Rebel (Wolfes of Manhattan 1)

“What are you talking about, Rock?”

“Nothing.” He clammed up and stood, replacing his jeans. “I’m going to shower, and then I’m taking you out on the bike. It’s what we came here for. I’m not letting some dirty cop or my mother or anyone else ruin this weekend for us.” He stalked off.

Rock Wolfe might think he didn’t have mommy issues, but he had some kind of issue, something he’d buried so deep that he ran all the way to Montana to escape it. He’d tell me when he was ready.

I just wasn’t sure I wanted to know.45RockMy mother.

I had one good memory, and it was the earliest thing I could recall. I was barely three, and my nanny, Alexandria, brought me to the hospital to meet my new little brother. My mother smiled at me. She was beautiful when she smiled, at least when she really smiled. I climbed into her hospital bed next to her, and she let me hold baby Roy. He had a mop of black hair and his face was red, but I loved him just the same.

He was my baby.

“He’s your baby, Rock,” she said. “Yours to help and protect. He’ll always look up to you.”

Roy hadn’t needed my protection, though. He was a recluse who kept to himself. I did protect Reid from a few beatings courtesy of our father, and God knew I’d tried to protect Riley.

I’d been successful with Reid—until I was banished.

Unsuccessful with Riley.

At fourteen, I was the victim of risk-taking testosterone.

In that moment, I had truly wanted to end my father’s life.

Looking back, I was glad I’d failed. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, even though the asshole had deserved what I’d planned.

But Riley…

She didn’t deserve what had continued after I was gone. My brothers hadn’t protected her because they hadn’t known what was going on. I felt sure they would have intervened had they known.

How could they not have known?

It had been so obvious to me.

But my room was next to Riley’s. We had the two biggest bedrooms, next to our father’s. Mom and Dad had separate rooms. Mom gave Riley the second largest room in our new mansion. Reid and Roy had grumbled, but she’d said a girl needed more space. As the oldest, I still got the biggest room. I wasn’t sure why, and I didn’t ask at the time.

Riley’s was the farthest away from my mother’s.

Maybe my mother had truly thought she needed more space.

Or maybe she knew what was coming, and she didn’t want to hear it. That way, she could pretend it wasn’t happening.

Sounded like vintage Connie Wolfe to me.

On the other hand, though, why would she want her oldest son closest to her daughter? Surely she’d—

Unless…

My mother was hoping I’d do something to stop it.

That was a hell of a burden to put on a fourteen-year-old boy—a burden she herself should have borne to protect her daughter.

She just wasn’t strong enough.

Or she didn’t care enough.

Or maybe that was why my mother hated me so much. I hadn’t just failed Riley. In her mind, I’d failed her as well.

I scoffed. I’d wanted more than anything to protect my sister, but I was a kid myself. My mother had placed the burden on a kid, a rebellious kid who was likely to pull out a knife and attempt to kill his own father.

Which was exactly what I’d done.

If my father had died while my parents were still married, everything would have gone to her. Had she been hoping I’d kill him? And take the blame? She’d be off scot-free. Rich and rid of him.

And rid of me.

She and I had always been like oil and water. I wasn’t sure why, but we never did click. Not since that day when Roy came into the world. That was the fondest memory I had of Connie Wolfe.

I finished washing my hair and body and stood under the stream of hot water, letting it cleanse me of the memories of my youth. My life had been one fucked up mess, and I wasn’t going to let my mother or anyone else screw up what I could have with Lacey.

Which meant one thing.

I had to take the reins.

I had to solve my father’s murder myself, before someone could frame Lacey or anyone else I cared about.

I scoffed again. The only other three people I cared about were Reid, Roy, and Riley.

My mother hadn’t murdered my father. She wouldn’t get her manicured hands dirty. In fact, she probably hadn’t hired it out. She was too smart for that. No, Connie Wolfe was simply doing what she always did, taking advantage of the situation at hand.

She wasn’t a killer.

Neither was I, despite my rash actions as a teen.

And neither was Lacey.

Why would anyone want to implicate Lacey? Was there something I didn’t know about her?