Page 58 of Cruel Charming Psychos (Necessary Evils 2)

Us two pyromaniacs and Nick against the world. Soon, we will have to run. If not from the Hamptons, then at least from the scene of the crime. Forensics teams will do their jobs but without a murder weapon, they’ll be left to run fingerprints on the bullets. The bullets that Nick’s father loaded into the gun before I stole it from him.

When he protests and claims that he was tied up at his house while the men were slain, when he tells the police that his children were kidnapped, we will all deny it. The only evidence, the videos of the ransoms, exist only on the Callaways’ phones, both of which I toss into the sea. The ropes won’t hold them forever. By time the police arrive for questioning, they will have already moved onto their next scheme.

Emily alone will decide if we hand the evidence of her father’s perverse crimes to the police. She’ll need time to process when I tell her the truth, but we’ve all been through enough hell for the day. And there’s this look in her eyes that I haven’t seen since we were kids. A sparkle of hope, a will and want to be alive.

I don’t have the heart to steal that innocence from her the way that her father and brother stole it from her. Not today.

The three of us walk away from the burning fire. We walk down the beach in silence, seeing the beauty in the world for the first time in a long time. And when Nick’s hand grazes mine, softly at first, but then firmly locks his with mine, I feel at home.

Sweet, beautiful, twisted home.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

NICK

TWO MONTHS LATER

I sit in the driver’s seat of the car with my head shifted to the side, staring aimlessly out the window. The Hamptons, being a playground for the rich during the summer, isn’t known for being jam packed during the colder months. As such, the streets are relatively empty compared to just a month ago. The first snow of the year falls from the sky in tiny flakes that don’t stick to the hood of the running car or the city streets, but the pockets of grass on the sides of the sidewalk are frosted over with a light dusting.

I raise my wrist to check my watch. It’s a quarter after three and Emily should be finished by now. I let out a frustrated sigh and glance up to the third floor, the highest floor, of the office building. I’m not her father, but I worry for her as a father should. When she’s a minute late, I can feel my heart begin to race. When she’s fifteen minutes late, the world might as well be ending because I imagine all the things that could be holding her up. I kill the ignition and reach to push the door open, but that’s when I see her. She exits the building, pulling her arms tight around her as she waits for a car to pass before crossing the street. She climbs into the passenger seat and sighs.

“What did you guys talk about today,” I ask as I turn the key in the ignition.

“Why would you think I would tell you that?” She shrugs. “It’s personal.”

She’s right. It’s none of my business. Therapy is a personal matter, but like I said, I worry. “I just don’t want to you to fall back into old habits. I’m proud of how far you’ve come, but I’m your big brother and I’m always going to worry.”

She forces a smile. “The darkest days are behind us.”

I reach over and comb a hand through the hair on the back of her head. “I hope that’s true.”

She tilts her head slightly and purses her lips in contemplation before turning to me. “When’s the last time you talked to Mom?”

“Not since she reinstated our trusts. She’s back in the city now, probably lonely but she’s always enjoyed her own company.”

She bows her head, and then whispers, “And Dad?”

I stare straight ahead. The very mention of him conjures rage, every muscle in my body pulling taut. “He will go to the grave and I won’t have said another word to him. The truth is that I don’t care if he lives or dies.”

“Doctor Tracy says that I should care, one way or the other. She says that caring is a step to healing.” Her gaze falls upon me once more. “She’s helping me pick up the broken pieces of my life, but at the same time, I feel like she’s walking me down this path to forgiveness and I’m not sure I have it in me to forgive him.”

“Just remember that forgiveness is never about the other person. It’s about you and only you. Sometimes, forgiveness is the only way we can find inner peace, not because it’ll change anything. It’s our way of saying, ‘Fuck you for what you did to me, but I’m going to survive in spite of it.’ I’m not saying you have to forgive him. If I were in your shoes, I never fucking would. I have no intention of forgiving him from where I stand, but I’m not you and you’re not me. Deep down, you have a great heart. You’re too pure for this world. Please don’t let what he did ever damage your heart. And if that means finding a way to forgive him so you can let it all go, then find a way. If you find strength in your hatred for him, then keep on hating him. Don’t let anyone ever tell you how to feel or what to feel.”

Her lips wrinkle into a grin. “When did you get in touch with your inner Plato?”

“I have no clue who that is.” I smile back because of course I know who Plato is, but I’ve only just learned this information because of Addison.

I check for traffic in the mirror before pulling out onto the road and as soon as we’re on our way, Emily clears her throat and says, “Could I hang out with a friend tonight?”

The question takes me by surprise. While she’s a legal adult, sometimes it still feels like she’s a child. My child. She’s not either of those things. I know that I can’t technically stop her from doing anything, but she’s showing me that she values my discretion. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Who is this friend?”

“Her name is Angela.”

I catch a glance of her from the corner of my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this Angela.”

“That’s because we just met a few weeks ago in Narcotics Anonymous.”

The thought of her hanging out with a fellow junkie doesn’t sit entirely well with me. I understand that if she’s in NA that she’s trying to turn her life around but I’m also not naïve. The twelve steps of the program don’t work for so many, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea to test the limits for Emily or her new friend, not this soon into her journey. A relapse could kill her.

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