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I close my eyes and sit on the back seat of the car and let my mind wander. I think back to everything we’ve been through together. To the first time I saw her, to the first kiss in the cab, to those pictures, to the sex, to spanking her in La Mode. Everything feels like it’s building toward a climax, but there’s no happy ending here, no happily-ever-after, not for Kat.
She’s been shit on, beat down, embarrassed, bullied, and beaten since the day she was born and that isn’t going to change.
The car parks outside of the house and I get out.
I’m going to hurt her.
Not badly. Not at first. I don’t have enough to ruin her or her family yet—but I have a place to start, and I’m going to give it to Grandpop as a gesture of good faith.
Kat’s mother.
I head inside and walk slowly back toward Grandpop’s office. I check inside but he’s not there. The place is quiet and I guess most people are out. I move back toward the living room and figure I’ll pass the time there until Grandpop comes home, but when I open the door and step inside, I find a fire crackling in the hearth and the old man sitting alone in front of it with a drink in his hand and a far-off look in his eyes.
I stay in the doorway studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem to realize I’m watching yet. Grandpop looks so fucking old and I don’t know when that happened. In my memory, he’s a tall man, healthy and hale, with a loud laugh and a keen smile and sharp knowing eyes. He’s enormous in my imagination, always a giant, always the one in charge, always teaching me and punishing me and hurting me and pushing me to be better. Hewas hard on me growing up, painfully hard on me at times, but I kept telling myself that Grandpop was doing it for a reason.
He was molding me into something better.
And in some ways, I think that’s right, he did mold me. He turned me into what I am not but I’m not sure that’s a good thing anymore.
He looks so small now. Thin, bent, wizened. He’s not the man that terrorized me when I was young anymore and I still feel that sharp pang every time he’s around.
I watch him and feel my stomach twist and take a deep breath.
I’m going to hurt her.
And I’m going to start with her mother.
Because while it won’t destroy the Stocktons, it will definitely embarrass them when news about Kat’s mother leaks. When the judgmental society types learn about Kat’s mother’s rehab and her jail time and all those ugly details, I can only imagine the whispers that will follow Kat and her family all over the place. If Grandpop’s smart about it, he might even be able to use his contacts to get the mother arrested again.
That leaves a bitter, ugly taste in my mouth.
But I have no other choice.
“Don’t just linger there, boy,” Grandpop says and I stiffen. He glances over with a deep frown. “You think I didn’t see you come in?”
“You seemed busy.”
“Busy. Not at all. Come, sit down with me, Ford.”
I hesitate, but this is what I wanted. I head inside and why do I feel like I’m marching to my own execution? I’m going to hurt Kat. I can do this.
“Where is everyone tonight?” I ask him as I sink into the armchair beside him.
“Who knows,” he says and his voice is thick with drink. He’s drunk, but not so drunk that he won’t remember this conversation. I’ve seen varying levels of Grandpop and drink, and this is one I know well—slurred, softened, blurred, but it’s a deceptive gentleness. This is his most dangerous state, the one that can turn violent very suddenly, and I learned to be very careful as a boy when Grandpop was drinking and sounded like this.
“They shouldn’t leave you alone.”
“They always do.” He grunts and takes another drink. “I spent all day today putting out fires. The restaurant industry is a nightmare, boy. You’ll be happy if Riley runs it.” His smile is ugly, and he glances over to see if his little comment landed the way he hoped.
I don’t take the bait. “You know, I’ve been thinking about that. What are you going to do once you’re officially retired? You’ve been working for the restaurants most of your life.”
“Ah, well, I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll dedicate more time to ruining that old Stockton fuck. Wouldn’t that be a nice retirement hobby? Evening scores and destroying enemies?”
I laugh but it sounds hollow even to me. “You don’t want to do something more worthwhile? Get into charity or something?”
“Charity?” He makes a face. “Fuck charity, Ford. You don’t understand what we’re doing here, do you? That’s why I’ve kept my options open.”
I sit up straighter and lean toward him. “Explain it to me then.”
