Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Denver is Leo’s father. I don’t think that has hit Leo yet.
Denver raped his own biological son.
My insides lurch. I’m going to be sick.
“Tia Langston.” Monty gulps down the last of his bourbon and paces through the room. “Her father was Paul Langston, our groundskeeper. He lived in a guest house on our property on Kodiak Island.” He groans. “He died in a car accident when Tia was young. Christ, she was…”
“Fifteen,” Melanie says and turns to Leo. “She was fifteen when she gave birth to you in Fairbanks. She named you Brennan. Brennan Langston.”
“Who is Helena Weiss?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m so confused.
“Tia Langston changed her name to Helena Weiss.” Melanie tucks a loose lock of hair into her bun. “Denver explains it in the video, and we fact-checked it. I can walk you through the details or—”
“Let’s watch the fucking video.” Leo eases back into the couch with a casual sprawl, as if the identity of his father hasn’t phased him in the slightest.
I see through the facade. His entire foundation has been violently and irreparably rocked.
“Leo.” I tuck myself into his side and rest my head on his pounding chest. “It’s okay not to be okay about this. I’m here.”
“I know.” He grinds his teeth.
Kody’s arm stretches behind me along the back of the couch, his hand landing on Leo’s nape.
My mind spins as I redefine our relationships and dynamics.
Monty and Kody are half-brothers.
Leo and Wolf are cousins.
Monty and Kody are Leo’s uncles.
Kody is four years younger than Leo, and he is Leo’s uncle.
I don’t even want to contemplate Denver’s relationship with them. I’ll dwell on that later when I’m ready to have a good cry.
Monty returns to his chair, his nostrils flaring. “Play the video.”
“Before we jump into it…” Melanie powers on the TV screen. “There were a few other documents on the thumb drive. One was a digital copy of the flight manual with an instructional training guide on flying the Turbo Beaver. The other was a step-by-step operational handbook on the hydroelectric generator.”
“Of course, there was,” Kody snarls.
“Psycho fucking prick.” Leo runs a shaky hand through my hair.
I release a sad breath. “He included the instructions because, in his sick, fucked-up way, he wanted you to survive.”
“I wish he were alive right now so I could tell him how I feel about that.” Leo scowls at Melanie. “Anything else? Like bank account information or a last will and testament?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
My heart sinks.
With that, Melanie returns to her chair and presses play.
The room darkens, the focus shifting to the screen where the video comes to life.
There, displayed with disarming familiarity, is Denver, lounging with the ease of an arrogant monster, wearing the smile that makes me quake with murderous rage.
But my heart stops at the sight of the couch he occupies, a piece of furniture deeply embedded in my memories.
I handpicked it when Monty and I got married.
It’s the very couch in the main room of the house I shared with Monty in Sitka.
My ears ring. My entire body shudders.
That couch and those surroundings are part of a world I shared with Monty, a world that now feels like a distant dream.
A dream that Denver violated.
Seeing him there, in a setting so personal and intimate, tunnels ice through my veins.
I glance at Monty, wondering if he feels the invasion as viscerally as I do.
His face is a stone wall, his gaze fixed on the screen, but I sense his tension. His eyes, a barometer of his temper, flash with the fury building beneath his composure.
“Where is that?” Leo leans forward.
“In our fucking house.” Monty flexes his hands.
“He didn’t record this the night he abducted me. It’s daylight outside.” I point to the window on the video.
Kody drains his vodka and grips my thigh.
Denver starts to speak, his voice filling the room. “I’ve lived to bury my desires and see my dreams corrode with rust. Now all that’s left are fruitless fires that burn my empty heart to dust.”
“More riddles.” Kody’s breathing changes, becomes more pronounced.
Denver sprawls on my couch, arms stretched across the seat back, the very embodiment of a psychopath.
His smile is all charm, sweetly warm, yet the coldness in his eyes is chilling. “If you’re watching this, it means I shuffled off this mortal coil and entrusted one of my sons with my riddle. Who was it, I wonder? Which of my boys did I deem smart enough to solve the puzzle and retrieve the thumb drive? Which one was worthy enough to share my legacy?”
“The fuck?” Kody shifts restlessly, fighting to stay anchored to the sofa.
“Technically…” I clutch Kody’s hand. “He gave the riddle to me.”
Monty’s gaze remains glued to the screen. He hasn’t seen Denver in thirty years. I can’t fathom what he’s feeling right now.