Page 142 of One Killer Night
“It’s what I know,” I growl back. “She told me you’d never share her.”
He pats the butcher knife against his leg. “Your mother was a used-up whore who spread her legs for rich boys ...”
I bristle, which seems to please him.
“Oh, this is a gift to me,” he hisses, whiplashing into a new emotion. I look away, but only for a second to gauge how close weare to the stairs, but he moves his head to maintain our eye contact. “You’ve gone your whole life thinking of yourself as some kind of prodigal son ... waiting for my return.”
I’m silent as I stand straight, my spine like steel, because he can try and drag her name through the mud, but he knows I know the truth.
He grins before scraping his teeth over his bottom lip.
“This is going to feel almost as good as when I gut you, groin to sternum.” He drags the knife up his body to his neck in demonstration as his eyes bore into mine. “Emerson was never my whore. You’re named after your daddy, boy.” He points the knife at me, then slowly moves it toward Goldie. “I’m not your father. I’m hers.”
What the fuck.
I can’t move. My mouth has fallen open, and I’m unsure if my heart is even beating. I’m frozen, but I can still feel Goldie’s chest moving up and down quickly against my arm.
She’s not crying anymore. She’s silent.
My face slowly turns to hers, seeing shock and fear etched over her features.
“No ...” She shakes her head and looks at me before facing him. “That’s a lie.”
He tsks, grinning evilly. “Now don’t go being disrespectful to your papa, or I won’t let you watch as I spill his insides all over the fucking floor.”
I reach back to try and stop her from moving, but she does anyway, coming to stand next to me.
“You can’t be my father. You’re lying. You just know I was adopted, and you’re trying to hurt Noah.”
He snaps, stabbing the knife into the air as he barks, “I don’t lie.” Then he smiles again. “That’s your little Prince Charming.”
I frown as he starts to pace small steps back and forth, not taking his eyes off us. “I tried ...” He lifts his hands, shrugging. “I tried to get over her. But when the woman you love leaves you with this”—he tugshis shirt down, exposing a treacherous-looking scar on his chest—“you can’t ever really forget her.”
The tip of the knife in his hand is beginning to cut a hole in his pants as he keeps sticking it more and more aggressively.
“His dad”—Billy points at me, then stops in place again—“he tried to kill me. He beat me until all I could taste was my own blood; then he held me underwater until I pretended to stop breathing. But I got away ...”
His voice trails off and his eyes grow hooded like he’s in the memory, reliving the way he killed everyone, before he blinks a few times and picks up where he left off.
“I got away and went north. Even met a girl, but she was just like all the others before her. She never stopped crying. Always saying, ‘Please don’t. Stop, it hurts.’”
Goldie’s hand shoots to cover her mouth, disgusted by what he’s saying and maybe understanding that he’s talking about torturing her biological mother.
Billy’s head tilts. “She’s not with us anymore.” He locks eyes with Goldie. “But that’s the price you pay when you abandon your child to pigs.”
Goldie gasps, and I know she believes him like I do. Where she was left isn’t in the public record. He takes another step forward, into the blood on the floor.
But Goldie stands there, shaking her head.
“Don’t you get it, sunshine? I did this for you ...” Goldie scowls as she stares at him. “For my girl. I did all of this for you so we can be together.”
“You’re a fucking psycho,” she snaps.
He growls violently before dropping down into a squat by the body on the floor. He stabs it quickly in succession before he lets out a deep breath and pants, almost singing his words. “Don’t disrespect your father, Goldie.”
“You’re not my father,” she counters, but in all the time she’s been pushing back, I’ve been moving us back toward the stairs.
Billy smiles wide and turns his head just enough that we both see the sun birthmark behind his ear. Just like hers.
