by Addison Jane
It was why when mom died, instead of being the broken man most would expect, he thrived. It gave him more power, not just in the press but in our home. Suddenly, there wasn’t another person giving us the things we needed to survive or the love we needed to be fucking human.
So we had to fight to get it from him.
For the most part, the boys fell into line, trying to do what he told us just so they would get that pat on the back or some kind of fucking affection.
I, on the other hand, was a fucking mess.
Some days I’d be all yes sir, no sir.
Others, I’d be telling him to burn in hell.
Both desperate attempts to get some kind of fucking real love from a man who seemed actually incapable of it.
“Jester is just itching to get his hands on that boyfriend of yours,” he started, and I instantly knew this was his bargaining tool. But how did you make a deal with a man who was so unafraid to screw you over. “But you play nice tonight and get me the money I need for my next campaign, and I’ll pay someone to make the crazy fucker disappear. You wanna be a bitch? I’ll give Jester every resource I have to destroy that whole fucking club.”
I stared back at him.
That was his bargaining tool—my feelings for Myth and the club.
It gave him ammunition, gave him something he could use to force me to fall into line. Part of me wanted to do just that, protect my family and fall into step behind my fucking father and play the part I was made to play. The other part of me knew Myth would never want me to back down. He’d want me to fight for myself.
It had been his mission ever since I stepped inside the clubhouse, his poking and prodding to try and get a response, to get me to fight back, to stand my ground. I knew it was all part of this huge master plan, and I loved him for it.
I loved him for making me stronger.
For seeing through the mask.
I loved him.
And I knew exactly what he’d say.
Fight.
I just needed to make it through tonight.
The fact that Myth wasn’t already here, taking names and ripping faces off led me to believe there was something far bigger going on.
I knew there was.
“Looks like it’s time to go,” I responded through clenched teeth, a smug grin forming on my father’s face. I hoped he made the most of it because he had no idea what was coming.
Not just with Myth.
Or the club.
But I’d made a few plans of my own during the week, not imagining I’d ever be here to watch them come to light, but now that I was, I was going to make the fucking most of it.
Inhaling deeply, I lifted my chin and headed for the door, my heels clipping loudly on the wooden floors. Security swarmed around us as we stepped out of the hotel room and into the hall. The Ritz was my father’s favorite hotel. They loved him here, always doting on him, leaving him gifts, offering him the best of the best of the best.
Man, did he love a good ego boost.
And thanks to Auron talking in church the other day about this narcissistic sociopathic disorder, I guess maybe I understood a little more why. Things made a little more sense, and while I didn’t think it would ever make me feel better about having this man as a father, it was almost comforting to know there was nothing I could have done to ever change things.
It wasn’t because I wasn’t good enough.
It was never because I didn’t try hard enough to please him.
He was simply incapable of being anything other than a monster.
Which conveniently meant it made it a lot easier for me to do what I had to do to bring him down, to take down this power and platform he seemed to continue to stand on without feeling guilty about destroying my own blood.
I paused at the door and took one last glimpse of myself in the mirror, my long dark hair complemented the black satin mini dress I wore, the wrist length lace sleeves adding a sexy edge. A black vintage lace choker tied in the whole look, adding a little extra flair with a broach right in the center and black jewels and chains dripping down.
It was almost like I was attending a really fancy funeral.
But I guess, with what I had planned, maybe I was.
And this was my final fuck you.
LAKEN
The Majestic Downtown, in the heart of Los Angeles, was a beautiful venue.
My father’s go-to for these kind of events.
Not only was the building old and simply exquisite, the inside was polished and held this regal feeling with the old embellishments and fixtures but had been decorated to look more modern with several large chandeliers. They were a combination of hanging glass hooked onto large steel circles of different sizes making it a little less princess and a little more industrial—a feeling I’d grown to love.
The large ballroom area was open, but there was a mezzanine level that ran the entire outside, so people could look down on the event and still be a part of speeches and announcements.
I desperately wanted to escape up there, find the bar and a dark corner and just give myself a little bit of liquid courage. But my father wouldn’t let me out of his sight for a second, spending the first hour we were there moving from one group of people to another, introducing me, forcing me to smile through their idiotic questions.
Where is your dress from?
Who did your hair?
Aren’t you happy life is back to normal?
Normal?
This is meant to be normal?
Nod, smile, try not to puke all over these rich, stuck-up assholes. There were millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry and dresses and overpriced shoes in this room. It was the who’s who of wealth, and while I was sure there were people in this room who honestly thought they were doing something positive, making a change in the world and standing up for a wealthy cause, there were also plenty who were only here because they could write it off at the end of the tax year.
That was how the wealthy stayed wealthy.
“Sir, it’s time for your speech,” a man in dark glasses interrupted.
My father quickly excused us, directing me once again across this room, this time toward a small stage that had been erected.
