Page 201 of Kiss the Villain

“Is it because Kill is your brother or because you think of him as something that belongs to you?” Dad’s tone remains soft, almost clinical. “Tell me the truth.”

“Both. But more because…”

“Because?”

“Kill belongs to me. No one is allowed to hurt what belongs to me.”

Dad’s jaw tightens. “Is your brother an object to you?”

“Kill, an object?” I laugh, though the sound comes out hollow. “He’d throw a fit if he heard that.”

Neither Dad nor Grandpa laughs.

My voice drops, more serious now. “I know he’s a person—a massive headache of one—but…I’ve always felt like you brought him into the world for me. To keep me company. So I wouldn’t be alone. In a sense, he exists for me, so no one else gets to hurt him.”

“And Harper?” Dad presses. “Did you feel the same about her? That she belonged to you? Is that why you killed her father?”

My head snaps toward Grandpa. “You told him?”

“No,” Grandpa sighs, leaning back. “He figured it out a couple of years ago.”

Dad’s expression sharpens. “After a little altercation with Senator Baltimore.”

The air thins around me. My ears ring as the senator’s name stirs the truth I uncovered.

Baltimore—the man who assaulted and killed Cassandra. The senator Kayden wiped off the face of the earth after her death.

I’ve done my research since yesterday, getting sucked in to reveal the truth. That’s the senator who was dealing with the Davenports a couple of years ago, around the time of her death, and then a few months later, he died.

And so did the governor and a whole bunch of people.

Because Kayden was so heartbroken about his wife, he wiped out people like they were flies. And I was on his list, too.

“What about the senator?” I ask, my throat dry.

Grandpa rubs his temple. “He was the police chief and an old friend at the time you killed that scum. I called in a favor to clean up the scene, but Baltimore kept some evidence—DNA, fingerprints—for leverage.”

“Did he blackmail you?”

“Once. He was at the peak of his career and made a mess by raping and killing a woman with his friends.” Grandpa’s voice lowers, his words measured.

“Were…were you there?” My voice barely rises above a whisper.

“No, I left as she was walking in. But I pieced it together later. He threatened to use the evidence against you if I didn’t stay quiet. Said, and I quote, ‘Just bury your head in the sand if you don’t want your psychopath of a grandson thrown in jail for all the inmates to use as a warm hole. As you know, pretty faces like his are popular.’”

Dad’s grip tightens around my hand. “I was in the room when he made that threat. Your grandpa told me everything afterward.”

“You knew?” My stomach churns.

“Yes, Gareth.” His voice softens. “I only wish you’d trusted me then.”

“It wasn’t that. I just didn’t want to wake you up,” I mumble, unease eating at me.

“It’s okay, Gareth. I know you didn’t trust me. Not after Killian.”

“W-what?”

“You hated me a little after Kill was diagnosed.”

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