Page 93 of Exile
And Mom paid with hers.
I don't blame this woman though. If anything, I'm happy she managed to escape the clutches of her abusive husband.
"She will be sorely missed," I confirm emotionlessly.
She offers a sad smile, but my attention is forced elsewhere. Someone is yelling, and Mrs. Whittingham sighs out loud at the exact moment I pinpoint the culprit.
Arthur fucking Whittingham.
That pathetic, useless excuse of a man is pointing at us, while my father nods sternly. Clicking his fingers at security, Father gestures to us.
Red, hot fury begins to pulse through my veins. He can't even give herthis—the last time any of us will ever come together for Mom and he's trying to control it. Manipulation is what he loves best, and I'm not surprised in the slightest that he's attempting to ruin this moment.
A bulky security guard in black wanders over, puffing up his steroidal chest. But before he can utter the expected words to Mrs. Whittingham, I punch him square in the face.
The small crowd around us gasp and cry out at the commotion, and I take a moment to enjoy the stunned looks of disbelief on the faces of the older men. It just proves that my father doesn't know me at all. If he believes I'll let him pull his bullshit today, he's dead wrong.
"Everyone stays!" I say in a raised voice while glaring straight at him across the lawn. "Today is about Lily—mymother. We're here to honor her memory andeveryoneis welcome."
It does the job as people—strangers, colleagues, distant family members—all turn to gawk at my father like he got his audacity on sale or stole it like the tightass he is. He sputters angrily, storming off toward his awaiting private town car.
I knew he wouldn't stay long. This was nothing but a publicity appearance for him. Today, he's playing his most hated role—a husband. Being a father a close second.
"Thank you," Mrs. Whittingham whispers, giving my arm a squeeze. "You're just like her, you know that? Lily would be so proud of you, Damon."
I wish I could believe that. I was Mom's pride and joy, but let's not pretend I'm not a carbon copy of the asshole escaping the consequences of his actions.
Mom was beautiful, elegant, graceful. She was the sunshine, the moon, and the whole fucking galaxy. But my father and I are cut from the same cloth. We crave power, control, fear. Caring and emotions are weaknesses that should be hidden at all costs. And Mom's death is the exact reason why.
He knew I loved her, so he removed the perceived obstacle out of the way. This was nothing more than a strategy to hurt us both, and now, he's going to come after me, to exploit that love I had for my mother. He uses people against each other, pawns in a chess match where he believes he's untouchable. This is why we don't love, why we don't give someone any reason to find weaknesses.
It's my fault she's dead.
Alexander Dale is all about appearances. Having a doting wife in public helped him. But the more I stood up to him and protected her, the angrier he got. Because she chose me over him. Until finally, he took her from me.
She was collateral damage in our game of war.
And it didn't help that Mom helped Mrs. Whittingham escape the clutches of her asshole husband. Because in his eyes, if Mom was willing to do that for another woman, what was to stop her from walking away too?
"Look after yourself, Mrs. Whittingham," I say with finality, needing to get out of here before Christopher comes over and I am forced to bury him in a vacant shallow grave. He's had his eye on me for the past five minutes and I'm in no mood to deal with my cousin and his snide remarks right now.
"You too, Damon," she replies. "And for the record, I've reverted back to my maiden name. But please… call me Rose."
"Next one goes in your fucking head," I warn, gun pointing at my father. I can see the bruise forming on Avery's face, blood trickling down her cheek as she fights back pain.
They fucking touched her.
My. Fucking. Wife.
That bumbling idiot of a psychiatrist flattens himself against the wall while Arthur ducks down behind his desk. Of course, my father doesn't flinch at all, grabbing Avery's shoulder and spinning them around as he uses her as a human shield against me.
Wrong choice, asshole.
"I'm disappointed in you, Damon," he remarks, his own barrel pressing into Avery's temple. "Your ability to protect your wife is just as impressive as your skill in keeping your mother safe."
Avery's eyes are blown wide, trained on me as she stays still. I meet them for a brief moment, silently telling her that I've got her. If anything, she appears more terrified by my presence, eyes darting between me and the gun lined up with the side of her head. Like she's worriedI'llget hurt.
I know this emotional manipulation tactic is merely an attempt to throw off my control. He brings up my mother whenever he can, in the hope that I'll overreact and provide him with a clear opportunity to overpower me. Clearly, it hasn't worked before. Which is why he's now using Avery as well.
