Prologue
Appropriately so, Stephen Chandler thought as he imagined an inferno rising from the outer ring of Dante’s seventh circle, consuming the mahogany casket as it was lowered six feet into the ground. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, continuing through the collar of the white shirt he wore under his black suit. The sun was relentless, his dark glasses barely easing the glare as it reflected off the gleaming brass fixtures. Breathing was nearly impossible, made further difficult from the eyes he swore were burning a hole in the middle of his back.
Resisting the temptation to turn around, Stephen kept his gaze focused on the casket until it disappeared from view. Not until the first pile of dirt was shoveled onto the surface did he let out a long exhale.
Maybe now that the bastard was dead, they could all move on.
Stephen winced as the thought passed through his mind, knowing he should feel…something. Shame? Guilt? Grief? Yet, he felt nothing.
Literally.
Nothing as the casket was covered with dirt. Nothing as the minister delivered his final words. No warm memories of the respect and admiration he’d once felt for the Honorable William Chandler Sr. as he was laid to rest.
Because honorable, the man was not.
A slight breeze ruffled Stephen’s hair from behind, bringing with it a scent that reminded him of Kat. Again, he resisted the overwhelming temptation to turn and find her, so he could carry her away from this hell.
Was she seeking closure? Was she feeling vindicated? Relieved that the man who had destroyed her life was no longer a threat? Finally burying the nightmare of her past so she could move forward?
A nightmare caused by his family.
Or more specifically, by the man being covered with dirt after suffering for two excruciatingly long weeks. Stephen closed his eyes, drawing in another deep breath before letting it out slowly. Fighting to push away the rage that threatened to consume him, his constant companion, it seemed, when the numbness began to fade.
And then there were the impossible emotions in figuring out how I was supposed to grieve. If I grieved my mother, was I supposed to hate my father for taking her life? Or if I grieved my father, was I being disloyal to mother?
Kat’s words. Two weeks ago, when she’d poured out her heart and soul, hours before they’d learned the truth. Glancing over to his left when his mother squeezed his arm, he took another deep breath. Her dark sunglasses masked any emotion he might have read on her face. Was she numb too? More likely she was just as enraged as Stephen, forced to stand next to her husband, his father, who she’d kicked out of the house two weeks ago. On his left stood his older brother Xavier, his face a mask of stone. Jay and Emily, his two youngest siblings, looked shell-shocked, much the same way they had two weeks ago, when their charmed life had exploded into a nightmare.
And Alex, his closest sibling. Missing. None of them had heard from him since that horrific night. He’d refused to answer their calls, their texts.
Stephen forced himself to keep his hands from balling into fists, aware of the cameras they’d failed to keep away. Under the circumstances, the entire family had agreed to avoid the pomp and circumstance. Instead, hoping for a quiet ceremony that wouldn’t be aired across the state. They’d been unsuccessful.
And when the rest of the story got out?
The sense of dread that was becoming more and more familiar came over him, the same dread he woke up with every morning if he had managed to fall asleep the night before. He couldn’t imagine living through the fallout. The ruination of his reputation along with his dreams for the future. Everything he’d worked so hard to achieve. Because despite his own innocence, Stephen had no doubt he’d be crucified by the press. They’d speculate whether he was involved. Speculate whether he’d known, if he’d kept silent about the murders.
Two counts of murder.
Attempted murder of a third.
Words that couldn’t possibly describe the heinous acts his grandfather had committed. Couldn’t begin to describe the horror of what Stephen had witnessed.
The haunting images burned, quite literally, into his head, no matter how hard he tried to shake them away. Bad enough they haunted his nights, replaying in an endless loop without end. He couldn’t imagine what they were doing to the woman standing somewhere behind him. He longed to turn around, catch a glimpse of her, if even from afar. Was she alone? Or was Ethan at her side, his hand on the small of her back?
God, he hated that man. Her fucking hero.
I’m yours!
Kat’s words again, screamed that fateful day when Stephen had learned the true extent of their relationship. Then her terror, just hours later as she’d looked at Stephen and had seen a killer.
His mother squeezed his arm again, gently pulling him from his thoughts. Stephen looked down at her, realized everyone was leaving, the service over. Thank God. He’d felt like a hypocrite for coming. Had only relented at his mother’s request. A show of solidarity.
A lie.
Stephen glanced at his father, their eyes meeting for a moment, guilt warring with anger and disillusionment for the man who had raised him. The man who had taught him right from wrong, who had held his children to a high ethical high standard then had turned around had an affair and withheld evidence in a murder investigation.
I will blame you for tonight until the day I die.
The last words he’d spoken to his father. The same night he’d lost Kat, fear of what would come out of his mouth keeping him silent. Stephen looked away, glancing at the rest of his family before he turned and scanned the crowd. Still no sign of Alex. And though he searched for Kat, he couldn’t find her either.
She was already gone.