Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Nor had I taken a second to think when I’d taken his head in my hands and killed him by breaking his neck.
It’d only been after I realized that my sister’s screaming was at me, and not at the man that’d been “raping” her, that I understood something had been very, very wrong.
The next few months weren’t even on my radar of expectations.
I’d fully expected my family to stand by my side.
But, like always, my sister had convinced my father that I was the one in the wrong. That I deserved to be punished.
Honestly, I should’ve expected it.
From day one, when my sister was born, my dad had gone out of his way to let everyone who would listen know that his daughter was his heart and pride.
Meanwhile, the moment she was born, it was as if I was thrown back into the pool of uncaring neglect. Either I sank or swam. There were only two options because my father was sure the hell not going to help me in any way, shape or form.
From the time I was eighteen, I knew that I would have to make my own way in life.
He would not be providing for me like he did my sister.
My sister was a certified genius. That was why, when it came time for me to go to college, there was no money left to be had. All of it had already been spent on sending my sister to her prep schools in anticipation of an Ivy League college.
Meanwhile, I’d been wearing the same pair of shoes from the moment I turned sixteen and stopped growing in shoe size.
I should’ve known the day that my sister asked for a house key to my place that it wouldn’t be used for anything good.
But like the dumbass I was, I’d thought my sister still had some semblance of decency in her.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
She’d testified against me in court today.
That was why, when I heard the sentence of nine years and nine months in prison, I wasn’t surprised.
It wasn’t every day that your own sister told the world that you did it on purpose.
It was her sweet, innocent face that sold it.
Meanwhile, I was scarred from the military, years of work and hardened to the point where even I didn’t know if I was good or not.
I looked at my father, the man that I’d always wanted to love me, and realized a few things.
One, the man that was standing in front of me hadn’t been a father to me since long before my prison sentence.
Two, he was a vile excuse for a human being.
Three, I didn’t want his money. I didn’t want his love. I didn’t want anything to do with him.
He’d done just about everything in his power to ensure that whatever love I’d felt for him was extinguished.
So no, him telling me that I was “no longer his son” didn’t affect me like he’d hoped.
In fact, it’d just cemented the fact that I wouldn’t waste the effort to try and contact him again. My soul was now guilt-free.
If I wasn’t his son, that meant that I didn’t have to take care of him.
Didn’t have to take care of his wife or his daughter. Didn’t have to make sure that he was financially stable anymore.
Which also meant the four thousand dollars I sent over to him once a month would dry up.
I could’ve made those payments automatic, so when I was in prison, they’d still come to him. Yet, now that I’d gotten the sentence, and he’d informed me that my sonly duties weren’t something he expected anymore, that absolved me from doing anything that I was going to do to prepare for the future.
My future of spending the next how many ever years—because let’s fuckin’ hope that I got parole—in prison was absolute.
Holy fuck, I was going to prison.
As a dual citizen and decorated military man from the United States of America, I’d always been a rule follower. I’d done my best to always make sure that I did everything that I could to color between the lines.
When I opened my own business, every single aspect of my work was done in the most legal way possible. If I couldn’t do it legally, then it wasn’t going to get done. Because I was that much of a rule follower.
And look where the fuck that got me.
A whole bunch of no-fucking-where.
“Did you hear me?” my father asked, annoyed that he thought I wasn’t listening to his important declaration.
“I heard you,” I confirmed. “I just don’t know what you want me to say. Thank you?”
My father’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
Then, suddenly, the dam burst.
“No,” I said, silently seething. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. Your daughter used my fucking apartment to play sex games. A sex game that had her getting raped, beaten, tied down and practically killed. He had a freakin’ knife and he was cutting her. What, exactly, would you have done had you seen that?”