Page 118 of The Devil's Deceit
Xan steps into the light. He towers over George by a good five or six inches, and he’s using that height to intimidate. I’ve seen this many times before with strangers who escape traditional justice, but not ours. “Did you kidnap Annabel and me? Did you order those men to rape and strangle my fucking sister?” He clamps his hand around George’s throat. “Did you?” he roars. Containing his rage on a twelve-hour flight home must’ve taken every ounce of restraint he had, but it’s pouring out of him now.
Dad steps back, arms folded, letting Xan take the lead.
“What?” George croaks, trying, and failing, to release Xan’s hand from crushing his windpipe. “What are you talking about?”
Nicholas lets out a bitter laugh. “Denial? That’s really your play? If I were you, I’d choose another tactic, because that’s not going to wash with us, you lying piece of shit.”
“I swear.” He flips both hands up like he’s in an old western, and Clint Eastwood’s holding him at gunpoint. “I never touched Annabel or you. I would never do that.”
“Hmm,” Tobias muses. “The word of a rapist isn’t worth much, though, is it?”
“On my life, I didn’t do it.”
“Your word’s not worth shit either, is it?” I say.
“Please. You have to believe me.” Wild eyes seek out Dad. “Charles, I wouldn’t hurt your children. You know Alice and I couldn’t have kids. I love them like they’re my own.”
“Funny that,” Xan says, nostrils flaring. “Because weareyour fucking own. Annabel and me. Your filthy DNA runs through my veins because of what you did to our mother, and it makes me fucking sick to think about it.”
George’s knees buckle, and Xan lets him go as he slides to the cold, concrete floor. “No,” he whispers. “It’s not possible. I never…” He gazes up at us, eyes swimming with tears. Fucking crocodile tears. “You have to believe me. I didn’t know.”
“I suppose you didn’t kill Mum, either,” Nicholas spits out.
George pales, like someone pulled a plug on his veins and let all the blood drain out. I shoot a glance at my brother. Is that what he thinks? Mum took her own life… didn’t she? God, do they really think George is responsible for it all? I sweep my gaze to Dad. He doesn’t look in the least bit surprised at Nicholas’s question, which tells me he already knew his thoughts before today.
“I loved her.” George moans, gathering his knees to his chest and rocking forward and backward. “I’d never have hurt her.”
Nicholas drops to a crouch so fast, for a second, I think he’s fainted. But he pushes his face into George’s and grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him violently. “You fucking raped her, you animal. You think that didn’t hurt her? You think she wasn’t in agony all these years while she kept yourvile secret? You as good as killed her. If you hadn’t come back to Oakleigh, she’d still be alive.”
George flinches, refusing to look at Nicholas. Fucking coward.
“Why did you return?” I ask. “What changed after sixteen years away?”
His watery gaze finds mine. “I missed home. I missed all of you. I wanted my family around me.”
Dad snorts. “Liar. You thought you’d got away with it. Yet two weeks after you arrive home, my daughter and my wife are dead.”
“I swear, Charles, I didn’t hurt Annabel or Fiona. I could never hurt them. I loved them.”
“Hang on a second,” Xan says. “If you didn’t know your vile assault on my mother resulted in pregnancy, how did you know we’d found her journal, where she wrote down everything? Every foul detail. You had to have known that because you ran, and you left that shitty little apology note.”
Good fucking point. Both issues were discussed at the same time.
George’s chin trembles. He’s refusing to look at any of us now. Pathetic.
“When you found that key in the snow globe but not the box it opened, I concluded there was a good chance that Fiona might’ve written down what happened the night before her wedding and hidden it somewhere. I couldn’t be sure, but I could make plans for if what I did ever came to light.” He swallows, wiping away a bead of sweat that trickles down his temple. Considering it’s bitterly cold in here, it shows how much he’s panicking. Fucking good. I hope he pisses himself, scared witless.
“I planted a few hidden cameras in your rooms, Alexander,and had someone write me a script that would send an alert and a video to my phone if certain keywords were picked up.”
“Why my rooms?”
“Because you found the key. I knew you’d never let anyone else have it. You like control.”
Xan snorts, but doesn’t deny it, because that might be the first truly honest thing that’s come out of this bastard’s mouth.
“That night, I got an alert. I knew instantly what it meant. I’d put plans in place, so I grabbed Alice and the bag I’d prepared just in case, and I ran.” He runs his hands through his thinning hair, gripping it at the roots. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Stand and face up to the consequences,” Dad says. “That’s what you should have done, George.”
