Page 51 of Twisted Kings

“What happened?” I knew very little about how my parents met, other than mutual friends introduced them.

Mom waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not important right now. All that matters is you leave this house tonight before he realizes you’ve gone.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” I said firmly. Maybe Kyril was right. We could both go to Ireland. I had some money saved. Enough to rent somewhere while I looked for a job. Fuck college. A degree wasn’t essential these days.

“Darling, I can’t leave. He has… information. Information I don’t want to be made public.”

My heart stilled in my chest. “What kind of information?”

“Unsavory information. Things he forced me to do. Information that would ruin my reputation if it ever got out.” Her gaze slid to the carpet in shame.

“Mom, we can…”

“No, Cassian,wecan’t, butyoustill have time to leave while he has nothing on you.” She pulled a small black card from the pocket of her silk robe. “Take this. It’s for an account your father knows nothing about. The money in the account is yours. He took most of my money, but he couldn’t touch this, as your grandmother left the trust for you and any other child I had.”

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. Mom had had four miscarriages after me. I knew the loss of those babies still affected her; it was why she started seeing Dr Lassitor in the beginning, at the height of a major depressive episode.

“Your grandmother’s trust for you matured when you turned 18, but I decided to wait until you needed it before telling you.”

My maternal grandmother died before I was born, so I’d never met her, but I had seen photos of her and my grandfather. She’d been very beautiful in her youth, and it was clear where Mom got her looks from. “How much money is there?”

When Mom told me, my jaw almost hit the floor. “That’s a…”

“Yes, a lot. But the money is yours, and your father can’t touch it.” She smiled with grim satisfaction. “Now pack a pack andleave. Your father will be back soon. He never spends the night with that…woman. You need to go before he gets home.”

She pulled me into her arms and hugged me for the first time in years. It felt so damn good. I’d missed my mom.

“Cassian, always remember how much I love you, darling boy.” Why did it feel like I might not see her again?

“Mom, you can come with me! Whatever shit dad holds over you, we can deal with it!”

“No, baby, it’s OK. My place is here, where I can keep an eye on your father.”

“But I’m worried about you!” I had a feeling that once I left, Dad would send her straight back to Highgate. “I don’t want him to send you away.”

“He won’t.” She pushed me back and stood. “Now pack a bag and call a taxi.”

The lavender scent of her favorite perfume lingered long after the door closed behind her. For a moment, I hesitated while the small black bank card she’d given me burned a hole in my hand.

Was leaving the right thing to do? Surely I was better off staying here, where I could make sure Dad didn’t hurt her?

But that wasn’t what she wanted. She took a risk coming to my room tonight. If drugging Miranda had failed, the bitch would have narced on mom. I had to go. She was right. Staying here meant falling deeper into my father’s tangled web.

The one thing I knew about my father was that he never, ever let his prey go.

I ordered an Uber and then quickly packed a bag. The iPhone could stay; Dad would no doubt track me if I took it with me. My grandfather’s antique Rolex sat on the nightstand. The watch had been a gift from my parents when I turned 16, and it seemed a shame to leave it behind, so I put it on.

With one last look around the bedroom where I’d spent all my formative years, I picked up my bag and made my waydownstairs to meet the Uber at the gate before the household staff figured out I was leaving.

24

Milo

Cooking had long been a hobby of mine. I enjoyed the mundane task of weighing out ingredients, following a recipe, and waiting to see whether it produced something fit for human consumption.

The small kitchen in our campus apartment was functional at best, so I rarely bothered cooking while at college, but the large kitchen in this house was more than adequate for my needs.

I’d added a list of ingredients to the shopping app Mrs O’Malley referred to when picking up groceries. She’d expressed disbelief at a few of the items, scoffing loudly when I told her they were important. I wasn’t confident the local stores in this, frankly, backwards place would stock what I needed, but to my surprise, she had somehow managed to source most of the items.

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