“That’s not justice, Father. It’s sick. Mom wouldn’t want that, and you know she wouldn’t. You’ve lost your goddamn mind, and you’re so twisted, you can’t even see it. Arwen didn’t want those two women to suffer when they didn’t deserve it. She can think clearly—you can’t.”
He stepped closer. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me?”
“What have you done for me?” Maverick continued to place his body in front of me, lining up his frame so he protected me at all times. “When Mom died, you died too. You’re a ghost of the man you used to be. I used to be proud of you, used to look up to you. But now you’re heartless, hateful of everyone in this world because you lost the one person you loved. Lily and I don’t matter—”
Caspian lunged at Maverick, slamming his large body into his frame and landing a punch against his jaw. He used all of his energy to cause as much damage as possible, to make Maverick bleed and hurt.
Maverick took a few hits because he was shocked by his father’s savage attack. He fell back, his head about to hit the corner of the bottom stair.
Even though it would hurt, I fell and slid my body underneath him, using my thighs as a cushion so he wouldn’t crack his head open and bleed everywhere. But that put me in line with Caspian, easily accessible.
Caspian took advantage of my position and grabbed me by the neck, squeezing me so hard I couldn’t breathe right from the beginning.
Maverick recovered quickly and kicked his father off. Punch after punch, he planted his fists into his father’s body, turning into a beast with enough adrenaline to power a rocket. He slammed his fists into his father’s face and his stomach, driving him back to the other side of the room. Caspian’s face was battered by the time he collapsed on the ground, breathing hard as his son stood over him, blood on his knuckles.
Caspian raised his gaze and looked at his son, blood dripping from his mouth and his nose. Bruised and swollen, his face looked like he’d been stung by a swarm of hornets. He leaned against the wall as he looked at his son with pure disgust.
Maverick was still, waiting for his father’s next move.
Caspian slowly rose to his feet, finally showing the effect his age had on his body. He didn’t carry himself with strength, but defeat. But the look he gave his son showed the promise of war, of torture, of bloodlust. He sent Maverick a cold stare, as if he might continue the fight even if he lost. But then he turned around and walked off, moving with a slight limp and sagging shoulders.
Maverick held his position until his father was out of the house. He looked through the window and watched him get into his car and drive away. Once he was really gone, he released the breath he was holding and turned to me.
Now he looked even more furious with me.
Like he blamed me for everything.
23
Maverick
I sat in my office with a cigar in my mouth, absentmindedly puffing the smoke and letting it disappear from my mouth. There was a painting on the other side of the wall, of Paris in the early 1800s before it became industrialized. It was moody and dark, showing the mud after a bad storm. I didn’t pick out most of my artwork, but I’d chosen this one because it spoke to me.
I stared at it now, doing my best to think about nothing.
My neck was visibly bruised because of the way my father had strangled me. My face was tinted from the fists I took to the face. I looked like I’d gotten my ass kicked even though my father got the worst of it.
It was the only time I’d ever struck my father.
I didn’t feel good about it—even though I didn’t have a choice.
If I did nothing, he would have killed Arwen… Not that I should care.
She betrayed me, after all.
When my cigar burned out, I lit another one.
Didn’t give a shit if I got cancer.
My father and I didn’t have a good relationship, but this made us complete enemies. Now I had two wars to fight. I had to make sure Kamikaze didn’t come near Arwen, and I had to make sure my father didn’t kill her either.
Or did I?
My father was right when he said she breached the contract. She defied our wishes and took matters into her own hands. That was direct disobedience. I had every right to leave her.
Maybe I should.
The door opened, and she appeared in the doorway, apology in her eyes and concern in her stature. She searched my gaze for permission to enter the room.
She wouldn’t get it from me.