Page 36 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

“I’m well aware of her shortcomings and I wouldn’t tend to believe a word she says, but there was a look in her eyes that I can’t shake. It’s the same look in your eyes right now. You need to start being honest with me.”

“Your father wasn’t the man you thought he was.”

“Enough with the riddles! I’m tired of being dragged in endless circles. Just tell me the truth and stop being vague.”

She quiets. “Your father was having an affair with Carole Calloway.” She places a hand on both knees as she rises to stand. She grunts out in pain as she reaches into her pocket to grab a cigarette and lights it. “But you always knew that, didn’t you?”

I shake my head defiantly. “You’re lying.”

“Can you honestly look back and remember a time when he ever showed me affection?” She takes a long drag, the burning end of the cigarette sizzling a hot orange color. “Your father was a broken man, trapped in a marriage with a woman he couldn’t stand. Carole was a different woman back then. There was still a spark of life and joy in her and thensomethingchanged.” She points at me with her cigarette. “You changed too. You became distant and cold and it’s always been in the back of my mind that you killed that boy as revenge for Carole and your father’s entanglement. She destroyed your family and you wanted to destroy hers.”

“I was a kid!” I scream, closing the distance between us.

But she’s not shaken. She stands still, holding her ground. She’s found the strength to tear me down and ruin me. I should’ve known. The only thing she’s ever been good at is fighting with her words. She knows just how to cut wounds into the soul that bleed out slowly in lieu of a fast death. “Kids are intuitive. They can pick up on things us adults can’t. Just like you always knew that I wasn’t fit to be a mother. You understood that well before I did. You understood that I would never be able to love you.”

“I hate you so much,” I say in a hushed whisper. “You would have done us both a favor if you just died in that fire.”

I turn on my feet and rip the door open, leaving her behind as I slam the door behind me. My feet kick against the faded gravel as I rush to the car. The corner of my eyes dampen, but I don’t let the tears flow until the tires are spinning against the rocks below.

And just like that, I’m sucked back in. I never wanted to see Nick again for as long as I live, but now I have no choice. The only thing I’m certain of anymore is that I can’t be certain of anything. My mother is known to be a liar. She twists the truth until it’s no longer recognizable, until it fits the narrative of the story she wants to be believed.

I don’t believe in fate or coincidences. If the lives of my family and the family of my sworn nemesis are intertwined and have been that way since I was a little girl, then I no longer believe that the events that led up to Carter’s death were an accident. If she’s telling the truth for the first time in her life, then I never had a choice in the matter.

What if Carter and I were nothing more than collateral damage in the war between two families?

ChapterTwenty

ADDISON

Proverbs states that a witness saves lives when he tells the truth, but when he tells lies, he betrays people, thusly damning them. Misinformation, intentional or not, carries the burden of being able to bring mass destruction to the lives of those the lies touch. Like a dark cloud of uncertainty choking those lost amidst the darkness.

I’ve been lying for so long that I’d be a fool to not recognize when someone isn’t being entirely honest. Just the same, it means deep down that I know when someone is telling the truth. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on me again. Fool me for the hundredth time? Then just fucking kill me.

When lies are carried blades sheathed behind the backs of the liars, it can be impossible to defend against the imminent attack. For all I know, mother is sending me on a wild goose chase without regard for the consequences and the collateral damage it could cause. She’s wretched and wicked, well-practiced in the arts of twisting the truth and yet I’m stupid enough to have an inkling to believe her. And that’s not easy because it means that perhaps my father wasn’t half the man I thought he was.

If that should come to pass, it’ll kill me. Rip what little is left of my soul straight from my chest. I’ve always been addicted to the pain like a moth drawn to the fire, circling a most certain doom.

The last time I saw Emily, like the true saint that I am, I fantasized about ending her life by sending her tumbling over a wooden banister. A flash of rage threatened to remove her from the equation, the opposite of an equilibrium, and the only reason I’m in this position in the first place is because of her.

As the only witness to the events that unfolded that day, we are bonded by hatred and secrets. A deadly and potent combination of mistrust circles around us as we dance in perilously dangerous circles waiting for the other to make the first move. But she knows I did what I didfor her. As perverted as that fucking is. That’s why she can’t fully pull the trigger herself. Can’t tell the police the truth and can’t put a bullet through my head like she so desperately wishes she could sometimes.

I’m fucked in the head to the point that I cherish the feeling of serrated blades cutting into my bare skin, but I’d never wish to trade places with her. It must be terrifying in her own head, unsure of who to trust. The torture of memories tugging away while the volatile emotions of guilt and apathy wage a war of their own.

And then to be constantly faced with the reminder that the person that ruined your life is the same exact fucking person that saved it, and it came with a cost that buried your own flesh and blood six feet under. That’s some fucked up shit to unpack without the help of a very experienced therapist, a luxury she most definitely won’t be able to afford without access to her former trust fund.

I’m half expecting her to kill me when she sees me, still half expecting her to hug me too. I can’t ever be certain which Emily I’m going to get but I’m hoping for the best as I approach the front door of the cafe. I take a momentary pause before stepping through the glass doors and into the modern eatery. It’s bright and open, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. If it weren’t for the small four-person tables littering the floor, it’d be easy to mistake the place for a greenhouse where house plants thrive, threatening to overtake the typical décor of a restaurant.

She looks like any other server on a Sunday morning, exhausted and hungover. She carries a tray of cold bottles of water to a table of young women that look equally exhausted and sick. The service industry is notorious for the abuse of its workforce. It might potentially be the only industry in the world that couldn’t give two shits that Emily’s last name is Calloway. To management, she’s just another pretty face with tits and an attitude problem, ripe for mistreatment.

The café is open seating, so I find a spot in the back and take a seat. She spots me immediately, rolling her eyes as she approaches.

She shoves a notepad into a pocket in her apron. “What the hell are you doing here, Addison?”

I remove the sunglasses from my eyes, pushing them upwards. “I have to give you credit, you’re probably the most hard-working Calloway I’ve ever seen in my life.”

She remains expressionless. “I don’t have much of a choice, being taken out of the family will.”

That’s cold and callous, even by Calloway standards. There’s no loyalty when souls are a commodity to be traded for cash. “You’re probably better off without those people in your life.”

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