Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I walked next to Hush as we climbed the steps and burst through the front door. The minute we walked through there, we weren’t Hush and Cowboy, we were Aubin and Valan, here to do what should have been done years ago.
The house looked like a museum as we walked through the hallways. Until we rounded the corner to the library . . . and found old Mr. Moreau sitting behind his desk. He looked startled when we filled up the doorway, standing side by side. His eyes widened. He tried to press something under his desk—an alarm maybe? But no sound came.
I had a fucking lot to thank Crow for.
I smiled and stepped forward. Hush was frozen to the spot. “Mr. Moreau.” I sat on the chair opposite him and kicked my feet up on the desk. “You remember me?”
He stared at me awhile, then his mouth dropped open. “Aubin Breaux?”
I tipped the front of my Stetson. “At your service.”
Then his eyes slammed to Hush, standing tall behind me. The old man swallowed. “And I’m the abomination,” Hush said coldly. He strutted forward to stand by my side.
I kept my eyes on Moreau’s hand, just in case he tried to go for his gun. As expected, his hand disappeared underneath the desk. I pulled out my gun and aimed it right at the fucker’s head. “Hands where I can see them, prick.” When he didn’t do as I demanded, I clicked off the safety. His hands flattened on the desk in an instant. “Val?” I called, giving Hush the floor.
Hush didn’t waste time. Just got right to the fucking point. “You ordered the death of my papa and me from your Klan friends.” Moreau paled, but the bastard kept his head high. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t deny it. “But you killed her instead. Killed them both for being in love.”
Moreau cracked, his jaw tensing. “She brought shame upon this family,” he hissed. “Never, in three hundred years, had this family been polluted, then she brings home him.” The look Moreau gave Hush was laced with disgust. “And then they had you.” He laughed. “She wasn’t even biologically mine, but she was the perfect Aryan and carried my name. She was ruined by that man you call a father.” He sat back in his seat. “You were meant to be there, not her. I wanted her away from your father’s influence, from you.” He shrugged. “But in hindsight, I realize it wouldn’t have helped.” A cold fucking glint of victory flared in his eyes. “I now count it as a happy mistake that she died too. The shame on the Moreau name died with her.”
One second his lips were moving. The next, a gunshot sounded and a bullet raced between his eyes. I swung my feet back to the floor as blood pooled along the desk. When I stood, Hush was staring down at his dead granddaddy. He let out a quick breath, then looked at me. His eyes were wide. I was about to speak when I heard a gasp from the doorway.
We both spun around to see an older woman with graying blond hair and blue eyes . . . eyes exactly like Hush’s. And like Hush, one of them was ringed with a bruise.
“Hey, Mrs. Moreau,” I greeted. She spared me a glance, but her eyes only wanted Hush. I felt my brother tense, and I knew what he was seeing. He was seeing his mother, as she would have been when she was older. Mrs. Moreau came into the room. Her walk was laborious, the result of her stroke years ago. Her mouth on one side tilted slightly down. But that didn’t stop her from getting to her grandson.
Hush’s hand, still holding the gun, shook. Slowly, he lowered it. Just as he did so, Mrs. Moreau’s hand moved to her mouth and a weak sob escaped from her throat. She stopped at Hush’s feet, looking up at him. She was a small woman; he towered over her. Tears tracked down her cheeks. By Hush’s reaction, I didn’t think he was far from breaking down himself.
“Valan?” she whispered, her Swedish tongue effortlessly wrapping around the name.
Hush’s mouth parted. He nodded. I looked at her bare arm and saw bruise after faded bruise. Looked like Moreau was even more of a cunt than we knew.
Mrs. Moreau’s hand fell from her mouth and moved to Hush’s cheek. Her hand trembled, as did her voice when she said, “You look just like her.” Her fingers walked to the side of his bruised eye. She didn’t even mention that my friend was battered and bruised. All she could see was Hush, and through him, her daughter.
“He took her from me,” she whispered, her voice cutting out. “He never told me whether you were alive or dead.” Her eyes squeezed shut. When they opened, she said, “I never cared.” Hush’s gaze widened. “I didn’t care who she married . . . I just wanted her to be happy.” She sobbed and turned away. When she’d got her shit together, she said, “And I never got to meet my lovely grandson.” She smiled, her hand still on Hush’s face, like she couldn’t take it away.