Page 77 of Shattered Hate

My stomach turns as the truth settles in—my dad was enraged when Bexley decided to leave to get better. It all fits now, in the worst way possible.

“No,” I whisper amid the chaos. “Dad, tell me it’s not true.”

But his silence says it all. I search his face for any denial but find only guilt and shame.

Marley’s laughter rings out like a cruel soundtrack to this nightmare. “Oh, it’s true. Your old man made sure your friend got a special farewell gift. Wrapped up nice and tight, wasn’t it?”

Sickness explodes from my mouth as I collapse forward, retching and shuddering while his sobs echo around us. I lean dangerously close, bile streaking down my sweater, silently pleading that none of this is real.

“He made me do it. He told me to,” he insists.

“Oh, those lies, Karl. Look where they’ve brought you.” Marley sneers in a condescending tone. “Look at your son, Karl. Look at what you’ve done—he was the only boy who cared, and now you’ve taken him away. You always hated Daxton having a friend, never liked anyone around him—especially someone like him. I bet he was… doing things behind your back every night, and you just couldn’t stand it, could you?” Marley hisses, prodding my dad as his cries of “no, no, no” grow louder with each repetition.

“Your dad wrote a letter and sent it to the police, trying to explain that everything just became too much.” My dad can’t write. He can’t spell. My dad wouldn’t have written a letter. But Marley would have.

“This is all you!” I scream, my voice torn between anger and despair as spit flies from my lips. Marley’s laugh comes out dark and calculated, the sound of pure malice.

He reaches into his pocket and produces two needles. Moving to my dad, he whispers, “It got too hard for you, didn’t it, Karl? You just couldn’t live with it anymore.” My dad, overwhelmed by guilt, nods silently as tears stream down his face. “You just wanted it all to disappear.” Marley bends over my dad, untying the ropes from the chair, and slips on two straps tightly around each arm.

“Marley, don’t,” I beg, desperation cracking me in two. “We can fix this. We won’t tell anyone, just please don’t do this.”

But even as I plead, Marley forces a needle into my dad’s arm and, without pause, injects the full contents into him. I watchhelplessly, eyes brimming with tears, as Marley winks before repeating the act on the other arm with the second syringe.

My dad convulses in the chair, his body jerking violently—once, twice, and then a third time. Foam begins to froth around his mouth, his head tilts to the side, and his eyes, frozen in place, lock onto mine while a single tear escapes. I watch in horror as his final breath slips away, leaving his unblinking eyes to stare into nothingness.

He’s gone.

Tears stream down my face. Not for him, but for Bexley. I regret ever letting him get tangled in this mess of a family, this cursed life of mine. How did it come to this?

“Is that how Bexley looked? You saw him, didn’t you? You saw him lifeless in his bed?” Anger surges through me, my body shaking in its bonds. I plead silently for them to snap, just so I can end Marley. I’d do it, even if it meant spending forever locked away, just to watch him take his last breath. He laughs, his eyes fixed on me like I’m a helpless lamb on its way to the slaughter. There’s no escape.

“And then there’s you.” Marley’s expression darkens as he strides to the kitchen. The sound of liquid pouring reaches my ears, and then the unmistakable scent hits me. Gasoline.

He reappears with containers, dousing the trailer, drenching me, the sharp odor stinging my senses as I turn my head away.

“Marley!” I scream, panic creeping in with each passing second.

“Tell your dad and Bexley I said hi,” he snarls, flicking his lighter before releasing it. He strolls out, closing the door behind him.

And then, it’s all-consuming red flames.

Chapter thirty-nine

Trayton

Iglare at my phone, checking the time and noticing an hour and a half has passed since I last heard from Daxton. The message I sent ten minutes ago still shows as unread. I slump back on my bed and scroll through the menu of the nearby BBQ joint. I remember Cope telling me he didn’t like the fancy place he and Ashton ate at, that apparently, he was feeling out of place there. Tonight, I just want something low-key for the two of us. I tap Daxton’s name, and the call rings three times before cutting off abruptly—as if it were forwarded. That’s odd. I try again; this time, it goes straight to voicemail. What the hell?

Frustrated, I dial Cope. “Trayton, if you’ve hurt my roomie, there’ll be hell to pay,” he barks through the background noise.

“Cope, can you get somewhere quieter?” I shout, pulling the phone away from my ear.

“Just a minute.” His voice clashes with the noise, so I wait and glance at my phone again, hoping for a message from Daxton, but there’s nothing.

“What’s up?” Cope finally asks hesitantly. “Have you seen Dax?” I ask, the tension palpable.

“What? No, he was with you, right?”

“Yes, but he went back to your dorm to change—I’m meant to be taking him out for dinner.”

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