Rebel (Wolfes of Manhattan 1)

1RockWhen I was fourteen years old, I tried to kill my father.

The stunt had cost me my freedom. I’d have gladly spent the rest of my life imprisoned as the love slave of a Greek battalion had I been successful. But to be put through hell when the bastard was still alive? So not worth it.

Military school. Not just any military school, but a private academy where millionaires sent their troubled kids to be beaten down, where the rules were that there were no rules. Where survival of the fittest was no longer reserved for the animal kingdom.

I survived.

I grew stronger living through the hell that was Buffington Academy. Secluded in the Adirondacks, the school was home to the most spoiled young men in the world…and the most troubled. After two weeks, I knew I didn’t belong there, but I spent four years in that hellhole.

Those years made me wish for juvie.

But no, my parents didn’t turn me in. Instead…Buffington.

I spent those years plotting my father’s demise, but of course by the time I turned eighteen and released myself, I knew better. I’d learned my lesson. My father wasn’t worth it. Trying to take him out had cost me four years of my life.

Even so, I dreamed of his death. It was no less than he deserved.

But when it finally happened, I was totally unprepared.

“Dad’s dead,” my brother Reid said into the phone when I answered.

I froze, as if ice water had replaced the blood in my veins.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah. Yeah. What happened?”

“We’re not sure yet. But I have to ask you, bro…”

“What?”

“Were you anywhere near Dad’s penthouse last night?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Someone shot him in the head in the penthouse.”

I couldn’t help a chuckle. Most guys might freak out hearing this kind of news. Not me. The bastard had it coming.

“They’re going to get in touch with you,” Reid continued.

“I’m at my cabin, Reid. And by the way, you don’t sound too broken up.”

“None of us are. He was a bastard. That’s public knowledge.”

“So why the interrogation? There’re a thousand people who probably wanted him dead.”

“True, but Dad sent you away when you were so young. The cops are going to think you might be getting back at him.”

“Don’t you think I’d have done something before now?”

“Whatever, man. Still, Riley, Roy, and I need to know. Did this in any way involve you?”

“I just told you. I’m home.”

“You could have hired it out.”

Seriously? I’d been a model citizen since I left Buffington—well, maybe not model in the sense of perfect, since I’d been arrested in a biker brawl once, but I hadn’t started it and the charges were dropped. I’d driven after too many drinks a few times, but I hadn’t gotten caught. I’d made my own money, never stole a dime. And never took one penny from that motherfucker who’d fathered me. Not that he would have given me any. I had a few biker buds who might have been able to handle a contract on a human life, but I’d have never asked.

The asshole warranted better than a paid hitman who bore him no ill will. He deserved to be taken out by someone he’d wronged, someone who could look into his cold eyes so he knew who was doing the deed.

There were a ton of us out there.

“I didn’t,” I told my brother. “Trust me. I had nothing to do with it. But I’m glad the asshole’s dead.”

“None of us are crying, like I said.” Reid sighed through the phone line. “Thank God.”

“Relieved, are you?”

“Of course. You’re my big brother. I don’t want you rotting in prison for the rest of your life.”

I hadn’t seen my brothers and sister in years. Reid was the only one who kept in touch with me regularly. I heard from Roy and Riley every once in a while. Roy didn’t keep in touch with anyone, and Riley had her own issues.

“I won’t be. I was out on a ride last night with buddies who can vouch for me. I got in around one a.m.”

“They think the murder occurred around four this morning. You couldn’t have gotten here by then.”

“Plus the fact that I’m still in Montana right now.”

“Yeah. Right. I’m not thinking straight.” Reid cleared his throat. “You need to get on the next flight to New York.”

“Fuck that. I’m not coming home.”

“You have to. The cops want to talk to you.”

“There’s this little thing called a phone.”

“Damn it, Rock. You need to come home.”

“Burn him and be done with it. You don’t need me for that.”

“We haven’t made any funeral arrangements yet.”

“What do you need me for, then?

“The attorneys are reading Dad’s will tomorrow morning.”

“Why the hell should I care? You know he didn’t leave me a damned penny.”

“It specifies that we all have to be present. They won’t read it without you there.”