Page 5 of Thorns of Malice

Avery leans closer to the camera and lowers her voice, as if she's letting me in on a secret, keeping my trance fixated on her, claiming,"Seducing Ivy is the most important project we've ever worked on, isn't it, Dax?"She slowly glances at him.

A look of disgust briefly flashes on his face and then it morphs into agreement. He pulls me in just as Avery did, answering,"If I'm telling the truth, Ivy's the only thing that's ever mattered to me."

My insides crumble. A new wave of heartache, rage, and grief hits. I grab the rose paperweight on the table and hurl it at the TV.

Glass shards land several feet in front of me. I wrap my arms around my father's cooling corpse, wailing.

I don't know how much time passes before I calm down. I take my phone to my bedroom, put it on my charger, and look around the house for my father's cell so I can call 9-1-1, unsure what I'm supposed to do with his body.

I can't find it anywhere. I grab my charger and phone, return to the living room, and plug it into the outlet. I set my cell on the table and sit beside Dad, still in shock.

Several moments pass. I turn to see if I can make a call, then I freeze.

Dad's worn, tattered, leather-bound notebook sits next to my phone. He's used it for as long as I can remember to write down all his ideas. I pick it up, stroking the leather, tearing up again.

I wipe my face, open it, and cry harder at seeing his handwriting. After a few moments pass, I calm down. I review each page, remembering how excited he'd get when he thought he was on to something new.

Halfway through the notebook, I turn the page and discover a white, folded piece of paper. I open it, muttering, "What is this, Dad?"

It's a printed page from the United States Patent and Trademark Office. As I read it, four words cause bile to creep up my throat.

Seducing Ivy.

Patent granted to Daxton Everett Carrington V.

My pulse skyrockets.

Why is this in my father's notebook?

In a new state of shock, I read the paper again, then stare at Dad's notes, focusing on several words.

Red blooming ivy.

$10,000 patent attorney.

My eyes dart between the printout and my father's handwriting of a date from fifteen years ago, until the truth becomes clear.

How did Dax get Dad's notebook?

This is my fault.

Dad knew what he did.

I stare at the broken TV, an onslaught of new guilt soaking my entire being until I'm drowning in grief and self-hatred.

There are no tears this time. A snowball of something new rolls at lightning speed, growing bigger until I can't see straight.

It's the need for revenge.

I put my head on Dad's chest, squeezing his freezing hands, muttering over and over, "I'm sorry. I'll make him pay. I'll make all of them pay."

How?

There's no room to be weak or feel sorry for yourself, Ivy.

I straighten up, squeeze Dad's hand, and pick up my phone. I take several deep breaths and dial 9-1-1.

A woman answers. "911. What's your emergency?"

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