Page 127 of Misrule
Relaxing his position, Cam relented in his silent annihilation of Knox. “Let me school you a little, my brother,” he started. “Remember some months ago, the news story about mega-preacher, Sharper Banks?”
How could he forget it? Reverend Banks had been killed in an explosion in an Atlanta hotel, across the country from where his home and huge church was located in Los Angeles. Not long after, the church had been blown up, too. Those two stories had dominated news cycles for weeks.
The man had been ultra-wealthy, having written books and enjoying a huge, devout following that donated money to him faithfully. He’d lost his wife years ago in an automobile accident.
“Sharper Banks was Mortician and Digger’s father.”
Knox blinked at Cam’s matter-of-fact statement. “No,” he managed in a strangled voice.
Cam nodded. “Yeah.”
In shock, Knox stood from his seat and sat again. Heat crawled up his neck and into his face. “You’re joking…No. I would’ve known…My god…please, tell me this isn’t true.”
“Feel like a big, diseased asshole yet? Because, believe me, itistrue. And you didn’t know because whenever his children were mentioned, it was reported they wanted to remain anonymous. In this day and age, that’s hard to do. Unless you have the reach and the power of the Death Dwellers. Not to mention the world at your feet as two wealthy men.”
“Noooooo! That can’t be right. They don’t even act rich,” Knox ranted. “It’s illogical. No. You’re lying, Cameron,” he decided. “No wealthy preacher’s son is going to be a notorious criminal.”
“Unless the preacher was one.”
“How the fuck is a rich man supposed to act?”
“Not like the Hortensia Hillbillies, goddamn it!” Knox yelled.
“Jesus Christ! So acting like Uncle Avalon is excusable?”
Second time today Avalon had been brought up. “Do you know Joyner Amfinger, by any chance?” Or was it just coincidence that he’d called Knox and had been a friend of Avalon on the same day Cam spoke of his uncle?
“Who the fuck is Joyner Amfinger?”
“Never mind.” Bleak, Knox looked at Cam. “Why wouldn’t Mortician have told me who his father was whenever I called him poor?”
Cam lifted a brow. “Why did the man have to explain himself to you, Knox?”
He got up from his seat and stumbled to the window, wanting to throw-up. “My god,” he said again. If Mortician was wealthy, then Bailey was, too. And if Bailey had money, then…“Roxanne…Roxanne…has her own money,” he finished on a painful gasp.
“You don’t say.”
Knox spun around and faced his best friend. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Again, why did she have to? She left it up to you to figure out. She ever asked you for anything? Exorbitant gifts? Expensive trips? Designer clothes?”
“No, of course not! Roxanne isn’t…”
“She isn’t that type of person, right, jackass? Even if, in fact, she was as poor as your small brain thought she was, she wouldn’t ask you for a goddamn thing. I don’t know what the fuck else you called her, but gold digger?” Cam snorted, and glared at him. “Why should she ever come back to your insulting ass?”
“Cam—”
“Fuck, Knox! I don’t want to hear it. Instead of asking why didn’tthey, ask yourself why didn’tI.Why didn’t I love her enough to shut the fuck up? Why didn’t I recognize that she didn’t tell me anything because she took me as I was so she expected me to do the same?”
Knox couldn’t listen to anymore. “Stop!” he shouted. “Stop. Just stop.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “What do I do? How do I get her back?”
Cam threw another angry glare at him.
“Please, help me,” Knox begged. “I love her.”
“You don’t treat anyone you love with such disregard and disrespect.”
“I know, Cam,” Knox said close to tears.
