“I don’t believe you,” I said. “I met with Alessandro a few weeks ago. He’s in a coma but alive.”
“Clarkson works for me, Brooke,” Nate said matter-of-factly, as if that was the answer to all my questions. “The old man you met was an actor I hired. Or why else do you think the nurse never left you two to talk in private? He was a bit senile, and we had to make sure he didn’t make a mistake, revealing too much.” Nate laughed and played with the knife pressed against my throat, obviously excited by his own madness.
“You and Jett were played from the beginning. Or did you think it was fate?” he asked. “I set up the meeting between the two of you. I even chose the bar. As his new assistant you were supposed to travel to Italy, meet with the old man, and never make it back alive. What I didn’t expect was Jett to fall for you and figure out there was something wrong with the estate, but you’ve done me a favor, Brooke. It makes sense that my brother would shoot you in a jealous fit and then kill himself, unable to live with the guilt.”
“He’d never do that,” I whispered.
“You’re right. But with my help, he will.” Nate’s blue eyes shimmered. I realized he was crazy. Literally crazy. A psycho. “Jealousy can be such a strong motive. And everyone who knows Jett knows he’s a passionate man. It’s a good plan, isn’t it? And when Jett dies, I get his shares of the company as well.”
My heart pounded fast, and desperation washed over me as I looked into Nate’s hard, cold eyes—the eyes of a killer.
“Please,” I whispered. “You’re talking about your brother. Don’t you care about your family?”
“I’m sorry things have to end this way,” Nate said. “But business is business, and everyone has to fight for himself.”
“Let her go, Nate.” A familiar voice carried over from the door. Nate eased enough on the knife, and I followed his line of vision to Jett’s father pointing a gun at us.
“So it was you all along? How could you betray me, Nate?”
“Dad?”
“Move away from her and drop the knife.” Robert waved his gun. “I’ll tell you one more time, Nate. Let her go.”
Nate took a step back, his knife dropping to the floor. I crawled toward the living room door, putting some distance between us. Nate seemed frozen, probably processing the news that his father was still alive. A few seconds passed. Robert spoke first.
“I raised you as my son,” Robert said, inching closer. “And this is how you repay me? After all I’ve done for you?”
I stared at him, confused. Wasn’t Nate his biological son? And what about Jett?
“Who was the guy I saw at the morgue?” Nate asked accusingly. His voice was tinted with a hint of anger.
“Some dead guy who was already dead when we got the body from the morgue,” Robert replied.
Nate remained silent as he stared back at his father. His eyes moved from his father to the knife on the floor. Eventually he asked, “Why did you fake your own death?”
“When I told about the club years ago, I did so to protect you from its influence. But you joined it behind my back and blackmailed me all those years.” Robert shook his head. “I thought I could trust you, but all you did was stab me in the back.”
“I had no choice, Dad,” Nate said slowly. “I was blackmailed, too.”
Robert laughed bitterly. “Bullshit. You went around our backs and manipulated everyone. When I sent Clarkson the money, I already suspected you were the actual recipient. But I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that it had to be a relatively new member, someone who knew my every step by watching me. When Clarence Holton told me you were the new club leader and interested in Brooke’s estate, I couldn’t believe it. I had to see for myself that the son I raised like my own could do this to me.” He paused. “So I led everyone to believe I was dead while I tried to keep Brooke safe and get the book. It was the only way to find out my blackmailer’s identity.”
“Why the book?” I asked.
Robert Mayfield’s eyes narrowed on me. “The numbers are combinations to P.O. boxes containing videos taken during various—” he hesitated “—club meetings. I figured the blackmailer would feature in one of them.” His attention turned back to Nate. “I’m sure if I looked hard enough, I’d find proof that you’ve been blackmailing members for years. Not that I need it now. Your standing here is proof enough that you betrayed the trust I placed in you when I told you about the club. I’ve been watching the apartment for days because I knew if Brooke stopped by, you would, too.” He shook his head, his face a mix of anger and grief. “I’m deeply ashamed of you, Nate. Of what you’ve done to the club. Of what it’s become.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Nate’s manner changed. His face looked guilty, and his voice filled with sadness as he stepped forward, hands outstretched. “If I had known I was a disappointment to you, I would’ve changed a long time ago.”
He was such a good actor—the sudden realization scared me more than anything. In slow motion, I watched Nate pull out a gun.
“No!” I shouted, but it was too late. A muffled shot echoed from the walls. Robert dropped to the floor, and blood began to pour out of his chest.
“Why don’t you admit you’re jealous, Dad? That you could never accomplish what I’ve achieved?” Nate picked up his father’s gun, his eyes fixed on the old man, as he pushed it inside the belt holster at his back. I kneeled next to Robert and pressed my hands against his chest to stop the blood flow.
