“Well, my point is made, then.” I sat back, studying his face with anxious eyes.

He frowned. “What point?”

“You wanted so much to fit in with your family that you were at their mercy. You were manipulated first with kicks and harsh discipline and then encouraged by promises and kindness. They got you drunk, told you lies. They drugged you, told you more lies. They scrambled you up so much inside, Art. You had no idea what you were doing half the time.”

His mouth hung open. A beacon lit behind his eyes as a shred of hope ignited. “What … what do you mean?”

Taking a deep breath, I held my bleeding heart. “I mean you were drunk the night you shot my parents. Beyond drunk. You slurred and stumbled. You had a terrible black eye, blood on your lip, and could barely move. You were probably drugged, too. You couldn’t walk unassisted—let alone aim and shoot.”

Arthur scrambled to his feet, shoving me away from him. Pacing away, his fingers dived into his hair. “I don’t understand. That doesn’t make any sense. I remember everything so clearly.”

I stood. “Do you, though? What do you remember?” When he didn’t stop patrolling or chewing on his lip, I tensed. “You remember what they told you. You recall what they said happened. Believe me—you weren’t in any state to recall anything but a raging hangover.”

“But—I shot them. I remember that.” Spinning around, his words spewed forth in a confession-torrent. “I’d pumped myself up to do it. I had no choice. My father threatened you. He said he’d rape you in front of me, then kill you in front of Thorn. He said if I didn’t do it, he’d make me wish I was dead but never give me that freedom.”

My heart stopped beating. “You’re saying you went along with it to save me? You would’ve killed my parents all because of something your father said—even after a lifetime of lies?”

I couldn’t believe it. How could he have been so gullible?

“Yes. Of course I would. I loved your parents, Cleo. So damn much. They were so nice to me. Accepted me into their family. But by loving me, they ruined me. My father would never have permitted us to be happy because then I would’ve ruled and never him. Just like he took you from me the second time—he didn’t do it to rape or kill you, even though he had every opportunity. He did it because he could. Because once again he’s shown that he’s better than me.”

He kicked a cupboard. “He was teaching me another fucking lesson!”

My knees locked in place. “What lesson?”

“That he can still take whatever he damn well likes! My happiness. My goodness. My freedom. He can screw me over and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it.”

“But don’t you see—let him try! He’ll never succeed now that you understand how he controlled you. He’s worthless, Arthur.” Moving around the breakfast bar, I went to him.

He darted out of my reach.

“For once and for all, you need to forgive yourself.” I braced myself. “Yes, you killed my parents. Yes, you pulled the trigger. But, Art, you were dead on your feet. You were bleeding, you didn’t aim—Rubix did. You didn’t squeeze the trigger with your lifeless, drunken fingers—Asus did.”

My mind cartwheeled back to that night.

My heart was lead and wings, sinking and fluttering all at once.

His footfalls were so familiar but for every stagger of his, there were two other sets that sent terror to my bones.

I crawled from beneath my covers, blinking away sleep. Something urged me to follow, to hide, to see.

Moving from one puddle-shadow to another, I swallowed my gasp as I saw Rubix and Asus carrying a mumbling Arthur between them. I trailed behind, unable to leave as Rubix whispered atrocities in his ear.

“You have to do this, Art. Thorn raped her as a little girl.”

“They deserve to die, Art. Her mother sells her to other men for pleasure.”

“They must be destroyed, Art. Her soul is doomed unless you free her from them.”

When Arthur groaned and didn’t believe his lies, other monstrous things fell from Rubix’s lips.

“Kill them or I’ll rape her.”

“Kill them or your brother will rape her.”

“Kill them or the entire Club will rape her.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as Arthur stumbled and stuttered, finally positioned at the foot of my parents’ bed.

I couldn’t watch.

I couldn’t look away.

Rubix laughed as my father woke up. In slow motion, Asus raised Arthur’s arm, even as Arthur screamed and fought.

But it was too late.

Bang!

Tears escaped unbidden as I sniffed back the past. “You were just the pawn they used so their hands weren’t dirty. They made sure the gunpowder was on your skin. Your fingerprints were on the murder weapon. They killed them and framed you. They destroyed both of us.”

Our breathing acted as knives, smashing the stagnant silence into smithereens.

That night replayed over and over again, but I remained in the present. I didn’t need to relive how the fire began or how I screamed as the flames found me.

Arthur moved toward the marble-topped island, gripping the ledge with his fingers and bowing as if the weight of the past was too much.

Seconds ticked endlessly loud. We didn’t move or speak.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I went to him.

Lashing my arms around his middle, I squashed my cheek against his spine and willed him to feel my heart beat. To understand the forgiveness in its rhythm, to finally come to terms with the only crime he was guilty of: of being a puppet for his heinous father and brother.