Nixon_Four Sons Series Read online

  Nixon

  Four Sons Series

  Ker Dukey

  Edited by

  Word Nerd Editing

  Nixon

  Copyright © 2018 Ker Dukey

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Wordnerd Editing

  Formatting: Raven Designs

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Author Note

  FOUR FATHERS RECAP

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Hayden

  Acknowledgments

  About Ker Dukey

  Stalk Links

  Books by Ker

  Author Note

  This novel contains some scenes that may be triggers for the sensitive reader.

  Please read with caution.

  Dedication

  For all my dark bitches.

  Normal is for the mundane.

  FOUR FATHERS RECAP

  (For those who have not read the Four Fathers Series)

  Rowan, a beautiful young woman, just turned eighteen and is friends with the four Pearson brothers next door. Hayden nineteen, Brock seventeen, Nixon sixteen, and Camden fifteen.

  Rowan briefly dated Brock, had a teenage crush on Hayden, and is best friends with Nixon. But when Eric Pearson, their father, sets his sights on her, she allows him to seduce her.

  Eric Pearson is a wealthy and successful businessman whose wife supposedly ran off many years ago. He likes to play with things that aren’t his and when he begins an illicit affair with the teenage daughter of the single father next door, he has no idea he’s taunting a dangerous man.

  Jaxson Wheeler is a serial killer. The only thing precious on this earth to him is his eighteen-year-old daughter, Rowan. So when he believes Rowan has been corrupted by Eric, he knows Eric needs to die. And by his hand, just like Eric’s wife did many years ago unbeknown to anyone but Jaxson.

  Jaxson abandons his plan to kill his latest mark, the girlfriend of one of Eric Pearson’s business partners and best friend, Trevor Blackstone, and instead seeks revenge by killing Eric and leaving him in the same grave Eric’s wife has been buried in since her disappearance.

  Angered by his daughter's betrayal, Jaxson flees only to return seven months later to take a trophy of his own.

  Chapter One

  Nixon

  Nineteen…

  Am I a psychopath?

  Touching the spine of the book, a laugh tugs up my lips. What a title for a psychiatrist to have on her bookshelf. Am I a psychopath?

  I’ve asked myself this question many times, but never thought buying a book would give me the answer.

  We all have psychopathic tendencies. If you strip back the traits and dive into the essence of your core, the parts that make up the foundations of who you are, what makes you, you—they’re there. They’re in all of us to some capacity.

  Am I a psychopath?

  It’s a question everyone could ask if we broke it down to the basic facts and stripped ourselves back to reveal the whispering behaviors we try to ignore—we pretend don’t exist.

  The question we should ask, however, is how many of these traits exist within our minds? How consistent, persistent, are these qualities? The reason behind them and how they manifest in situations is forced upon us, separating the psychopaths from the “normal” people.

  “Does that title interest you?” Dr. Winters asks, taking a seat and placing a glass of water in front of her on a table—a table that will separate us as soon as I sit on the couch opposite her. I hadn’t realized I was still touching the book.

  “I asked someone this question once,” I say, brushing my fingers across the other titles and then pretending to dust them off. After coming here for over two and a half years, I know there’s never a thing out of place or a speck of dirt in her office. She’s a clean freak.

  I squint my nose in distaste just to watch her eyes widen and dart to the bookshelf. Seems I’m not the only one in this room with issues. I walk toward her and push the glass of water to my side of the table before moving over to take my seat. She didn’t ask me if I would like water—she’s become used to me declining—but it’s our last day, and I want to mess with her a little.

  “Whom did you ask?” she queries.

  “Is that important?” I pick up the glass and take a deep swig, the ice-water chasing the dryness from my throat.

  “If they matter to you, it matters.” She smiles…almost.

  “Do you want to know what they said?” I arch a brow and wipe my lips. Her eyes follow the movement.

  “Do you want me to know?” Her voice is calm, like her words are spoken through a silk cloth. It’s a trick to get me to trust her.

  “He asked me a question in return,” I inform her, leaning back with my hands behind my head. I lift my feet and cross them at my ankles on her table.

  Her eyes flinch when a piece of mud from my boot drops in the glass and floats on top of the water.

  “Do you want to tell me the question he asked?” She straightens and shuffles her ass back.

  “If I killed someone you love, would you care?”

  She tenses, but it’s fleeting. “Is that a question or the answer?”

  I smirk. “That’s the question he asked me.”

  “And what was your response?” She tilts her head, studying me.

  “I didn’t have one at first. He said if I was searching the sea of people I love in my mind, then I’m probably not a psychopath.”

