“Get the hell out of my house!” Richard stepped forward, faltering at first, but he seemed to sober more with each step.
Matthew moved to my other side. “He'd really hurt us?”
Fowler smirked. “Not on his own. He has a way of convincing people to do all sorts of things. Just ask Luke's mother.”
He was right on that. Somehow my father had convinced her to hate her only child. Did I want to know how?
Fowler continued. “He's going to be a powerful man soon. I'm more than willing to help him succeed. We can make this all go away. A simple bank error. The money will be returned. Everyone will be safe.”
“Fuck you.” I spat the words. “I'm staying with them. And I'm going to the police.” My hands clenched into balls at my sides, fist-sized missiles ready to strike at him.
The smirk never faded as he stepped farther into the light. “You'll embarrass yourself. No one will ever believe you. All you can do is what he's offering. He'll leave them alone if you'll give them up. The reporters are going to follow you, report on everything you do. He wants you living alone and acting the part of the supportive son when they do. You have one week to decide.”
“I'm not leaving. You tell him I am not leaving them. Now get out of here!” I lunged at the man. Anger blocked out every other thought, every other reaction or instinct. Richard caught my arm and stopped me from charging ahead with all of the rage finally, powerfully escaping me. I met his pleading eyes.
Fowler's next movement happened fast, and I had trouble understanding what had occurred until he stood behind Matthew. He wrapped an arm around him and raised a knife to the kid's throat.
All I could see were Matthew's eyes— those sweet, loving, cheerful eyes. Only they weren't cheerful, and Matthew wasn't laughing or bouncing. He was frightened and alone. Even with the mere feet between us and him, he was alone in the man's grip. One slight movement of the knife and...
In that moment, I understood hatred.
I hated my father.
I hated this man standing before us.
I hated that my life choices had destroyed Richard's business and had put a knife at Matthew's throat just as surely as if I'd done the deeds myself.
But I wasn't to blame. I hadn't been the one to twist my life with them into evil acts of hatred. I hadn't asked my father to despise my life and fear my choices would undo his.
“Don't hurt him.” Richard no longer sounded strong or confident or angry. He sounded small, nervous. He knew the damage a blade could do. “Let him go and leave, and we won't call the cops. Just— don't hurt him.” He lifted a hand and stepped toward Matthew.
Fowler clenched the knife. The blade grazed along the pale skin. A scratch. A warning.
Richard stilled. “Don't.”
The intruder hauled Matthew tighter against him. Seeing Matthew touched by the hands of depravity sent an icy chill through every part of me.
Matthew shook. His hands clutched at the other man's arm.
I had to do something. Anything. I couldn't stand still for one more moment.
They were five feet from me. I could move damn fast, but would it be fast enough?
My eyes connected with Matthew's. He glanced down at his right arm and back to me with a small nod.
I waited for his move. I had to be ready. Richard was still drunk, but he'd do whatever he could to save Matthew. He'd back me up if I needed it.
It went down fast. Matthew elbowed Fowler in the gut. Fowler doubled over, dropping his hand with the knife until it was nowhere near Matthew's exposed throat. Matthew leaped forward.
I was damn proud of him, and I almost didn't move in time.
Almost.
I charged forward and caught our intruder's throat in one hand and his wrist in the other. I gripped tight on both counts, stilling the knife in his hand. I threw my weight at him and shoved him against the wall, slamming the back of his hand into the hard surface over and over until he dropped the knife.
“No one is hurting them. Not my father. Not you. No one.”
My hands squeezed his neck harder. Anger and rage flowed out the ends of my fingers as they dug into flesh.
His voice came in a whisper, traveling on the last bit of air. “He can do whatever he likes. He always does.”
“Not this time.” My fingers dug in deeper and intensified the choke. The man seized my arms. He wrenched back and forth, gasping.
A hand touched my shoulder. “Stop, Luke.” Richard stood at my side. “Let him go.”
Despite the anger, the fury, the need to end it all, I did what Richard asked.
Fowler stumbled away and fell to his hands and knees. He wheezed and gulped, his body not under his own control. When he could stand, he scurried off like a rat, coughing and sputtering as he went.
My gaze lingered on the open door of our home, and my feet lurched a few steps forward. They weren't ready to let him go. What would I do if I caught up to him?
Chapter Thirty-seven
I froze, staring at the door where Fowler had made his exit. My thoughts settled on nothing but the intent, determined hatred that had overcome me when I'd seen the knife at Matthew's throat.
Matthew.
I spun around. Richard had toppled over, and Matthew was holding on to him. I rushed to them, and we maneuvered Richard into a chair.
We didn't speak. We didn't move. Our eyes stated
