Enemy Dearest

I rise on my toes to kiss him goodnight.

I need a nickname for him too, something more fitting than Enemy Dearest.

Because he never should have been my enemy—and he never will be again.

Chapter Forty-One

August

* * *

“Your dad home?” Uncle Rod slams kitchen cabinet after cabinet.

“No,” I say, keeping a careful distance. “He’s gone until tomorrow. What are you looking for?”

He takes a seat at the island, slaps a short stack of paperwork onto the counter, and exhales. Stale liquor invades the air between us.

A drunk and angry Rod Monreaux is never a good thing.

“I knew he’d do this,” he says, his words slurring into one another as he ransacks the drunk drawer. “I knew he’d try to fuck me over with this handover deal. Your father’s word is shit, August. Pure fucking shit. And a man’s only as good as his word, which means your father’s a sorry excuse for a man. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about. He doesn’t tell me anything.”

“The handover deal.” His words blend again, though I can still make them out. “He was going to pay me with this grain operating outfit out of Milford. Worth seven figures. And at the last minute, he sold it out—and for less than half of what he said it was worth. The fucking bastard. I’m going to kill him. That was going to be my retirement income.”

I’d say he’s a Monreaux, and we’re all pretty set for life, but I’ve seen what Uncle Rod does with his money. High-roller tables during his bi-weekly trips to Vegas. Escorts on the regular. Fast cars. I’m sure he was counting on that deal for income.

“I’m sure he had a good reason.”

“His reason can kiss my ass,” Rod says, spitting his words literally and figuratively. “He’s a liar. A dirty fucking liar. Always has been, always will be.”

I uncap my water, nodding. You don’t become a multimillionaire business mogul overnight by being an Honest Abe and doing everything by the book.

“If you only knew half of what your dad’s done to people over the years,” he waxes on. “Just constantly screwing people over. It’s game to him, to see what he can get away with, who he can pay off. And we’re all pawns. He’s sick, August. He’s sick in the head. And I hope to God you don’t turn out like him.”

“Same.”

“You know that girlfriend of his? Cynthia? Back in the day? The one they found strangled in the quarry?”

“Cynthia … Rose?”

He thumbs the side of his nose. “Yeah, that one.”

“What about her?”

“Your dad’s the one who did it.” Uncle Rod shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “He set up his best friend too. Tried to make him take the fall. Used his truck and everything. It was all over some chick, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your dad liked this girl—uh, Mary Beth, I think? But Mary Beth liked Rich Rose. Would have nothing to do with Vincent no matter what he tried. So Vincent started dating Rich’s kid sister. Started out as a way to get under Rich’s skin a little. Or maybe he thought Rich would dump Mary Beth and then Vince could have her. Anyway, nothing was going your dad’s way and Rich still wouldn’t end it with Mary Beth, so your dad killed Rich’s sister and framed Rich for it. Wanted to teach him a lesson.”

I shove my plate aside.

I’ve lost my appetite.

“Same thing with your mom.” He points at me. “He wanted to teach her a lesson too.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She was going to leave him. And she was going to get half the estate because the dumb ass didn’t sign a prenup,” he says. “Your mom was a smart woman. And she was tired of your father’s games. She’d served him divorce papers the day before she went out for that run … but the reporters didn’t cover that little detail, did they? Nope. Your father made damn certain of that.”

“So he tried to pin her death on Rich?”

“Yes, because he was pissed he didn’t pull it off the first time. And he was still bitter. Rich and Mary Beth were married by then. It killed him that she went for some ‘poor nobody’ when she could’ve been the queen of this fucking castle.”

Sheridan’s mom.

“Anyway, he’s had it out for her ever since,” he continues. “Every couple of years, he gets the poor bastard fired from whatever job he’s holding down at the time.”

I bury my face in my hands, breathing hard through my fingers.

Now it makes sense.

Now I know why my dad was so keen to bless our relationship and act like it was a good thing, a peace pipe of sorts. It’s nothing more than a revenge fantasy for him … which means being together puts her in danger.