Twisted Palace

by Erin Watt

“She did,” he insists. “We saw her at the same time, but Callum got to her first.”

  I just gape at him. Oh my God. He sounds like a little boy whose toy was taken away.

  “So when Callum was busy saving your company, you told Maria he was cheating on her?” My thoughts are jumbled and crazy, one leaping after the other, but I think I’m starting to piece it all together. “That’s how you got her into bed?”

  His eyes shift away to stare somewhere over my shoulder.

  “Was Callum actually cheating?” I demand. “Was that true?”

  When he can’t look me in the eye, I know it’s not. The fragile relationship we were building crashes to the ground. I can’t respect him. I barely like him right now. He slept with his best friend’s wife. Worse, he told Maria that her husband betrayed her. And she’d killed herself! Steve O’Halloran pretty much drove that poor, messed-up woman to suicide.

  I suddenly feel like throwing up.

  Bending down, I pick up the letter and clutch it tight. “We’re taking this to Callum. He thinks his wife killed herself because of him. The boys believe the same thing. You need to tell them all the truth.”

  Anger flickers in Steve’s eyes. “No,” he snaps. “This stays between us. I told you before, it would ruin those boys’ lives.”

  “You think they aren’t already dead inside because their mother killed herself? The only person this letter will ruin is you. And frankly, Steve, I don’t care if it does. The Royals need to know the truth!”

  With that, I grab my phone and barrel past him, practically hurling myself out the door.

  “Don’t you fucking walk away from me!”

  His enraged voice brings a jolt of fear. I start to run, making it all the way to the living room before I’m suddenly yanked backwards. The momentum sends me flying butt-first onto the carpet, inches away from the fireplace where Brooke died—

  And suddenly I’m struck with the most horrible thought.

  “Was it you?” I blurt out.

  Steve doesn’t answer me. He just looms over me, breathing hard, his features creased with frustration.

  “Did you kill Brooke?” My voice is weak now, shaky from horror.

  “No,” he growls. “I didn’t.”

  But I see it—the flicker of guilt in his eyes.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “You did. You killed her and then tried to pin it on Reed. You murdered her—”

  “It was an accident!” he roars.

  The deafening volume has me flinching. I stumble to my feet, trying to put as much distance between us as I can, but Steve steps forward, and all I can do is back up, until my spine is flat against the fireplace.

  “It was a goddamn accident, okay!” My father’s eyes are wild now, red and narrowed and terrifying.

  “H-how?” I stammer. “Why?”

  “I just got off a damned plane after months of being trapped on some godforsaken island!” He’s screaming now. “And I get home to see goddamn Reed leaving the penthouse! What the hell else was I supposed to think? I already knew that my wife was screwing Callum’s eldest.” His breathing is shallow. “And then Reed? You think I was going to take that lying down? After everything I’d just gone through?”

  “Reed never touched Dinah,” I croak.

  “I didn’t know that!” Each breath that leaves his mouth is sharp and laced with panic. “I took the service elevator up to the penthouse. I was going to confront my cheating bitch of a wife. The wife who fucking tried to kill me.”

  His fury is polluting the air, intensifying the fear pounding through my blood. I try to creep to the side, but he moves forward again. I’m trapped between his angry, shaking body and the hard stone of the fireplace.

  “I walked in and she was here—looking at this damned picture of us!”

  He snatches a framed photograph off the mantle and whips it into the wall over my head. Shards of glass rain down on us, a few pieces catching in my hair.

  My heart pounds so fast I’m scared it will give out on me. I have to get out of here. I need to. Steve is confessing to murder. He’s unraveling right in front of me.

  I can’t be here when he loses it completely.

  “And I got angry, like any normal red-blooded man. Like your precious Reed. I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her forehead against the mantle. I’d never hit a woman before in my life, but goddamn, Ella, that woman needed hitting. She needed to pay for what she’d done to me.”

  “But it wasn’t Dinah,” I whisper.

