Page 117 of Stalker

Horrible slaughters. She had no idea.

“Yes, well, from what it seems, my father is a clever man.”

“Just like his three sons?”

“Is that a question or a personal testament?”

“Perhaps a little of both. Why do you think he’s coming after me, Wilder?” She looked away, sucking in her breath. “The bachelor auction.”

“What about it?”

“We were photographed, our pictures shoved into the local newspaper. It’s likely everywhere since it’s online.”

Well, fuck. The odds were only increasing.

“Then I made an excellent decision in taking you. To answer your question, because he’s determined to continue his legacy. That’s exactly what he promised.” I felt the tension increasing, the blood rushing to my brain. The feeling was similar to right before I took a life.

She tried to hide behind the drink, but I could sense her mind was fascinated by the possibilities. “A legacy of death.”

“Yes.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because his blood is running through our veins.” That was a rather simplistic way of looking at it. My gut told me there was more, but right now, I needed to get through her pretty yet thick skull how much danger she was in.

“Evil isn’t inherited. There isn’t a genetic link.”

“Are you so certain about that? There’s significant genome research that’s been ongoing for years, my sweet butterfly. Why don’t you think back to the heinous men you’ve prosecuted. Are you going to tell me they weren’t evil to the core? Are you also going to insinuate that you didn’t use their pasts against them in the court of law you hold in the highest esteem? Please, tell me if I’m wrong.”

Her mouth twisted and she looked away. “God, you’re insufferable. You’re not wrong, but that doesn’t mean you’re required to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“Haven’t I told you I’m never wrong? All three of the Blackwell brothers are carbon copies of our father. If you don’t think so, why don’t you ask me about all the disappearances and murders you discovered after visiting the nice caseworker who never lifted a finger to help us.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“That is what you did, right? You tracked her down.”

“Ms. Franklin’s hands were tied. She wanted to help you, Wilder. She tried but wasn’t allowed.” She was trying to convince herself. I didn’t buy it.

“Were they really tied, my butterfly? Are you so certain of that? Why would anyone threaten her now, Cassandra? Have you asked yourself that question? Why bother? You shouldn’t have contacted her.”

She instantly froze, but I could see the wheels turning in her mind.

“I have a job to do.”

“I’m not one of your… clients,” I told her.

“Don’t be a martyr. Besides, you weren’t told about your parents and what happened.” She looked at me curiously. “You’re guessing. You deserve to learn the truth. You’ll never heal if you don’t.”

“No, I was not told anything. I doubt either of my brothers were either. We were kept in brutal silence. When we asked, we were shut out. Imagine three young, helpless boys begging for their mother and told nothing. When we were finally lied to that both our parents were dead, there was no explanation.” I kept my eyes on her. “I don’t need to wallow in the past, Cassandra, but I do need to end the cycle of my father’s abuse.”

After a few seconds, her eyes opened wide. “To end your own. You knew all along. You remember everything that happened that night. Every brutal detail. That’s been haunting you your entire life.”

I took slow and easy strides toward her, retrieving my glass from her hand. “My memories came in bits and pieces, sweet butterfly. However, I remember enough to realize how much danger you’re in.”

“And you’re not?”

“Perhaps I deserve whatever fate the devil has in store for me.”

---