Page 82 of Ashes of Saints

But with technology changing, and billions of dollars to my name, that will change.

One day I’ll catch them all.

While I’d like to hand them over with enough evidence to see them put away and shamed by society and those they care about, that’s not the only path available to me.

I don’t care if they are swinging on a porch somewhere reflecting on their long life. If I find them, I will kill them.

I scoop the images up and tuck them away somewhere Aurora can’t find them if she visits again.

There was one little boy. He was bigger than me. I saw him a few times, but when I tried to smile, he looked mad. I’ll never forget him.

I run my hand over my face.

My reaction to her words as our past and present collided was so visceral. I wanted to run while also scooping her up and taking her with me. To save her from whatever she might say or remember next.

Most of the evidence points to her being protected, but the relationship with her mother is still strange. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I need to remember what I’m doing here. This is about me and finding these jerks to stop them and whatever system is still in play so other kids aren’t harmed.

My reaction to Aurora's memory was the warning I needed. My feelings for her are getting blurred with my purpose and my own psychological bullshit.

I’ve always been a dominant lover, but this possessiveness is new. I figure it’s just another side effect of my broken childhood. I’d die for my friends after all. A woman? That’s new.

Really new.

I’m not here to fall in love. It’s not a life goal.

“I’m too fucked up.” I say out loud to the empty room, admitting the truth for the first time.

I’m not capable of love or a normal relationship, so why bother? Why try?

Those people did shit to me that I could never voice. Christ, I can’t even think about it. Intimate relationships mirror back your crap, and I have no desire to delve deep, face my shit, and be someone’s fucking hero.

Trust me, I’m no hero.

I survived because my grandmother found out what was going on and was concerned about the family's reputation. No one took me to therapy. My mother told me I was a liar. There was no care or love suddenly wrapped around me to nurture what was left of my soul. I was shipped away to boarding school. Something, I’m well aware, saved me from being further damaged.

Trust me, I’m not the man anyone wants as a husband or father. I’m a ruthless businessman, a loyal friend, and an excellent street fighter. Or at least I was.

But I’m sure I could still take them.

Passing on my fucked-up DNA is the last thing I want to do as a responsible member of the human race. There are plenty of other things in this life to enjoy. Sex, travel, making money...

For now, faking this relationship continues, and tonight is going to be a challenge. I’m taking Aurora—and Chloe—to the Alliance Club.

With only a few minutes left before I leave, I adjust the collar of my shirt, then grab my Rolex. Flipping my wrist over to do up the latch, my phone rings.

Speak of the devil.

I’ve been expecting this call. When I don’t reply to my mother, Grandma is sent my way.

“Call your brother,” she says the moment I answer.

“No,” I reply, putting her on speaker.

The good thing about my relationship with her is we’ve openly talked about the effects of what happened to me. There’s no denial like there is with my mother, so I can be as direct as I like.

“Parker. He’s your brother.”

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