Page 45 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

That’s why I’m trying my darndest to get away from him. I cock my head over my shoulder to see him giving chase. He follows me like a true psychopath, unhinged and shirtless to boot. There’s venom in his eyes, the muscles of his face pulled tight as he grits his teeth.

“Addison the victim, always running from her problems all the while pretending as if she didn’t make them herself,” he yells, a clear attempt to taunt me into another verbal confrontation. But I know if I turn around, only bad things can happen.

Once at the landing of the stairs, I make a sharp turn, heading for the back door when I know I should be heading for the front. Like I said, history has a bad habit of repeating itself. It’s almost like I subconsciously want to lead him into the garden by the pool for the most nefarious of reasons.

I push through the French doors at the back of the foyer with enough strength that I momentarily worry that I might shatter the glass panels. The pool is straight ahead. To the left is the garden and the pool house and to the right is the outdoor dining area that’s hidden beneath a latticed gazebo that’s garnished with flowery vines.

“We’re not finished, Addison.”

I spin around to face him. “I want out of this place, for good. I want to leave this place and never look back.”

“Do you honestly think you can ever escape this place or your past?”

“There’s nothing left here for me. Your sister tried to kill me.”

He grits his teeth and juts forward, and for the shortest of moments, I consider the very real possibility that he might punch me in the face and proceed to beat the life out of me. Maybe I’d deserve it. Sometimes, I hate myself enough to etch permanent scars into my own skin. I can only imagine how much others must hate me. In his mind, he has every right in the world to wish me dead.

If only he knew the truth. I’m not sure if the calculations of grief or anger would change, but it’s always a possibility.

He restrains himself, just stopping short from knocking me onto my ass. He grinds his teeth and clenches his fist. “You killed our brother.”

“And I wouldn’t take it back,” I say with such venom that I momentarily forget that I’ve built a charade on telling the exact opposite of the truth.

The façade has finally fallen, and I expect the worst, but am met with silence.

I can see him processing my admission of guilt. It starts in his eyes, circling and hollow and then the realization seeps to his mouth, the muscles of his jaw relaxing as his mouth falls slightly open. He chuckles lowly, to himself, and not because he thinks it’s funny. There’s no way he’s able to find amusement in my slip of the tongue.

“There it is! You finally admit it. You’re lucky I’m not wearing a wire.”

“You’re not the type.”

“Don’t presume to know what I’m capable of.”

“That’s just it.” I shake my head. “I know exactly what you’re capable of. I can see it in your eyes every time you look at me. You’re torn between fucking me like an animal and strangling me. You would never let the law punish me. You’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself. One of these days, you’re just going to man up and do it.”

He grits his teeth but remains firmly planted in place. I’m not quite sure why I’m still alive at this point. Perhaps he’s waiting for a full confession before he finishes the deed. “Tell me why you did it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“It’s literally the least you could do.”

“I can’t tell you and I’m just going to have to live with the consequences of that.”

I don’t know why I continue to protect Emily. After learning that she is the one that lit the fire and almost killed my mother, I should want to kill her. I should want her buried six feet deep in the grave beside her wretched brother, but I don’t. In the darkest recesses of my mind, I can understand why she wants me dead. I can understand why she continues to spin out in a downward spiral that’s on the verge of ruining her life, but where this newfound hatred for me comes from continues to perplex me.

I killed Carter for her and all the other girls. It’d be so damn easy to admit the truth, but that’s a complicated affair when that same truth has been buried under a mountain of lies. There’s no point in trying to revive the dead when the corpses are this cold.

“You’re telling me that you killed my little brother and you’re not even going to give me the decency of knowing why?” His voice breaks. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen an ounce of humanity in him. If I didn’t know him better, I’d believe he was on the verge of tears. His eyes are stained blood red, and the muscles in his forehead are strained. “Just do one thing right in your life and tell me the truth.”

I narrow my gaze on him. “You want to know who your brother was?”

“He was an asshole, and he was a selfish prick, but his crimes were nothing compared to what you did to him. I’m going to make you pay.”

“You know the truth, don’t you?” I step closer to him, within reach for him to hurt me if he chooses to do so. “Deep down, you have to. That’s the only explanation as to why my body isn’t already in the bottom of the pool.”

“The only thing I know is that you’re telling me one thing and I so desperately want to believe it, because then I can finally make sense of why I had to bury my baby brother, but things aren’t adding up, Addison.” He reaches for a lawn chair beside him and in a fit of rage, throws it into the pool. “Fuck!” And then he’s in my face, towering above me like either a demon or a giant. The tears welling up in the corner of his eyes are unmistakable now. The big bad wolf has finally broken down. “It’s like you get off on cloaking the past in a cloud of secrecy. You give a little bit of information, just enough to add some flare to the story, and then you speak in riddles and rhymes. How in the actual fuck am I ever supposed to know what you’re trying to say? Do you think I can read your mind like I’m fucking psychic? Are you waiting for a book deal and exclusive rights to a talk show tell-all? Is that what it’s going to take to get you to just be honest for the first time in your life?” He stops to catch his breath, his muscular, sweating chest heaving with each sharp inhale as he drags his palm over his forehead. “I know how much you hate my family, but you’re just like them. There’s not areal bone in your body. Everything that you do and every word that comes out of your mouth is carefully crafted to tell whatever story it is that you need people to believe.”

“Do you really want me to say it?”

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