  “So you got your answer,” she concludes, crossing her leg over her other thigh. Her skirt rests just above her knees, giving me a brief glimpse of her panties from the movement. I’m not sure whether it’s deliberate, but I also don’t care. I narrow my gaze on hers.

  “But what if I don’t love anyone?” I ask, leaning forward. “Is the answer the obvious one?” I smirk.

  Her hands tighten on her notepad. “That doesn’t make you a psychopath.”

  I keep my eyes trained on hers, holding her gaze.

  “Doesn’t it?” I frown, holding back my grin when her eye twitches. She’s never been able to figure me out.

  And I don’t need her to answer that question. I already know the answer is yes.

  Yes, I would care.

  I’d care a whole fucking lot.

  Because I do love.

  I love her.

  And that’s why I had to kill him.

  Chapter Two

  Nixon

  From the beginning…

  #1 Trait of a psychopath

  Fearless

  Sounds of all three of my brothers laughing together carries down the corridor to my room. Irritation flares inside me as I jump up from the bed to close the door.

  I want to shut them all out. I hate how they just accept our dad is dating a girl we grew up with. A girl barely fucking eighteen. A girl who isn’t meant for him. I may only be sixteen, but in our case, age doesn’t matter. We belong together.

  I wear a mask of indifference, not letting it slip that I actually give a shit. Rowan affects us all.

  We knew there would be competition between us for her affection, but Christ, none of us could have foreseen our father parading her around as his plaything.

  She broke my fucking heart the day I saw them together. I thought she was different than other girls. She didn’t care about money, power, or looks. She liked to laugh, play around, eat pizza, and order her own fries instead of stealing mine.

  She didn’t beg for attention or need compliments to sate her ego. Vanity isn’t something she possessed, despite being the most beautiful girl in any room.

  I longed to be the one to kiss her lips. Hold her in my arms and protect her from the harshness of the world. I longed for her to take away some of the cold darkness inside me and shine her light in. She and Brock had a puppy thing going for a while, but it wasn’t real—it wasn’t what we shared.

  Her being with Eric is a nightmare that keeps me awake at night. The thoughts of him ruining her, intoxicating her mind and turning her into the troubled woman my mother became, makes me want to take a knife to his chest and carve out his heart.

  I want to take bleach to my eyes and scrub away the images of them together. Hearing her moan and call out for him—for fucking him!—hurts. It’s a pain I have to push down and mask. I don’t let them see the damage they cause me. There’s always been a disconnect between Eric and me. My brothers call him Dad, but he’s never been a dad to me. Even saying the word reminds me
of him forcing Rowan to call him Daddy. Makes me sick. And knowing him, how bad I have it for Rowan would just make him rub it in my face more. He loves letting everyone know he’s doing disgusting things to her.

  I can’t believe the performance he put on at the party earlier in front of everyone. Making Rowan tell her father she had a new daddy now. It almost had me exploding in a fit of frenzied rage, but I kept it together, biding my time, slipping my easy-breezy face into place for all to see so they don’t know what’s happening inside my mind. No one can figure me out, and that’s how I like it.

  Patience serves me better. This is the long game. Her own father, Jaxson Wheeler, isn’t one to be made a fool of, and why lay myself out there when I know he will deal with my problem for me?

  Eric pushed his luck too far tonight. He thinks he’s untouchable, and to most people, maybe he is. But Jaxson Wheeler? He isn’t most people.

  Eric forcing Rowan to tell her own father she doesn’t belong with him anymore was him signing his own death warrant.

  The whole scene made me want to vomit. Rowan’s father isn’t someone to just be told what is what. He makes his own rules, and I admire that about him. I’ve watched him over the years—watched him watch everyone else. Like me, he wears a mask. He hides his true face, and that intrigues me.

  He tries to fit in, but under the surface, he sees everyone but Rowan as irrelevant. I’ve searched his eyes and found the stone cold entity lying behind them.

  He looked inside me too, wading through the darkness with a searchlight to get a reaction. A truth. He wants to know if Eric and Rowan being together bothers me. He wants me to take his bait and do something about it. But why show my hand when I know he’ll do the dirty work for me?

  Fuck, I’m sick of feeling this shit—sick of letting her consume me.

  Checking my cell, I sigh at the six texts from Jackie, a girl from my school who wants me to date her. She’s needy as fuck. I hate her.

  I don’t bother replying. She’ll get the message.

  My eyes just close when I hear screeching. Rowan. I’d know her voice anywhere.

  I dart upright and listen. Maybe I was dreaming. I can still hear a faint hum from my brothers in the house. Just when I’m about to drop back onto the pillow, the dull sound of voices filter through the pelting against my window. Getting to my feet, I peek out the window. If Eric is out there doing shit with Rowan, I’m going to hate myself for getting up to witness it.