  Shame swamps his face, cutting through some of the anger. “I didn’t know that. I thought it was. They look the same from behind, damn it. They…” He seems to be struggling for air. “I saw her face as she fell forward, but it was too late. I couldn’t catch her. She hit her head on the mantle.” He pants in dismay. “Severed her damned spinal cord!”

  “I…” I gulp hard. “O-okay. Then it was an accident and you need to tell the police exactly what hap—”

  “We’re not involving the police!” he booms, then raises one hand as if he’s going to hit me.

  I brace myself, but the blow never comes. Instead, Steve’s big palm falls to his side.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he orders. “I’m not going to hurt you! You’re my daughter.”

  And Dinah is his wife, but he was still going to hurt her. My pulse careens again. I can’t be here. I can’t.

  “You have to tell the truth,” I plead with my father. “If you don’t, Reed will go to jail.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been racking my brain for weeks trying to figure out how to get him out of this. I might not want him screwing my kid, but I don’t want to see that boy go to prison.”

  Then why haven’t you saved him? I want to scream. But I already know the answer to that. No matter what he tries to say now, Steve was absolutely going to let Reed take the fall for Brooke’s death. Because Steve O’Halloran only cares about himself. That’s all he’s ever cared about.

  “You and me,” he suddenly says, his eyes taking on an animated light. “We’ll figure this out together. Please, Ella, let’s just sit down and talk it through and see how we can save Reed. Maybe we can pin it on Dinah—”

  “Like hell you will!”

  Steve spins around at the sound of Dinah’s voice. Me, I’ve never been happier to see Dinah in my entire life. Steve’s distraction is just the opportunity I need to dart away from the fireplace. I race toward the blonde as if my life depends on it. Because maybe it does.

  “You killed Brooke?” Dinah spits out, her horrified gaze glued to her husband.

  Her hand shakes. I see a glint of black, and that’s when I realize what she’s holding.

  A small, black revolver.

  “Put the gun down,” Steve tells her, sounding annoyed.

  “You killed Brooke,” she repeats, and this time it’s not a question.

  I plaster myself to Dinah’s side, but she surprises me by addressing me in a gentle voice. “Stand behind me, Ella.”

  “Put the gun down!” Steve orders again.

  He lunges forward, but Dinah swings the gun up. “Don’t take another step.”

  He stops in his tracks. “Put the gun down,” he says for the third time. His voice is soft now, measured.

  “Ella, call nine-one-one,” Dinah tells me without taking her eyes off Steve.

  I’m too scared to move. I’m terrified that the gun might go off by accident, and I’ll get caught in the crossfire.

  “For God’s sake, Dinah! You two are being ridiculous! Brooke’s death was an accident! And even if it wasn’t, who the hell cares! She was poison! She was a piece of garbage!”

  He lunges toward us again.

  And Dinah pulls the trigger.

  It all happens so fast I can’t even make sense of it. One second Steve is on his feet, the next he’s on the carpet, groaning in agony as he clutches his left arm.

  My ears are ringing like an entire row of carnival games. I’ve never he
ard a gunshot in real life before, and it’s so deafening I’m worried it might’ve shattered my eardrums. I feel sick. Really sick, like I’m going to vomit all over my feet. And my heart is racing faster than it ever has before.

  “You shot me, you bitch,” Steve mumbles, staring up at Dinah.

  Rather than acknowledge him, Dinah calmly turns to me and repeats her earlier request. “Ella. Call nine-one-one.”

  35

  Reed

  “What’s wrong?” are the first words out of my mouth when I answer the phone.

  “You need to come to the penthouse!” Ella gasps between deep, heaving breaths. “Come now. Bring Callum. Bring everyone. But especially Callum.”

  “Ella—”

  The line goes dead.

  Dammit. She hung up on me. I don’t waste another second, though. She called and needs me. She needs all of us.

  I’m off the bed and out the door in the next second. With my fist pounding on Easton’s door and then Sebastian’s, I scream downstairs for Dad.

