Page 57 of Wreckage of Me
“So it took you thirty-some years to concoct this revenge plan?” I finally let out a laugh. It is kind of ridiculous. Why not go after him right away? I obviously have my own selfish reason why I think he should’ve done that.
“Your father and I were in a couple of businesses together. We started them before he stabbed me in the back,” Devereaux ignores my snarky remark. “They were tangled up enough where neither one of us could just pull out without getting ourselves killed. It was a catch twenty-two.”
“What kind of businesses?” I ask because I ran a lot of that shit myself once I took over my position in the club. And we did lose a few deals at some point, with no apparent warning. Funds were starting to get low. I wonder how much money my father had on my head since he was prepared to cash in a couple of life insurances once I was dead.
“Mostly firearms,” Devereaux confirms my suspicions. “I wasn’t really interested in drugs, although that’s very lucrative as well.”
“So why now?” I ask the obvious question.
“Your father was comfortable enough,” he shrugs. “I’m pretty sure he’d written me off. He was too focused on getting rid of you now.”
“What do you know about that?” I jerk my chin at him in question.
“I know everything,” he assures me. “Your mother and I stayed in contact all these years. She had to be careful.”
“Careful,” I snort sarcastically. “Do you know the things that fucker did to her?” I spit out in contempt. “And all the women he fucked right under her nose? Sometimes he even made her watch.” There’s no reaction on Devereaux’s face except for one small wince, but he hides it so quickly, it’s almost like I imagined it.
“I know,” he finally says. “She told me everything.”
“Why would she stay then? I don’t understand.” It really doesn’t make any sense.
“Because had she left, you and your brother would’ve been dead,” Devereaux’s void of emotion voice informs me. “She had to be smart about it, and she knew he meant every word.”
“Yeah, but she had you, didn’t she?”
“She did. But I also had my own problems. My wife… She had some issues. After the one miscarriage, she couldn’t get pregnant. Took us years until we had Emily,” he explains. “She needed my help too, but I did have someone watching your mother all the time.”
“Who?” I grind my teeth at him.
“My nephew. David.”
“Shortie,” I let out a long breath at the mention of his name. Fuck.
“He figured out what your father was planning. Your mother was next, by the way.” I really hate the way this fucker talks, all cold and with no emotion. Almost reminds me of myself. And I guess I hate myself as well.
“So what happens now?” Because I’m sure there’s a reason why my mother is suddenly in Montana out of all places. Me being here doesn’t have much to do with it, I don’t think.
“Your mother has a few things she needs to share with you,” Devereaux’s eyes are fixed on something behind me, and I turn to look. It’s rather someone. My mother.
I lift an eyebrow in fake surprise. “Ma, fancy seeing you here.”
“Dylan,” she gives it right back at me. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and with her dark hair down like that, she’s making a very good Morticia Adams-like pose.
“What do you have to tell me?” I finally ask when she doesn’t continue. “I heard quite a bit from yourloverhere,” I point at Devereaux while also throwing at her the term she referred to him as when she first looked me up the other day.
“He did tell you a lot, didn’t he?” she smirks at me. “But he didn’t tell you everything.”
“I figured as much,” I nod in agreement. “So tell me.”
Ma walks in the room, her presence seeming to take all the oxygen out of the air. I feel like she’s about to tell me something big, but I can’t begin to guess what that could be.
“First things first,” she drops her large handbag on the lone chair in the room. “Give me a hug and tell me that you missed me.” She opens her arms wide, waiting for me to step into them.
“We don’t hug, Ma,” I remind her with amusement, but decide to accommodate her, so I man up and give my mother a hug. She holds me to her tightly for the longest time.
“There,” she murmurs once she lets go of me. “Was that so hard?”
“Well…”