  I search the darkness, but don’t see anyone until a searchlight and the crack of a gunshot echoes through the air.

  Thud.

  My heart stops, then begins to thunder against my ribcage.

  Fuck.

  My feet are moving before my mind has time to catch up. I take off running through the house, jumping the stairs three at time.

  “What the hell was that?” my brothers call from somewhere in the house, but fuck them. I need to get to Rowan.

  The rain is thick and heavy, drenching me within seconds. As I enter Wheeler’s yard, my feet slip in the wet mud.

  The rain is insane, making seeing them clearly almost impossible.

  Squinting through the torrent, I make out Jax Wheeler with a gun outstretched in his grasp, aimed and ready. He’s growling down at…Rowan. She’s in a heap on the grass, her clothes glued to her skin, her hair stuck to her face, features etched into agonizing pain. She reaches forward toward something in the ground.

  “I never should have cut you out of your mother,” he spits down at her.

  I react to her sobs, to her sounding so broken, and move forward to see what she’s looking at. It’s a grave-sized hole that’s been dug in the ground. I follow her vision, and the air whooshes from my lungs. Eric is wide-eyed, staring up with a bullet hole in his skull.

  Fuck.

  He did it. He killed him.

  I knew he would.

  Charging forward, I collide with Jaxson, taking him to the ground. His body crashes with a splutter into the mud. Because that’s what any son would do.

  Rearing my arm back, I land a punch to his jaw, but he throws me off him, using his size to gain control over me, then aims the gun at me with a sick smirk on his lips.

  Thud.

  I dart forward, despite the danger. I may be smaller, but I’m faster, and there’s this weird adrenaline making my choices for me. I’m not scared; I’m excited.

  Hitting his hand so it’s not aimed at me, the gun shatters through the night, firing off a round. Motherfucker. I jump on top of him, trying to land another blow, but he smacks me in the nose with the butt of the gun, stunning me and making me fall back. He rights himself with ease. Wild eyes track my movements.

  Warm rivers of blood mix with the rain as my nose leaks. I grin back at him when his eyes flash wide and drop to Rowan.

  What’s that look? Fear? Regret?

  A commotion ensues behind me when my brothers all race into the yard over to Rowan.

  I don’t want to take my eyes from Jaxson, but their sudden anxious pleas for her to stay with them steals my attention.

  “It’s going to be okay, Ro. Don’t you fucking die on us.”

  “Call an ambulance!”

  “Stop the bleeding!”

  The rain is punishing. It takes me a few seconds before I see the blood.

  My insides collide, and my hands shake. She’s bleeding. Fuck. Fuck. No.

  A cracking sound splinters the air, and I’m not sure if it’s thunder or my chest splitting open. My feet move to her side as I try to keep this panic inside me from ripping free and swallowing me.

  I need to be calm. She needs me to be calm. “Move” I bark, pushing Hayden out the way and running my hands over her stomach. Ripping the material of her shirt to expose her skin, I inspect the wound. A small red hole the size of a penny oozes her essence, soaking my hands. Cam rips his shirt off and hands it to me to place over the seeping hole.

  “An ambulance is on its way. Is she breathing?” Brock asks, relaying the situation to someone on the other end of his cell phone.

  Cam is by my side, squeezing Ro’s hand. I survey the position of the wound on her stomach. It’s low, and to the right of her organs. “Check for an exit wound.” Cam tells me, lifting her a little so I can check her back. Nodding in agreement, my fingers feel around her skin on the back of her hip, and I find it - an exit wound. A sigh passes my lips as I nod at Cam. He gives me a reassuring smile in return. “That’s good,” he encourages. I’ve watched enough cop shows to know a through and through is a good sign. Ignoring the panic in Brock’s voice as he tells the operator there’s a lot of blood, I search the yard for Jax and catch the glimpse of him just as he slips out the gate.

  Reaching for Cam’s hand and placing it on the shirt so I can free mine, I wipe my hands on my soaked shorts. “Take care of her, Cam.” I urge my younger brother, and I dart up, giving chase.

  My feet slap against the asphalt, shooting a sting up both legs, but it doesn’t slow me down. The fucking old man is fit as fuck.

  After a few minutes, he slows to a stop and turns to face me. He’s not even out of breath. There’s no emotion in his vacant stare—no remorse or fear. The brief glimpse of emotion moments after the gun fired into Rowan has been replaced with indifference. I mimic his features, and it’s like looking into a mirror. He’s my reflection, and that’s a scary thought.

  Could I kill someone? Is my soul that black?

  “I don’t want to kill you,” he tells me, and I believe him. There’s sincerity in his tone.

  “You shot Rowan,” I bark. “She’s your damn daughter.” He needs to be reminded of this.