  “Dad! Something’s wrong with Ella.” I press redial, but she doesn’t pick up.

  “What’s going on?” Easton bursts out of his room as I’m racing by.

  “It’s Ella. Something’s wrong.” Leaping five steps at a time, I fly down the stairs. Above and behind me, I hear the slamming of doors followed by running footsteps.

  Dad meets me at the bottom of the stairs. “What is it?” he asks in concern.

  “Ella’s in trouble. She needs us.”

  “Us?” Confusion flickers across his face.

  I shake my phone at him. “She just called. Told me she needs all of us to come over now.”

  His eyes widen, but he, too, jumps into motion. “We’ll take my car. Let’s go.”

  We run outside and pile into Dad’s Mercedes. I take shotgun while the twins and East settle into the back. Dad presses the gas pedal to the floor and tears down the driveway, barely waiting for the gates to open wide enough for the car to speed through. Meanwhile, I’m redialing and redialing Ella’s phone.

  After my fifth attempt, she finally answers. “I can’t talk, Reed. The police are here. Where are you?”

  I tense. “The police?”

  “Who’s that?” Dad demands from the driver’s seat.

  “It’s Ella,” I tell him. To Ella, I ask, “Why are the police there?”

  Her voice is strained. “I’ll explain it all when you get here.”

  She disconnects again.

  “Goddammit!” I slap my phone against my leg. I’m getting real tired of her hanging up on me.

  East leans forward, sticking his head between the two front seats. “What did she say?”

  Dad runs a red light, takes a hard right at about fifty miles an hour, and then careens wildly down another street. I brace myself against the door as I check the time. We’re about ten minutes from the city. I quickly text Ella.

  Be there in 10.

  “What did she say?” East repeats in my ear.

  I toss my phone into the center console and turn to look at my brothers. The twins are pale and quiet, but East is frantic. “She said that we needed to get to the penthouse—all of us…” I pause and turn to my father. “She said specifically to bring Dad.”

  “Why in the hell did she ask for me?” he wonders, not taking his eyes off the road.

  Another hard turn has all of us sliding to the left before righting ourselves in our seats. “I have no idea.”

  “Steve,” East pipes up. “Has to be about him.”

  Dad’s jaw hardens. “Call Grier. Have him meet us at the penthouse.”

  Not a bad idea. I dial our lawyer, who, unlike Ella, actually answers his phone. “Reed, what can I do for you?”

  “You need to meet us at Steve’s place,” I instruct.

  There’s a half beat of silence and then, “What in the world have you done?”

  I pull the phone away from my ear to stare at the mouthpiece in disbelief. “This fucking guy thinks I did something.”

  Dad makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “You’ve pled guilty to involuntary manslaughter. Of course he thinks you did something.”

  I frown, but place the phone against my ear again. “It’s Ella. Something’s happened and Dad thinks you should get over there.” Then I hang up on him, because we’ve arrived at the condo complex and there are police cars everywhere.

  Dad gapes at all the cruisers. “What in the hell?”

  Heart in my throat, I jump out before the car stops.

  “Reed, get back here!” my father yells. “Wait a damn second.”

  But more car doors slamming indicate my brothers are hot on my heels. The people in the lobby are a blur as I race toward the elevator bank. Miraculously, the brass doors are sliding open as I skid to a stop.

  Impatiently, I wait for the two uniforms to step out and then I dive inside. My brothers jump into the car as the doors are closing.

  “She’s okay, man,” East reassures me, slightly out of breath.

  “Really?” I stare at him. “It’s ten thirty. There are a dozen police cars out front. Ella called in a panic, saying she needed all of us here.”

  “She called, though,” he points out.

  The world’s fucked up when East is the calm one, while my heart is beating so hard it feels like it’ll leap out of my chest. I shove a hand through my hair and glare at the lights, willing the elevator to move faster.

  “What do you think is going on?” Sawyer asks in a subdued voice.

  “Probably Dinah,” his twin guesses.

  I slam my fist against the doors. That’s my fear, too.