“Stand here,” he ordered, hitting me with a stern warning in his eyes before he made his way up a couple of stairs and tapped the mic softly. A hush fell across the crowd, and the music that had been playing in the background came to an abrupt halt.
He grinned, pulling the mic from its stand and adjusted his suit jacket.
He loved this.
All eyes on him.
Everyone in awe of this magnificent event he planned and his generosity.
Fucking gag.
“I won’t take much of your time,” my father started before clearing his throat. “I can’t explain how much I appreciate your attendance here tonight and your support of a cause that has quickly become so dear to my heart.”
Suddenly, an image appeared on the wall behind him.
Our family, Mom, Dad, the boys, and me when we were younger. We were laughing, another fabricated reaction, but wow, did we make it look so real.
“I’ve suffered plenty of tragedy in my life,” he continued, looking up at the image with a dramatic sigh. “Losing my darling wife. The shooting on Leah’s birthday. Then thinking she was gone forever. The stress it’s put on my family, our emotions, our mental strength. But we’ve made it through, and I think that is a testament to communication. Mental Health isn’t something to hide, it’s not something we should fear. And if anything comes of this, I hope someone decides to have a conversation about how they feel and get the help they need.”
How the hell a man like him—with so many of his own mental problems—could sound so fucking sincere told us just how fucking crazy he really was. He truly believed the words coming out of his mouth, that he was this amazing example people should use to build their family ties.
It was pathetic, honestly, and I found myself fight
ing the laughter bubbling in my stomach.
The applause moved through the crowd like a wave, filling the room. You could see it inflating his head, forcing his ego to grow a little bit bigger. He craved it—it was like his fucking drug of choice.
“Thank you,” he murmured, bowing at the waist and nodding his head. “Please enjoy your night. And remember… see the front desk if you’d like to donate to Mental Health America. The girls there will sit with you on their website and process it right away. Now, I’m going to grab a drink and spend some more time with my Leah.”
He replaced the mic, jogged down the stairs, and was quickly pulled aside while being congratulated by everyone with quiet words and pats on the back as he dipped and dodged his way toward the bar.
Ah, very smart.
Have legitimate donations being made, so people see them and don’t even become suspicious.
Why would a man stealing money have people at his event helping to make legitimate donations?
It was all a mind game.
One he’d been playing for years, one he’d become the king of.
But one that tonight, I would never plan on letting him win.
I took a deep breath, forcing my body forward, my shaking legs stumbling up the few stairs to the stage. I tapped the mic. “Good evening,” I addressed the crowd, clearing my throat. “I’d like to say a few words.”
One by one, the faces in the crowded ballroom turned.
I felt my heart leap each time another pair of eyes landed on me, the attention making my stomach churn.
“I’d like to raise my glass to my father, Trenton Clarke.” I caught movement within the crowd, the man himself weaving his way through the maze of rich and wealthy partygoers. The stern glare on his face was exactly the reaction I was looking for, forcing me to grow a little bolder, stand a little taller. “This man has a history of these events. He throws one every year, always putting everything he can into raising money for those who need it.”
Applause filled the room, my father finding a place at the side of the room where everyone could see him. The scowl on his face softened when he realized the room’s attention was being directed at him at that moment. The smile quickly returned, and he bowed his head dramatically, soaking up the praise like the addict he was. That was what he needed, to know people loved him, to know they looked up to him and never down at him.
He needed to know he was king.
And they were his peasants.
“Everyone knows by now that I’ve struggled for a long time with my mental health. So I know how much good the money raised here tonight will do,” I croaked, my hand curling around the mic as it stood on the stand in front of me. It was a hard thing to voice out loud when I’d only recently come to terms with the fact that I deserved to have this life, that I didn’t need to punish myself because I got to keep mine and others didn’t.
Because it wasn’t my fault.
It was his.
“I’m sure you also already know that every dollar from tickets tonight will be going to Mental Health America, but there’s something my humble father failed to tell you all, and I just can’t let him go without getting the recognition he deserves.” I turned my attention to him, waiting until his eyes connected with mine before I smiled.
This smile was real.
I didn’t have to fake it.
Because I couldn’t help but be delighted in the tiny pinch of fear I saw sparkling back at me.
“Not only has every dollar of ticket sales which have already been donated gone to the cause, a few days ago, Trenton Clarke told his banking advisor to match those sales dollar for dollar, and he donated over two million dollars of his own money to the cause.”
The confused look on his face was priceless, the deep-cut frown soon developed into realization, his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. The crowd clapped loudly, cheering and patting him on the back as he went through a process of emotions.
Eventually, he landed on one.
And as he fought his way through people, flashing them tight smiles and brief excuses, I could see my words soak like gasoline into his skin. All it would take was a tiny spark to send it sky-high. This man who was so controlled, so calculated, so hard to crack, he was struggling, and I was fucking thrilled.
