Page 190 of Beautiful Venom
I burst out laughing, holding the gun flat against my temple.
It hits me then. Seems that aside from the chains my father wrapped around my wrists, I subconsciously shackled myself, too.
I believed his hypocritical speech about ‘the Davenport bond’. Somehow, even though I grew taller and much stronger than him, I never considered hurting him physically like he hurt me.
Because, at some point, I believed his words—that I was a defect he was fixing—and didn’t consider his punishment wrong. When I was younger, I even blamed myself for being born a weakling and not meeting his expectations.
Jude and Preston didn’t need to be locked up in their fathers’ basements to be cold-blooded; why wasn’t I the same?
Why wasn’t I…wrong?
The answer is, I’m not the one built wrong. He is.
He’s the one who twisted me the fuck up just to fit the mold that suits his vision.
And I still thought I couldn’t hurt him, because he spawned me.
But now, the fog has lifted.
The metaphorical rusty chains that I’ve clasped around my own wrists since I was a kid break, and I laugh harder.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Grant asks.
“On the contrary. I’ve never seen things so clearly.” I let out a sigh. “You know, I figured out that becoming like you is the ultimate goal. I had to be so ruthless, so detached and cold, nothing would faze me. Not personal relationships, not people I spent my whole life with. Not even my own mother. Connections are only formed for mutual gain. Being emotionless was the true answer to any problem. Treating everyone like pawns would get me to the top faster and more efficiently.”
“That is correct.”
“Yes. But you see, Father, you’re in my way.”
He faces me, his shoulders bunching. “Me?”
“Yes. I want the Davenport throne, so I can do things the way I see fit and fix your fuckups. You’re a hindrance, preventing my progress.”
“The Davenport throne?” He scoffs. “Don’t make me laugh. You gave it up for this nobody. Do you believe I’ll ever let you ascend it in your state?”
“Let me?” I raise my hand, the gun steady, my finger relaxed. “I don’t need you toletme.”
“You’ll kill me?” He snarls. “Forher?”
“Forme. Messing with her was only the last straw.”
He curses and swings his hand in Dahlia’s direction, to hit or kill her, I don’t know.
It doesn’t reach her anyway, because I pull the trigger.
The bullet hits the back of his head.
I don’t see his face as he falls, his body hitting the ground.
Motionless.
Finally…silent.
I wait for the feelings of guilt. For the conflict. For the slightest hint of remorse.
Nothing.
Huh.
