Page 111 of Hate So Deep

To my relief, he finally shrugs and says, “I had to deal with my father.”

Deal?

“What does that mean?” I ask and his brows furrow.

“With my father it’s all a game. We’re like pawns on a chessboard.”

“And?” I whisper, running my fingers over the stubble on his chin until he grabs my hand and kisses the palm.

With a shiver, I lean away as he says, “It’s hard to explain but we made a deal, and I had to change the terms. He’s not happy but he’ll live.”

Although I sense a heaviness to his words, he’s giving nothing away as usual. I get it but it’s hard not to pry.

Who is he really?

“Hey,” he says, touching my cheek. “Are you okay?”

Avoiding his gaze because I don’t want him to see my disappointment, I mumble, “I’m fine.”

How can he expect me to open up my soul to him when he won’t let me past the barriers of his own?

An awkward silence falls between us after that and when I go to slide off his lap, he grips my hips and says, “My father only cares about money. How he can get it. How he can keep it and use it. It’s…a sickness for him. When I was six years old, we got in a car accident, and he made up a bunch of bullshit aboutwhiplash and shit to sue the other driver's insurance company, forcing me to do a bunch of meaningless tests and lie about my injuries.”

With a slow blink, those deep, dark eyes meet mine once again and he says, “He used to beat on my mom. It was bad. One day, she just took off…left. Six months later, I came home and found her begging for a little money so she could take us and go somewhere else. He agreed but only if she would fuck him first. After…he gave her money but refused to let us go.”

“So, she left you behind?” I whisper, images of a towheaded little boy with wide brown eyes witnessing shit that surely broke his heart.

Did he cry when his mom walked away? Does he hate his father for hurting his mother?

“She didn’t have a choice,” he says with a shrug. “I have a sister, who was born nine months after that. My mom found some other asshole to take care of her but the math don’t add up and someday my asshole father will use that against her too.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and although his expression doesn’t change, his fingers tighten around my thighs.

With my own shit going on, I never truly considered Dirk’s world, but he told me before that he’s fighting for his life and now I wonder what that truly means.

“And your father?” I ask, leaning against his chest. “Did you deal with…whatever?”

“Yeah,” he says on a sigh. “Now, tell me.Areyou, okay?”

Story time is over I suppose and moving back to the events of the past few days, I close my eyes and mumble, “I’m in so much trouble.”

“I know, baby girl. I know.”

“They found blood in my room. That shirt…it’sherblood.”

“Aimee’s?” he asks, and I nod. “The police found more in the fabric of my bed.”

He stares over my shoulder, his brows furrowed until I whisper, “The blood was on me. In my room. I…”

Covering my mouth, I shake my head, and he grabs my cheeks. “You did not kill that girl, Lauren.”

“Then who did?”

“Probably your fucking brother.”

It’s not a surprising statement because at this point, I wouldn’t have put anything past my brother, but he wasn't at the house. He was murdered somewhere else.

“You texted your brother that night and he responded but it was deleted. Right?” he asks.

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