Wasn’t that a mirror of life? Love, a family, children. He’d fought for what he had, for the family he’d built. And yet somehow, he’d been knocked off the path.
Somehow, he’d fucked up.
He just didn’t know how or where, and right now, it felt as though he was standing too close to a Monet, the dabs of colored brushstrokes not making sense. But if he could step back and look at it from a different perspective, then the entire picture would become clear.
Maybe it would be clear when he stood back and looked at his father.
“You’re expecting it to be him,” Jackson said once they were on the road.
“Aren’t you?”
Jackson drew in a breath, then turned and looked out the window as Damien maneuvered the rented Lexus toward the hilltop home their father had bought a few years ago. For a moment, Jackson said nothing, and Damien started to think his brother wasn’t going to answer. Then Jackson spoke, the words measured and low.
“He’s not a good man,” Jackson said. “And the more I learn of him, the more I know that I won’t change my mind about that. I think of myself as a good man, but sometimes I wonder if I’m just delusional. Because how can I have come from Jeremiah Stark and have the slightest bit of good in me?”
Damien clutched the steering wheel as Jackson voiced what he’d felt his whole life. Hell, what he’d been fighting his whole life. “Neither one of us is our father,” he said, as much to himself as to Jackson. “And I can testify that you are a good man. And that means a lot coming from a man who thought you were a conniving prick the first time we met.”
As he’d hoped, Jackson chuckled, then turned to face Damien. “Fair enough. But here’s the thing—as vile as I think our father is—and even knowing something about what he allowed Richter to do to you—I can’t imagine him putting Anne at risk. Can you? Can you really?”
Damien stiffened, those dark days filling his mind. All the times he’d begged his father to let him off the circuit. The moment he realized his father knew exactly what was going on.
“Why? Why can’t we just hire a new coach?”
“It’s not that simple.”
A wild fury ripped through Damien. “Simple?” His voice broke and he hated himself for it. “Do you know what he does to me? What he—never mind. Forget it. Never mind.”
“I know what he can do. And that’s take you all the way to the top and make us one hell of a lot of money in the process. Seems to me that whatever he wants—all this noise that you’re sniveling about—is a small price to pay for fame and for fortune.”
In the Lexus, Damien suppressed a shiver. “I can,” he said. “I don’t have any problems imagining it at all.”
* * * *
“This is why my sons visit me?” Jeremiah Stark paced the sunlit living room like a wildcat. He came to a stop in front of Jackson, then turned angry eyes on Damien.
They’d laid the whole story on him. Rory’s murder. The logical conclusion suggested by Jeremiah’s two million dollar debt. And then Damien had told him what he believed.
“You really think that’s possible?” Jeremiah focused on Damien’s face. “You really believe that I could have had something to do with that sweet baby girl being yanked away from you?”
“Yeah,” Damien said evenly. “I do.”
“Well, fuck you, Mister Big Shot.” Jeremiah’s voice shook but he stood his ground. “Fuck you,” he repeated, then punctuated the words by slamming his palm unexpectedly against Damien’s chest, sending his body stumbling backwards and his fury spiraling up.
“Okay, whoa there.” Jackson said as Damien righted himself and surged forward. “Both of you, just retreat to your corners.”
“Did you hear him?” Jeremiah said. “Were you listening to what he’s accusing me of?”
“Not an accusation. Not yet. But we’re looking at a two million dollar ransom when you’re staring down a two million dollar debt. That deserves a question. And that’s why we’re here. To ask the question.”
“Well, you have your answer. So get the hell out of my house.”
“Your house,” Damien said slowly. “And how exactly did you earn the money to buy this house?”
Jeremiah said nothing, just stared defiantly at the wall.
“You’ve lived off me for most of my life, and I put up with it despite the hell you put me through. It was easier to write you a check than to listen to your begging and excuses and lame justifications. I paid you off to keep you away, Jeremiah. But then I shut off the flow. And I just know that pissed you off.”
“I didn’t—”
Damien held up a hand, cutting him off. “I know you were pissed, Dad. How could you not be? Your steady income suddenly all dried up. And now there’s debt and no way for you to pay it off.”
He took a step toward his father, his body tense, ready to lash out. Wanting to lash out. “Is that why you did it? To get money for the debt?” His voice rose with his anger. “Or was it more than that? Were you punishing me for cutting you out? Cutting you off?”
He felt Jackson’s hand on his shoulder and realized that he’d inched so close that his father was pressed up against the closed glass door, and Damien was only millimeters from his face. “Back it off, brother.”
With a violent jerk, Damien shrugged out from Jackson’s touch and turned away, furious with himself for coming so close to snapping.
He took a deep breath, then another.
“I didn’t—”
“No.” The word was hard and firm, and as he spoke it, Damien turned back around, not driven by fury this time, but by a rage that burned colder. Deeper. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t want to hear your denials. I just want to tell you this—if I find out that you had anything to do with my daughter’s kidnapping, then you’re a dead man. Plain and simple.”
“I didn’t.” Jeremiah’s voice broke. “Christ, son—”
“Do not call me that.”
“Damien. Damien, please. You have to believe me. I have no idea who took Anne. I didn’t know Rory was dead until you told me. And other than your money, I don’t have a clue as to why anyone would want to take her.”
“I want to believe you,” Damien admitted. “God knows why, because it would damn sure be easier if you confessed right now and we just fucking ended this. But I want to believe you.” He shot a glance toward Jackson. “Maybe I just want to believe that the blood that flows in my veins isn’t completely reprehensible. But it’s hard, old man. Because I’ve spent a lifetime learning what you’re capable of. So don’t you dare tell me that you could never do that to my little girl. Because I know better. Believe me, J
eremiah. I know the truth because I’ve seen the darkness.”
“But I wouldn’t.” Though there were no tears, Jeremiah’s words were practically a sob. “Don’t you get it? Those baby girls are my redemption. I can’t soil that. I can’t screw it up.”
Damien glanced at Jackson, saw that his brother looked as confused as he felt.
“You,” Jeremiah said, pointing at Jackson. “God knows I wasn’t a decent father to you. And as for you—do you think I don’t know how much I messed up? How much I messed you up? And God, even Sofia. I actually went and added that poor girl to the mix. That’s how low I sunk. I fucked up, Damien. I know that. I know it. But not those little girls,” he said fiercely. “Never those little girls. They’re redemption. Yours and mine. And that’s a chance I won’t fuck up.”
“Redemption.” Damien stared at him, the word hovering over his head like a storm cloud. “Redemption?” He took a single step toward Jeremiah, then stopped, afraid if he got too close he’d be unable to resist the temptation to lash out and bloody the man. “My children are not your way into my good graces. And just so we’re clear, there is nothing—nothing—you can do to redeem yourself.”
Jeremiah swallowed, his eyes cast down. “Maybe that’s true,” he said, his voice so low it was barely audible. “But I didn’t have anything to do with Anne’s kidnapping. I didn’t hurt her, Damien. And I swear to you, I never will.”
Chapter Nineteen
When Damien walked back into the Malibu house at just after five, the place was bustling.
He’d parted ways with Jackson at the airport with a promise to call if the team learned anything. In the meantime, Jackson would once again be taking point on The Domino while Damien carved out time to pursue the Rory investigation.
“Give yourself a limit,” Jackson had told him. “You’re not an investigator, and you have a business to run. One week in the thick of it, and if you don’t have answers by then, you back off and let Ryan’s people do their thing.”
It was good advice, but that didn’t mean he would follow it. Right now, he couldn’t think past the next step.