Page 44 of His Dark Purpose

“Who are you?” Sliding the blade from his back pocket, Seth slumped into the guy’s executive recliner. He glanced around at the so-called art on the wall, throwing the blade onto the desk as his attention returned to Kyle’s endless rounds of paperwork. Reaching for the nearest pile, he flicked through the papers. “How do I know you?”

The selection of paperwork appeared to be contracts—tenancy agreements between Kyle and a number of other people—but there was nothing especially interesting about them. All the wad revealed was one of what Seth supposed was a number of Kyle’s income streams—the reason he owned a home like Brock Hall while Seth’s dad had worked his entire life and never owned any property. It wasn’t until Seth skimmed the details that one significant variable leaped off the page at him.

Aspen Way.

His heart sped up as his gaze lingered on the address. Aspen Way was the name of the street he’d grown up on. Flicking through the agreements, he noticed every one of them pertained to the same small cul-de-sac his childhood home had been part of.

“What the fuck?”

The air around him seemed to grow colder as, finally, he found the contract his father had signed with Kyle. Pulse racing, Seth devoured the particulars, his gaze lingering on Graham Kendal’s signature at the bottom of the page.

“Dad.” His fingers grazed over the dried ink, an image of Graham popping into his mind.

His dad hadn’t really understood his eldest son, and he and Seth had often butted heads, but in the end, the man had been his father, and even during his teen delinquency, Seth was aware of how hard he’d worked to support them all.

Dropping the contracts back to the desk, the last piece of the puzzle slotted into place for Seth. Kyle had been their landlord—the man who’d owned their house on Aspen Way and unceremoniously evicted them after Graham had died—but unless his mother had kept in touch with her ex-landlord, which, based on how upset she’d been to leave their home, seemed unlikely, the connection didn’t explain how she and Kyle had become romantically involved.

Seth’s focus flitted back to the photo he’d looked at earlier, his concentration boring into Kyle’s face as though the image would provide clarity, and at that moment, as though the grinning shot had actually heard his demand, the penny finally dropped.

He remembered how he knew Kyle. Their landlord had come to their house and Seth hadgreetedhim.

He couldn’t have been more than sixteen—right in the middle of the rebellion that ultimately saw him sent to prison—when the then younger version of Kyle had arrived at the Kendal’s Aspen Way home unannounced.

“Who are you?” Seth remembered his skepticism of the sneering suited man who greeted him when he opened the door.

“I own your house.” Kyle’s smirk had riled him.

Seth didn’t understand much about home ownership in those days—hell, he still barely knew anything—but he’d always been able to sniff out a fraud, and standing on the doorstep that day, Kyle had reeked of trickery.

Seth hadn’t known much, but he knew he didn’t trust him.

“What?” No doubt Seth’s cynicism had shown on his youthful face.

“This house.” Kyle had gestured to the houses’ brickwork. “I’mthe landlord. I need to speak to your parents.”

Sitting in Kyle’s office, Seth chuckled, recalling the way he’d rolled his eyes at the older man. If he remembered correctly, he’d had the impression Kyle hadn’t liked him.

“Dad!” The sixteen-year-old Seth had turned, yelling for his father at the top of his lungs before glancing back at the stranger. “There’s someone here for you.”

“Who is it, Seth?”

Seth swore he could still hear his father’s voice in his head.

“I’m busy.”

“I don’t know!” Seth had shrugged when his father finally came into view. “He says he owns the place.”

Recalling the exchange, Seth recollected the way his dad’s face blanched as he saw Kyle standing there. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but it was clear the two men already knew each other.

“Graham.” Kyle had shoved past Seth to enter the house. “We need to talk.”

“We don’t have an appointment, Mr. Kyle,” his father had replied.

“Come now.” The same inane grin from the picture had lit Kyle’s expression. “We both know it would be better if we talked informally.”

Seth remembered the intensity of that moment, the strained silence, and the sinking feeling in his stomach, even though he’d known nothing about the details. That had been why he’d reached for his jacket and made for the exit. Seth barely had his own shit together back then and hadn’t been ready to deal with his father’s problems.

“Whatever this is about, I don’t want to be involved. I’ll be back later.” His final words rang in his ears as the memory faded from his mind and he lifted his head to find himself stretched out in Kyle’s study.

---