Page 2 of Toxic Hope
Shit. The police? I figured I’d get security involved and that would be it. Then again, what do I care? They had plenty of chances to stop what they were doing, and they chose not to. Maybe the police should be involved.
That doesn’t mean I’m in any hurry to get back out there, though. After waiting a few moments for the security guard to reach the spot next to the black truck, I hustle back outside. Thecloser I get, the clearer I can hear the guys arguing their case. Static fills the air—a walkie-talkie. The guard is calling for a stretcher. That’s the kind of shape they left their victim in. Now I’m glad the police are on their way.
I’m glad enough that even though the problem has been taken care of, I can’t bring myself to drive away once I’m behind the wheel. I can rest now, letting my head touch the seat, letting my limbs relax. But I can’t bring myself to leave, not until I see these two get what they deserve. I don’t know why it matters so much. Maybe I’ve spent enough time feeling like I’m at the mercy of others—doctors, nurses, schedules. Maybe I need this. At least one example of somebody getting what they deserve.
It’s only once I hear the sirens approaching that it hits me: I should get out of here. Not only because I’m already feeling wiped out. I would be glad to answer questions, but not with the two of them around. I can see them from where I’m sitting, both of them leaning their backs against the truck while a pair of women in scrubs help the wounded, bloody man onto a wheeled gurney, which they quickly take inside. Even now, the twins glare at the guy—there is not so much as a hint of remorse or shame to either of them. Are they really monsters? It’s like they’re proud of what they’ve done.
It’s a good thing they don’t know who I am. Aside from that little face-off, I’ve never laid eyes on them before, so they wouldn’t know where to find me if they feel like making me pay for getting them into trouble.
Funny how it doesn’t matter when the long-haired twin looks my way. Zeroes in on the car, staring straight through the windshield. I’m sitting in the dark, but somehow, that doesn’t seem to matter. He’s looking straight at me.
And if he could, he would hurt me right now.
My hand is shaking as I turn the key in the ignition. I’ve waited around too long as it is. They’ll get what they deserve, andwhen I drop into bed later, I will at least be able to tell myself I did the right thing. I wonder if either of those two could say the same about themselves.
2
EASTON
“Do you know how this looks for me? My sons, beating the shit out of somebody in the hospital parking lot. Mere yards away from where I work!”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad turn this shade of red. His chiseled face is almost purple by the time he drops into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk in his office three floors up from the hospital lobby.
Some things I’m used to. Like hearing about Dad’s position as hospital chief. His reputation. How we have to keep our family’s position in mind. Same shit, different day.
That’s why I’m able to take him basically screaming in my face without flinching. I get the feeling it only pisses him off when I don’t react, which is exactly why I keep my face blank and my back straight instead of cowering and begging him to understand the way he wants us to.
My brother has never been good at keeping his mouth shut, though. “Don’t you even want to hear why we were doing it?” he snaps before folding his arms. “Doesn’t it even matter there was a reason?”
“Do you think I give a shit about your reason for beating your sister’s boyfriend badly enough that he is currently beingtreated in the emergency room?” Dad points a finger downward, motioning toward the ER a few floors down from where he is currently chewing us both out. “What were you thinking? What is wrong with you? It’s not bad enough I’ve got your sister being held for observation after the fall she took? Now I need to worry about you two getting yourselves arrested? And for what? Accidents happen. Putting Brody in the hospital isn’t going to help her get well.”
I’m pretty good at keeping quiet if it means making sure he doesn’t explode any worse than he already has. There’s also only so much I can take before I need to clear some shit up.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I mutter. Preston groans softly. But I ignore him—he might have promised Sarah not to tell Dad about her confession to us, but I didn’t. “Sarah didn’t have an accidental fall. That’s not how she ended up with a broken arm and cracked ribs, Dad.”
His eyes narrow before his voice drops to a whisper that means danger. “What are you saying?”
“Great,” Preston grunts.
Too late to turn back now. “She made us swear not to tell you,” I explain as my twin shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “But she also made us swear not to do anything to him, and we already broke that promise.”
Dad’s nostrils flare with every short breath. “Brody did that to Sarah?”
“He knows exactly why we jumped him in the parking lot,” I mutter. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but the memory of catching him by surprise and systematically kicking the shit out of him makes my dick twitch a little. That helpless look on his face, the way he covered his head with his arms and whimpered. And all it did was make me want to hurt him more, because I could only imagine my younger sister begging him to stop hitting her. Every kick, every punch, was payback.
Until that nosy bitch got in the way.
The phone on Dad’s desk rings, slicing through the uneasy silence that’s filled the room while he absorbs the truth. “Yes?” he snaps when he answers, but his tone softens right away. “I see. Right. That lines up with what I’ve heard.” He looks at the two of us, standing side-by-side in front of his desk, before heaving a sigh.
Preston slides a look my way that I catch from the corner of my eye. I know what he’s thinking—one of the things about being a twin is pretty much knowing what’s happening in his head without having to ask. And this isn’t the first time we’ve stood in front of Dad, getting our asses chewed over something or other. It’s obvious from the way Dad’s posture changed that he knows we’re telling the truth, meaning whatever punishment he was dreaming up before now is going to be a lot easier to deal with.
Still, we wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if it wasn’t for that nosy bitch in the parking lot. I mean, how fucking ignorant could she be, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong? It was none of her business, but that didn’t stop her from trying to be a hero or whatever the hell she thought she was doing by getting Frank to come out and stop us.
“All right. I see what you mean. I’ll deal with it on this side. And thank you,” Dad adds before hanging up the phone. Instead of going back to threatening us, he leans back in his chair and rubs his temples. It’s like he shrinks a little, too, under the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I don’t need this. Why do you insist on putting me in this position?”
His eyes slowly open before finding us again. “That was Paul Wilder. He’s down in the ER, where he just finished questioning Brody.”
All it takes is hearing his name to set my teeth on edge. That motherfucker. I’m not sure what pisses me off more: what he did, or the way he thought he could get away with it. I’d be on myway down there now to finish what I started if I didn’t know Dad would stop me before I made it through the ER doors.
