Page 34 of Behind the Shadows
Maybe it was my imagination.
Or maybe …
Maybe it was a lingering effect of the Ambien again.
Or maybe it was the man from my dreams. The one who’d left bruises all over my body. The one I swore I left behind in the dark.
And now … he was in my kitchen.
14
KIP
The house never changed. Same manicured hedges. Same pristine brick path lined with white roses, as if they could bleach the rot from the foundation.
I slammed the door to my car and stormed up the pathway, scattered dead leaves dancing across the cracked cement. Mother was always about keeping up appearances for the outside world. People saw her as a kind Christian woman who devoted her life to the greater good. I knew better. Shit had gotten even worse after my dad died. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that I was born to an angel, just not the good one. And the lies she’d fed me. As much as I hated her, I’d bought them like a fish desperate for a worm on the hook.
My gaze narrowed, focused on finding answers. I sure as hell wasn’t here to spend quality time with her.
Cynthia opened the front door before I could knock.
She blinked like I was a ghost, her grip tightening on the handle. “Kip. Your mother isn’t?—”
I didn’t wait for her to finish before I slipped past her and into the kitchen. Dog wagged his tail and licked my hand. I knelt, giving him some kudos, before I stood and addressed Cynthia.
“She’s in her room, right?” I said without turning around.
Cynthia hesitated. “She’s not feeling well today.”
“What else is new?”
My footsteps echoed through the hall like warning shots. The place was too quiet—like it was waiting for someone to die. It was.
I shoved her bedroom door open and stepped into the lion’s den.
She lay propped against several king-size pillows, a silk robe the color of wine clinging to her frail body. Mother startled awake when I barged in.
“You lied to me,” I said, my voice low, controlled.
She arched one perfect brow. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
I stalked toward her, my fingers itching to wrap around her neck and choke the life out of her.
“You lied to me,” I said again, sharper this time. “Samantha.” I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over, placing an arm on each side of her, caging her in. It wasn’t as if she had the strength to fight me, but I wanted to make damn sure I had her attention.
She gave a soft, disappointed sigh. “You don’t scare me, Kip. Barging in here demanding answers and trying to intimidate me.” She laughed. “You’re playing with fire. Leave it alone.”
“She’s alive,” I said through gritted teeth. “Why did you lie to me?”
“And?” Her gaze didn’t waver. “You know what you did, Kip. Deep down, you always have.”
I stepped forward, rage needling my skin. “I saw her. I touched her. She’s alive and walking around fucking Portland.”
“And yet here you are,” she said, sneering, “still dangerous. Still spiraling. Just like you were then.”
My jaw clenched as she dangled the past in front of me. I stood, my fists clenching and unclenching as I took a few stepsaway from her. Tingles spread through my fingers. “You fed me a bunch of fucking bullshit my entire life. Tormented me.” The scars on my back pulsed with the echoes of my mother’s hand, a twisted repentance for a sin I’d never committed. A mix of confusion and longing—a yearning to understand her motives and a desire to break free from the past still clung to me like a wet blanket.
“Is that what you tell yourself?” She tilted her head, the concern in her eyes so polished it almost looked real. “You think that you understand. You stupid, stupid man. I’ve spent my entire life trying to protect you—from yourself.” She struggled to draw in a deep breath, her raspy cough filling the room. “And this is how you repay me.” She leaned back on her pillows and glanced out of the window.