“What did you do?” I shouted to Nate. The blood began to spread so fast it stained everything. My hands. Our clothes. The floor.
“It’s been long overdue,” Nate said. “And it’s all your fault, Brooke. If you hadn’t run away, my plan would’ve played out neatly.”
“We need to help him, Nate,” I pleaded. “Please call an ambulance, or he’ll bleed to death.”
“I don’t care about him. He’s not even my father.”
I gaped at him in shock. “How can you say that?”
“It’s the truth.” He shrugged and checked the gun. “Years ago I opened his safe because I needed money and he wouldn’t give it to me. That’s when I found my birth certificate. He took me from my real parents. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be raised by him.”
“I took you in from an orphanage, Nate,” Robert whispered. “Your parents abandoned you.” His face was distorted in pain.
“You’re lying.” Nate raised the gun again. “You’re fucking lying.” He walked back to his father, his brows drawn in anger. Now I understood why Jett saw his father the way he did. As volatile. Competitive. Even heartless, and sometimes cruel. Robert was about to die, but he preferred telling the brutal truth rather than make amends.
“You were an orphan, Nate. Your mother abandoned you in the gutter when you were barely three days old.”
Even though it was a poor excuse for his actions, for some reason I understood the pain Nate must’ve gone through all those years after finding out he belonged nowhere. The past he had was based on a lie.
“You wouldn’t have paid a dime if it were the truth,” Nate growled. “The fact I could blackmail you all those years so easily shows me you’re guilty of taking me away from my real parents.”
“Nate!” His father choked on his breath, his face distorting. “I built the company. I didn’t want to deal with any scandal or bad publicity. Everything I did was so you and Jett could have a carefree future. Showering you with millions to make you believe you were my own son and that you had a father was a small price to pay. It doesn’t change the fact that you were abandoned.”
“I fucking hate you,” Nate whispered. He held the gun to Robert’s head. “And I don’t care about anything you say. I’ll just fucking kill you both.”
He meant business.
My gaze swept over the room, taking in anything I could use as a weapon. Anything to keep the psycho from killing us. I just needed a distraction.
The thudding and voices outside the door made me flinch, and Nate turned his head. I used the opportunity. Grabbing the vase on the side table, I smashed it into the back of Nate’s head. He swayed, and the gun dropped to the floor. I lunged for it and pointed it at him. My hands were shaking badly because I knew Nate had another gun tucked in the holster at his back.
“Don’t even think about pulling it out,” I hissed. “Or I’ll shoot.”
Nate chuckled, unfazed, and took a step forward. “Look at the way you’re holding that gun. You can’t even shoot.”
I lifted the gun higher.
“I swear I’ll do it.”
He dove for me. I shot—and missed.
Shit.
The door bolted open, and from the periphery of my vision I saw Jett and a few guys storming in. Nate turned around, his arms spread out, a horrified expression on his face.
“Thank God you’re here, Jett,” Nate shouted, his gaze brushing nervously over the gun in Brian’s hands. “She shot our father. She’s involved in his shit and now she’s trying to kill me.”
I gaped, my speech failing me.
Un-believe-able.
The guy wasn’t just a good actor; he was a born liar.
Jett pulled out his gun and pointed it at Nate. “I don’t believe my girlfriend would ever do that.”
In slow motion I watched Nate retrieve his gun out of the holster. Jett aimed. An instant later a muffled gunshot resonated from the walls and Nate slumped to the floor, blood pouring out of his leg, his face a mask of agonizing pain.
I had no idea that Jett could shoot that well. Brian and another guy lifted Nate up and dragged him out the door. But my mind was already elsewhere.
Jett’s hands were all over me, inspecting me for wounds. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but he is.” I pointed to his father, who lay in a puddle of blood, still conscious. The smell was overpowering, and I couldn’t stop shaking. “Nate shot him while your father tried to protect me. We need to help him.”
“Shit,” Jett muttered, kneeling beside Robert as he pulled out his cell phone and called Sam.
By the time a private ambulance arrived, I was a nervous mess. It didn’t help to see Jett’s worried face as he exchanged a few words with his father.
“What did he say?” I said after the ambulance drove away.
“He told me where to find the P.O. boxes with the videos. That’s the only thing he said,” Jett said, gravely. “He could barely speak.”
“Oh, God.” I buried my face in Jett’s chest. “I hope he’ll make it.”
He didn’t reply. The silence was oppressing as we drove to Sam’s hospital.
“How did you find me?” I whispered. We had been sitting in the waiting room for two hours until Sam could confirm that Jett’s father had passed the critical phase following surgery. Avoiding the subject was easier than looking at the hard facts. It was easier than admitting that Jonathan Mayfield had been playing Jett all along, and Robert Mayfield might die because of his adopted son’s greed.
