the charges. You're going to fuck off and leave both of us alone. You're going to sign the deeds of the house over to me permanently. And you're going to keep on paying my tuition fees for Langley. You try to cut me off, or fuck with me or North in any way, and I'll bring your whole fucking empire down."

There's so much adrenaline fizzing through my body that I feel high.

This time my father's reaction is pure scorching rage. He pulls himself up, swelling, trying to intimidate me. And it works. For a second I have to catch my breath. This is the part where I cower and cover my head with my arms, waiting for the blows to come, and my body is screaming at me to do it, and my will almost crumbles. But all those other times I was alone, and I'm not anymore.

I picture North standing next to me, with his shoulders back and his chin high. I recall North telling me he loves me, over and over again, reminding me that I am fucking worthy of it. Because North is smart and strong and fucking wonderful, and he wouldn't love me if I didn't deserve it.

I clear my mind, bring myself back to the present, and finally see my father for what he is—a middle aged man, shorter than me by a few inches, losing his shape. A pathetic bully who needs expensive suits and to make others feel small to make himself feel big.

He thunders toward me, pulling his arm back, and swings his fist at my head.

I catch it easily.

"You're never going to touch me again," I say.

His eyes go wide.

Then I twist his arm to the side, and punch him in the face, putting twelve years of retribution into it. He stumbles back, and falls against the kitchen counter, slips, and lands on the floor. Blood is oozing from his nose, and it looks like I've re-broken it for him. He cups his face in his hands and makes a pathetic whimpering sound.

"You should never have fucked with my boyfriend," I snarl. "Get him out. Now."

"Fuck," he hisses.

"Did you hear me?"

He glares up at me with watering eyes and says, dripping with venom, "Fine, but you keep your fucking mouth shut."

I allow myself a brief moment of relief before I nod and step to one side, creating a clear path for him.

"Now get the fuck out of here."

He manages to struggle up, cursing and using the counter for support, and staggers past me. I keep staring straight ahead at the spot where he crumpled to the floor, until the front door slams. Then all of the strength leaves my body and I sag down and catch myself on the countertop, shaking so hard I feel like I'm going to fall apart.