Page 2 of Ruthless Rebel

“Mom,” I cry, seeing both pain and fear in her eyes, which I am sure are a mirror image to my own, because I know I can’t stop him, I can’t beat him.

“You need to run, baby,” she chokes out, gasped breaths falling from her mouth with every word, but I can’t, I won’t, I’m not leaving her.

“Mom, please,” I beg, reaching my hands out to try and get to her, but my father just squeezes her neck even harder, and holds me back even tighter.

“I love you, Lincoln,” she gasps, bringing her own hand up to reach out to mine, but just as I open my mouth to say it back, her stare goes blank, and her hand goes limp and drops back down to her side.

And now, like all those other girls before, my mother is dead.

My father killed her.

1

LINCOLN

The first time I killed a man I was eight years old. It didn’t matter that the man in question was my father, or that in me killing him, I didn’t save my mother. No, the only thing that mattered to me was the feeling of his life slipping away beneath my hands after what he did to her. A feeling I have recreated many times since that first night when I was just a child. So many times in fact, that I have now lost count of the number of people I’ve killed.

Like father, like son, I guess.

Back then I didn’t realize that I was a soldier at war in my own home, defenseless on a battlefield that I barely knew how to navigate. There were no monsters under my bed, no creatures hiding in my closet. No, my enemy was my own flesh and blood, my father, the man I was supposed to look to for everything. The man who was supposed to love me unconditionally, but all he taught me was hate, pain, and how to kill without being caught. A skill that has come in handy since the very night I murdered him, and I haven’t looked back since.

After that night everything changed. My mother was dead, my father was dead, and they had no idea what to do with thelittle boy covered in blood. I didn’t speak then, not a word, I knew better than that. Even though I was still a child, I remember everything my father told me. They can’t twist your words if they don’t have any, so I didn’t give them any. No matter how many questions they asked, I told them nothing, and eventually they gave up.

I was abandoned into the system and forgotten about completely, because no one wanted the silent and brooding boy with the serial killer father. Talk about daddy issues. I was at the group home for years before Jace and Marcus showed up. They were double the attitude and double the trouble, and I wanted nothing to do with them. They had their own brand of darkness, and I had mine, so I planned to stay away from them, but Jace Conrad has never been good with not getting what he wants. He bugged me for months, following me everywhere until I finally broke my vow of silence and told him to fuck off, but all that prick did was smile and offer me a drink of whiskey. We’ve been best friends ever since. They’re my brothers, my family, and there isn’t anything in the world I wouldn’t do for them.

I was just getting used to having them around and having their backs through everything when Elle King showed up. She turned all our worlds upside down. For them she brought love, family, a reason for living. For me she brought a reason to kill, a reason to fully become the man I was born to be, the man I was raised to be, and just because her war is over, doesn’t mean mine is.

My eyes burn as they stare at the computer screen in front of me. I've been here for hours now, scanning through the fresh files I hacked into earlier today, and now it’s almost 3am and I still haven’t attempted to shut my eyes yet. I let my gaze travel across the room to my bed where Logan is sleeping peacefully, which isn’t surprising considering how we spent the earlier portion of our night, and my cock twitches in my sweats at thethought. I know I should join him at some point, he is only here for the weekend, but how can I sleep when my work is never done?

Not that I mind, it’s not like I ever enjoy sleeping anyway, not when every time I close my eyes I see their faces, all their dead faces. There were just so many girls, so many girls that I didn’t save when I could have, and that’s the reason my mother is dead. She’s dead because of me, because I didn’t save them, because I didn’t save her, and it’s all my fault. And I wish I could say it was just them, that I was just an innocent child that didn’t know better, but I did, and there have been so many more since then.

Elle King was raped, Taylor Kennedy was murdered, Rachel Conrad was raped AND murdered, and countless other women fell prey to the Donovan empire right beneath my nose while I did nothing for years. So it doesn’t matter how many of them I do save now, because there will always be more. There will always be the memories of the girls I didn’t save, and my mother’s last breath as she told me she loved me. So, it doesn’t exactly put me in a rush to ever fall asleep, not until I absolutely have to.

Tonight is one of those nights where sleep evades me completely, where adrenaline rushes through my veins and begs me to find someone to pay for their sins, yet here I sit. Unmoving, watching, waiting. I’ve scanned the fresh files at least a hundred times, committed the new names to memory, and planned their demise over and over, but I don’t move, not while the epitome of light and laughter resides in my bed.

