Page 78 of The Prodigal

“Fine,” I huff. “But this serves as my good deed for the day.”

“Remington. I’m not joking. I will stab you.”

I’m sure she will, but then she’d spend the rest of my life apologizing to me, and that’s a level of torture I can’t endure.

“One day, I started feeling better. My strength began to improve, little by little. I thought maybe Tooney had a change of heart, but that wasn’t the case. Come to find out, my adopted mother had been giving me half doses, allowing me to grow stronger until the time came for me to run.”

“How old were you?”

I shrug. “A teenager? I don’t remember. Birthdays aren’t something you keep up with when you’re waiting to die.”

She whimpers but manages to hold back her tears so I can finish.

“One weekend, Tooney was away. Angelina handed me a backpack and pressed a white stone in my hand. She told me to run, change my name, and stick to the motels that didn’t ask for ID.”

“So, your name hasn’t always been Remington?”

I shake my head in the dark, but she doesn’t see.

“I was born Jude Potter. I became Stetson the third when the Tooneys adopted me. When I ran, I became Remington—someone strong who would never be held down again.”

“And your adoptive mother?” Eden asks, “What happened to her?”

Silence falls over us in the small space.

“She died the day I ran away.” I don’t feel the need to explain how the guilt of torturing me caused her suicide. There will always be a part of me that loves Angelina. For years, she was the only mother I had—the only hero I had ever known. But then again, she and Tooney were the only villains I had ever known, too.

“So, if it wasn’t for Congressman Albrecht, you would have never been tortured by the Tooneys. You would have lived a good life with Dr. Depressing and Ramsey.”

“Yes,” I admit. “Congressman Albrecht stole my childhood and robbed me of the life I should have had. He is a killer—someone who destroys lives for a price.”

Eden sits up and takes my hand, her voice turning serious. “And so, we’ll destroy his.”

Eden

Rolling over, I find myself alone in the closet, which I expected. After all, what Remington confessed earlier tonight couldn’t have been easy to admit, let alone face in the light of the morning.

I understand now why he desperately craves revenge against Congressman Albrecht. Hell, nowIwant to kill Albrechtandhis dog—not that I know if he has one, but you get what I’m saying. Albrecht deserves more than just a knee to the nuts.

This man deserves to spend years writhing in pain for what he did to Remington.

A fucking closet…

Remington’s home—his fortress—is a sixty-four-square-foot room.

What kind of heartbreaking shit is that?

I’ll tell you—it’s the kind of shit vengeance is made of.

Congressman Tooney might have escaped my wrath, but Albrecht won’t be that lucky, not after last night. No one fucks with my hateful hero and gets away with it.

Remington is done being used.

He deserves a life where hope isn’t painful, and love isn’t a reward but something that is freely given.

He deserves to sleep in a bed and not where last year’s wardrobe hangs, waiting to be used.

Albrecht will pay for his sins, even if I must become a villain, too.

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