“You sure you don’t want us to come in with you?” Myth asked curiously, rounding the SUV as I skipped backward toward the bank’s doors. Avery and Kennedy flanked me on either side, bright smiles on their faces that I was sure would have given us away.
And maybe they did, but Myth and Ty just leaned back against the vehicle, honestly looking a little like they could be there to rob the place.
They weren’t.
But we were.
“We’re fine,” I placated him. “I just need to see about the accounts my mom set up for us before she died. See if my dad managed to drain them.” It wasn’t a lie technically, I was going to do that first, but I also had a bigger fish to fry.
The girls at the front desk hurried us through to the back once I dropped my name and they looked up my ID on the computer. Harold Stein had been handling my father’s financials since he and my mother had gotten married.
“Your father is my only client now,” Harold explained when we three girls stepped into his office. The poor man looked tired as if his time working at a desk was done. “He won’t let anyone else take over, so I still have to come in every day, just to sit here and meet with him once a week.”
“Is that because of the shit you’ve done for him in the past?” I asked, and Harold didn’t even flinch.
“Back then, I needed the money your dad was offering,” he explained, his body sagging into the large comfortable chair. “I did what I had to do, and I’m not proud of it. But yes, he has information that means I can’t walk away.”
“But don’t you have as much on him?” Kennedy asked, lifting herself to sit on the edge of Harold’s almost completely bare desk. “You did illegal things, but it was at his order. He was the one who wanted you to. He was the one who’s lied about how much money is going places.”
“But I moved it, and there is no proof he ever asked me to,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s my word against his. The defining factor… there’s evidence of what I’ve done, and none of what he’s said.”
Trenton Clarke had been keeping this man trapped in hell for years.
Harold was on the wrong side of seventy years old.
He should have been retired.
Living his life in a condo on some tropical island.
Not sitting at a desk every day waiting for a new order from my father.
“I’ve got a proposition for you. One that will get you the hell out of here, and in the process leave a big ‘fuck you’ to Trenton Clarke.” Those few words had him sitting a little taller, his back a little straighter, his eyes a little brighter.
Avery looked over at me with a wide grin.
This wasn’t just my fuck you to the man, this was Harold’s fuck you too, which was going to make it extra sweet.
“What do you need?”
He jogged up the steps and pulled me back from the microphone, using the murmur of the crowd to cover his furious tone. “What the hell have you done?” he snapped, somehow still managing to hold the warm, gracious smile on his face.
I held mine too, my heart pounding so hard I was feeling like I could pass out at any moment. “I saw Harold. He’s gone on a permanent holiday to Dubai. He bought an apartment in one of those tall-ass buildings. He lives right underneath a real-life sultan. He said to say thank you for setting him up there for the rest of his life. He really appreciates it.”
“Leah…”
“Oh, but before he left, he made sure all the funds from ticket sales and your entire personal account were donated to Mental Health America.” It felt so fucking good. The angry storm around him was brewing, his eyes twitching, the vein in his head throbbing as he soaked in every fucking word. “And before you think you
’re gonna bring him back, sue him, get it all back, you should know there’s something special about Dubai… there’s no extradition.”
The voices around us were getting louder, eyes on our little exchange, people wondering what the hell was going on given that my father was struggling to keep the thankful smile on his face.
I leaned in. “Careful, there are about twelve hundred pairs of eyes on you right now.” His eyes were on fire, he would have burned me to the ground in seconds had we not been on a stage in the middle of his biggest money-making scheme. I could see the cogs moving in his head, figuring out what the hell he was going to do. How was he going to play this? What he was going to say?
It felt like we’d been standing there together for hours, but in reality, it had been less than a minute.
He sucked in a deep breath allowing it to fill his chest, forced his shoulders back, and stood taller. He needed to gain his strength back, he couldn’t look weak. Slowly, he turned, wrapping his fingers around the mic and leaning in. “Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen,” he announced loudly, drawing all the attention back to him. “I’m just in a little shock. My daughter, she is full of surprises. Donating to causes like this one is a passion of mine, but I’ve never wanted my contributions to take away from the charity itself. So my anonymous donations often stay that way. Anonymous.”
He’s good.
But I guess he’s had a lot of practice.
“I appreciate Leah wanting to share my good deeds with all of y—”
He paused, looking down at the floor.
I could feel it too, a vibration moving up through the floorboards. People were looking around and at each other with worry and concern.
A second later, my eyes drifted up at the sound of the chandelier above us. It was tinkling like a wind chime. The light, crystal sound soon accompanied by a slow, building hum. A familiar hum, one I would recognize anywhere, and in that instant, it had me breathing in a long, satisfying breath as though the air was suddenly a lot clearer.
“Leah,” my father growled, trying to draw my attention back to his pathetic attempt to control me.
But he held no power.