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Murder/suicide at the hands of my father. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to include me in his death pact.
Ever since I was caught with a boy as a young teen, the abuse I got conditioned me into keeping it hidden, and I’m unsure how to break free.
“I want something of my own.” “No, brother. You want to do the bare minimum and steal off others while feeling sorry for yourself. I built an empire with blood and scars you don’t have the imagination to understand.
Everything here is beautiful. Grand. Obscene. And underneath it all, it pulses with something cold and violent. It isn’t a home, it’s a museum of silence, of power, of expectations dressed in velvet and gold leaf.
“If I wanted to keep in touch, I wouldn’t have left the family.”
Out of nowhere, memories start to flood back, like a rock breaking through glass.
“Whatever. Only you know, but my advice is kill it. Trust me, you’ll feel better.” “That’s murder.” Noah focuses his terrifying eyes on me, like he’s not impressed. “You kill all the time.” “For work, not pleasure.” “You're weird,”