  “You do that again and we might be stuck in here,” East warns.

  “Right. Then I guess I’ll have to punch you in the face.”

  “Then Ella’ll get mad at you. She loves my pretty face.” He pats the side of his cheek.

  The twins muffle nervous laughs. I ball my hands into fists and think about punching all three of them. Fortunately for them, the elevator grinds to a halt, and I bolt out.

  There are two police officers in the short hallway leading to the double-door entrance of the penthouse. The tall, thin one places a hand on the door, while the female’s hand moves to the top of her gun.

  “Where are you going?” one of them demands.

  “We live here,” I lie.

  The two officers look at each other. Behind me, I can feel all three of my brothers tense up. I don’t care if I punch these two cops out. I’m already going to prison. I charge forward, but just as I close the distance, a familiar face appears in the door.

  Detective Schmidt takes in the scene with one sweeping glance. Then she pushes the door open. “It’s fine. They can come in.”

  I’m not about to question my sudden good fortune. I hurry inside, past the huge portraits of Dinah and into the living room, calling my girl’s name. “Ella!”

  I finally spot her, huddled next to Dinah of all people, on a sofa facing the terrace doors.

  I rush over and drag her away from the couch. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she assures me. “Where’s Callum?”

  Why is she so hung up on my dad? I run my hands up and down her arms while I look her over. There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with her. She’s pale and cold. Her hair is tangled and crazy, but she doesn’t seem to be hurt.

  I clutch her to my chest, pushing her face flat against my hammering heart. “You sure you’re okay, baby?”

  “I’m okay.” She hugs me back. Over her head, I stare at Dinah, whose normally immaculate face is tear-stained. Her eyes are red and her hair is messy, too.

  “What the hell,” Easton says, sounding as confused as I feel. “Did you—did one of you shoot Steve?”

  I swing around and realize I’d run past Steve. He’s slumped against the base of the fireplace, his back pressed against the stones.

  He’s in handcuffs.

  Ella shudders.

  “What t
he hell is going on?” Dad booms.

  The grief lines on Dinah’s face smooth out, a calculated gleam entering her eyes. She leans against the low-backed sofa and slides an arm across the top. “Steve attempted to silence Ella when she discovered that he was the one who killed Brooke. I saved her. You can thank me later.”

  I hear a couple of curses as I stare at Ella. “Is this true?”

  She gulps and then nods slowly. “All of it.”

  There are other important things that Dinah just said, but the only one that sticks out is that Steve tried to kill Ella. That’s almost too much for my tired brain to take in.

  “Are you hurt?” I repeat, scanning her body again for signs of injury.

  “I’m fine. I swear.” She squeezes my arm. “Are you? Are you going to be okay?”

  Because my mind is spinning, I just nod like an idiot, but the urgency in her voice suddenly registers. The new pieces of information tumble around and over and on top of each other until one by one, they fall into place.

  Dinah’s tears.

  Ella’s frantic request that I come—that we all come.

  Steve trying to kill Ella.

  It finally hits me. “Steve tried to pin Brooke’s murder on me?”

  At Ella’s tiny grimace, I become so angry, I’m nearly blinded. I find myself halfway toward the fireplace before I realize I’ve even moved.

  Dimly, I hear my name being called, but all my attention is focused on the man who helped me learn to ride my first bike, who threw footballs with me and my brothers. Hell, he gave me my first condom.

  A medic kneels next to him, checking Steve’s blood pressure while Detective Cousins stands to one side.

  Ella appears beside me, placing a warning hand on my arm. “Don’t,” she whispers.

  Somehow I find the strength not to lunge at Steve. All I want to do is beat the ever-loving piss out of my godfather, but I close my eyes and find an ounce of self-restraint in the bottom of my churning gut.

  “Why?” I spit out in Steve’s direction. “Why did you do it?”

  My brothers form a wall behind me. Dad comes to stand on my other side. Steve’s eyes skip from Seb to Sawyer, linger on Easton, land on me, and then fix on my father.