Page 226 of The Grand Duel

I could kill him.

“They took away my ability to show them how to love a child, and so, I promised myself I’d ruin them with Jovie. That I’d put her first, like I would a child of my own. Like she deserved.”

I stare down at the man on the ground, knowing the woman I love loves him.

And then I ease back, turning to the woman behind me.

Despite it all…she loves them despite it all.

I wipe the end of my nose on my jacket and point the bat at her. “She’s more of a mother than you ever were or will be.” My eyes burn. “I hope she never forgives you for what you did to her.”

The woman gasps, her body trembling as she flattens her hand against her chest.

“She was fourteen,” I say, my voice eerily calm.

I watch as Grace Elton swallows, her eyes filled with tears.

And it’s as if that’s all she’s got.

“She was fucking fourteen!” I swing the bat through the glass cabinet on my left, and she screams, some kind of awards toppling to the ground.

My body ripples with rage, the need to tear their world apart inconceivable. “How could you,” I roar, swinging the bat. “How fucking dare you!” My voice cracks, the rawness of it making my throat burn.

I put the bat through the TV and then the pictures and ornaments on the mantel, my eyes catching on a picture of Lissie as it flies to the ground.

I step over the mess and pick up the frame, pulling the image free of the broken glass.

I don’t know how old she is in the picture, but she’s smiling.

My beautiful girl.

I slide it into my pocket and step over the mess, my eyes coming back to the man who’s now standing with his phone in his hand. “I’ll call the police. I don’t care who you are or what you think you know.”

“Call them. Tell them there’s a man in your house who would happily see you rotting in the ground.” I put the bat through one of the sash windows. “Tell them I’m the one who wants to put you there.” I make the most of the size of the house, smashing another window. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell them about the day you thought it would be acceptable to take your fourteen-year-old little girl to a surgeon—who I can promise you will never work a day in their life again—and have her sterilised.” My eyes flare, the bat swinging and swinging, glass hitting me in the face. “Tell them how you left her, you selfish pieces of shit! Tell them what you did to her! Tell them what you did to my Lissie girl!”

I see a figure in the doorway and pause, expecting the police. Only when I find focus, I see Mason standing there, his hands in his pockets and his face like stone as he watches me.

“Oh, thank god. Help! Please, help us,” Grace sobs.

My best friend’s eyes stay locked on mine, and although I can barely make him out, I know he knows I’m not done.

I turn to the partly smashed window and continue my destruction.

I go for the windows, the mirrors, the marble and crystal. There’s no plan or thought. Just her. Her and her pain and her life that’s been shaped by two people who don’t deserve to know her.

When the ache in my arms becomes impossible to ignore, my blows uncoordinated, my sweat and tears mingling into something unidentifiable, the bat is taken from my hands, and I’m walked from the house.

Mason stops midway across the drive, his car lights lit up and blinding.

He faces me, brushing off my clothes before he takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him.

My eyes threaten to roll closed, pain in my hand and leg burning.

“I always wondered when you’d go,” he says, searching my eyes. “It’s alright.”

“Mase,” I rasp.

His thumbs smear across my cheeks. “I know.”