Split(102)

Like me?

“. . . your record.”

My skin breaks out in a cold sweat.

He tilts his head. “You seem surprised.” His eyes narrow. “I know all about you, Lucas. I know what you did, that you killed your entire family before turning the gun on yourself.”

Black flickers at the edge of my vision.

“But things didn’t turn out for you the way you’d hoped, did they? You didn’t die that day after you killed your family.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I curse the waver in my voice.

He chews the inside of his lip, then smiles. “You’re smart, I’ll give you that. A teenage boy who can pull this off, fool lawyers, a judge, hell a jury . . . it’s impressive.” He takes a few steps toward the river and my feet burn for escape, to hide out until all this goes away. But that’s the old me, turning my back on confrontation. I know I can be a better man, the kind Shy deserves, and I’m determined to start now.

“I’m not surprised you’d be capable of hiding what you did to Sam too.”

“I didn’t—”

“A violent mass murder, a house vandalized, a girl beaten within an inch of her life, you know what all those things have in common?”

I don’t answer.

“You. They all have you in common.” He steps closer.

“You can’t prove anything.”

“Ah-ah-ah . . . I don’t need to. I’m not here to convict you. I just want the story, on record, and I want exclusivity.”

My eyes narrow and my stomach rolls with sickness.

“They’re gonna arrest you eventually anyway, Lucas. Might as well get your story out there. Hell, you may even get book deals while you’re in prison, have a movie made about you. For all I care you can disappear and never be heard or seen again. All I want is for you to tell your story, to me, on the record.”

My hands shake and I fight the black as it demands to take over.

“I can’t. I—”

“Oh, sure you can. Come on, tell me your story and I’ll leave Shy here in Payson rather than drag her to Los Angeles with me. I’ll let her stay here with her family instead of making her my wife.”

My teeth grind together and every muscle in my body tenses.

A slow, knowing grin curls his lips. “That upsets you, doesn’t it? You being separated from Shy, that makes you want blood.” He takes a few steps toward me. “Does it make you want to kill?”

The veil drops, but I hold it back just before complete darkness falls.

“Between us, I’ll have to have a few girls on the side. Not sure if you’ve tasted the little Navajo yet, but she’s not all that good in bed. She can stay home and raise our kids while I become the number one news reporter in LA.” He chuckles. “The thought of her, so strong and fierce, barefoot and pregnant, makes my dick hard, ya know? On second thought”—he pulls his keys out of his pocket—“keep your story. I’ll take Shy.”

I roar, “No!” just as the curtain falls.





THIRTY-SEVEN



SHYANN


“How’re you doing?” My dad drops down next to me on the couch where I’ve been staring at the blank television since Trevor left.

“Been better.” I give him a small, most likely unconvincing, smile. “I need to go talk to Lucas. I just . . .” Don’t want to walk in on him and his date. “I need to warn him Trevor is sniffing around. This is all my fault. If I’d never come back, he’d be living a quiet life.”

“How long’ve you known?”

“Dad . . .” I exhale, trying to hold on to the sliver of calm I’d managed to gain since that * left. “Trevor’s a prick. Lucas, he—”

“Never would’ve let you go anywhere alone with the kid if I thought he was dangerous.”

“He’s not dangerous. He’s . . .” Shit. My throat aches at the memory of him with another girl. “Complicated.”

“Shit, Shy . . .” He drops his head to the back of the couch and rubs his eyes. “Lucas on trial for murdering his entire family? I’d swear that boy was the closest thing to pure we had on this earth.”

I stare at my dad’s profile, wondering if I should just share Lucas’s secret with him. He’d understand, remembers what it was like to see people judge my mom when her body stopped working and she was a prisoner in her own head.

“He is. Lucas is the closest thing to pure.” I want to yell that Lucas didn’t kill his family, but I know it’s a lie. Is murder any less of a crime if there’s a reasonable explanation to do so? Whatever he did he did for the safety of himself and his siblings. “There’s a lot about Lucas you don’t know.”

I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying his trust, but keeping his secret is too heavy a burden. My dad’s expression stays impassive and he waits.

“Thing is . . . um . . . Lucas has some mental issues.” I peek up at my dad, only to see his eyebrows pinch together. “He suffered, Dad. He was abused by his mother and after time, in a last-ditch effort for his brain to cope with it all . . .” I sigh and push the word from my lips. “He split.”