Logan Royton is an unexpected yet welcomed distraction. He crashed into my life almost as hard as Jace did, and he hasn’t looked away since. And I know I shouldn’t, I know he is too good for the darkness that lives inside of me, but I have never been one for following the rules, and sometimes sin tastes just like sunshine. We have both agreed to keep things casual, fucking only when the opportunity arises, yet it seems those opportunitiesare occurring more often than not lately, though neither of us have commented on it. Yet I do enjoy fucking him, and he knows exactly what I like, so it makes him a welcome distraction.

My cock jumps again as my thoughts begin to stray, and I have to crack my neck to try and loosen some of the tension now lining the muscles in my upper body. I know I need to sleep soon, I definitely need the rest, especially with the wedding coming up, but there is just always something that needs doing, someone that needs saving, and some monster that needs killing.

I’m sure there are a number of therapists out there that would have a field day with the wreckage that is my trauma, but why make them suffer by hearing such atrocities? It’s why I never talked, not just because of what my father taught me, but because I knew nobody would ever understand, so I have never told anyone, excepthim.

Just as I have that thought, an alert from the house security system hits my phone. Elle has this place locked down tighter than anything I’ve ever seen, and no one gets within twenty feet of the perimeter without our knowledge. There are cameras, sensors, trip wires, motion detectors, biometric scanners, and all of us have access to the alerts whenever we want. There are also multiple escape routes planned out, and countless weapon safes around the house, because even though nobody would get in without a fight, we know what it’s like to have our safe space violated. We had to learn that the hard way, and none of us ever want to experience that again. It’s why the alert doesn’t concern me, not even at this late hour.

I pull up the security feeds and find exactly what I expect to find, the dark prince of my nightmares. The youngest son of the infamous Donovan legacy is pulling up to the front of the house and killing his engine. He’s alone just like always, and like ahunter stalking his prey, I watch as he climbs from the car and flashes his eyes around his surroundings to ensure it’s all clear. It’s a habit of his, because of course he doesn't trust the extensive security features Max and his guys helped install. No, the only person Asher Donovan trusts is Asher Donovan. Not that I can blame him, he grew up in a household as cold as mine.

Elliot and Greg ruined the young boy that befriended Elle King all those years ago, and his innocence is as shattered as hers. After everything that went down with them, Asher dissolved the family business completely, funneling the money into charitable organizations until Donovan Enterprises was nothing but a blip in people's memories. Since then he continues working in the background on all of his own businesses, helping Elle with the Kennedy Foundation, and running the Royton Tech offices here in town whenever Zack is in New York. The two of them have always been close since Elle’s tragedy forced them together, but their relationship has been cemented even further since they found out they share the same father.

Blood doesn’t make a family, we all know that better than anyone, but the blood shared between Asher and Zack, Zack and Elle, and in turn the blood they share with Cassie, is something I know they all cherish.

A few months ago Asher bought a penthouse in the middle of town, yet he still ends up here almost every night. He likes to wake up with Cassie, ever the perfect father, just like the one neither of us ever had. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t truly father Cassie, he is her dad in every way that matters, and I know he would raise hell for her, because he has, we all have. He only bought his own place because he wanted to give Elle and Marcus their space, but I know Elle doesn’t mind, she likes having him here, he’s her family, we all are, and it’s not like this giant mansion isn’t big enough for all of us.

I watch through different feeds as he lets himself into the house and heads towards the kitchen, and I almost smirk, he’s so predictable and he doesn’t even realize it. Anticipation burns through me at his arrival, and I know I should stay here, should just ignore his presence and let him go to bed, but like a moth to a flame I am addicted to his wicked torture. So I can’t stop myself from quietly slipping out of my room and padding down the stairs to burn beneath his indifference.

By the time I make it to the kitchen, he has discarded his suit jacket onto a chair, and his back is to me as he pours some vodka into his preferred crystal glass. I take in the lean muscles across his broad shoulders, as his arms flex with every move he makes, and my eyes trail down the full length of his body in his ever so perfectly tailored suit.

A dark prince indeed.

Just as he is about to take a sip he pauses and sighs, “You’re up late.” His voice is just as smooth and detached as always when he is talking to me, or anyone really, but still it sends a thrill through me.

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