Ugly Dark Truth Read online

  “Believe it or not, but I miss being there too.” I leave off the part that anywhere is better than around my father. But it’ll have to wait, unfortunately. It’s hard to walk and function at school when you’re injured inside and out.

  “I still can’t believe you got that sick from us leaving the party to have to miss school for so long. I want you to know I’ll never forget it, and I’ll feel guilty forever. I’ve put blankets in my back seat. Not that It’ll happen again, but I’m determined to be prepared, just in case.”

  I flash a weak smile at her over the video chat. I feel so guilt-ridden inside, making Sam believe that I’ve been sick this entire time. I could never admit what really happened. I couldn’t stand the way she’d look at me if she knew how my father took the de Lacharriere news.

  She continues, ever the talker. “You have shit luck girl, that’s all I can come up with. Only you would be sick and home alone, then fall down your stairs and dislocate your shoulder. I mean, Jesus! We need to wrap you up in some heated bubble wrap.”

  Her words make me nauseous with the memories briefly taking over my mind again. That may be the story I fed her and my social media accounts, but it wasn’t the case at all. Not even close. Recalling the actual events makes me want to puke, and that takes too much effort and pain to do.

  Everyone believes I’ve been at home, sick, but that’s not the real reason the doctor has been to my house on multiple occasions. Being rich, however, my family would never let any of the truth come to light. Money buys favors and silence. In this case, it bought my father freedom from any plausible repercussions.

  The day after Tristan’s and my engagement party, Sam had brought me back home. My younger brother had been staying at a friend’s house for the weekend as well as the few days following. Since it was holiday break, it was normal for him to not be around. Thank God for that, too, or he could’ve been hurt. My brother caught up in any of the violence that goes on at home is the last thing I want to ever happen.

  I’d attempted to gather my courage and come to Dad. I wanted to inform him about everything that went on with the quads. Well, not everything, but at least the pertinent information. I’d found out the truth the night before in that wretched library that’s chuck full of secrets and heartbreak. Dad needed to know so he could try to protect our family and his accounts, before it was too late to stop Tristan’s father.

  He’d backhanded me in response to my confession and called me a deceiving whore. I was in self-preservation mode, having been caught in his wrath before, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I took off for the safety and familiarity of my room, trying to get away as I’d done in the past when he was angry. I made it up the stairs, feet full of blisters from the shoes I’d worn the previous night. I blame them for me not being fast enough. Anyhow, I’d gotten halfway up the staircase before realizing he was right behind me. My mother was in the kitchen so she missed me running for cover—not that she’s done much in the past to stop him.

  We hit the landing at the same time, and my father yanked my arm. He’d jerked me around to face him. I knew he was going to slap me, so I said my piece. Or rather, I shouted, “I am not marrying Tristan de Lacharriere! I hate him, and I hate you. Maybe you deserve to lose everything!”

  I was so damn stupid and raw inside from the deception the night before. I couldn’t brush off my father’s disbelief and the fresh coat of pain it had painted on my sensitive emotions. To have your father slap you and scream in your face that you’re a lying whore sort of throws out any edge of rational thinking. I was blinded to the warning signs of his rage when I’d shouted, and in the next blink, I was flying.

  Or rather, I was tumbling down our wide staircase. He’d taken a step away, then reared back and Sparta kicked my gut. Like a rag doll, I’d fallen backward. My small frame tumbled into the wall and farther down the staircase. I’d been knocked unconscious by the time I hit the bottom.

  I guess Mom arranged for the doctor to stop over since I was nonresponsive. She says that she was the one to help the doctor get me to my bed. And, as far as my parents were concerned, that was the end of it. Mother pretends that I simply lost my footing and fell, most likely being an irresponsible teenager on my phone or something similar. However, we both know it was my father’s temper that made me end up broken and sprawled at the bottom of the staircase.

  Father’s hefty kick had bruised my ribs, according to the doctor. In my plummet from the landing, about halfway down, my shoulder struck the wall harshly. The hit was powerful enough to dislocate it before my body continued its southward path. I must’ve banged my head at some point as well because I blacked out, and I don’t remember ever making it to the bottom.

  Dad won’t speak to me, but instead, whenever I’m in his presence, he sneers like I’m the filth under his shoe. That has rarely happened thankfully, as I try not to leave my room. It’s been hard enough with my mangled body; I don’t need to pour the salt of his hate on my wounds. I’ll never understand what I could’ve done to make him hate me so much aside from being born. My mother was the one who broke it to me about how my father won’t take my excuses or made-up stories about the de Lacharrieres. He told her that he expects me at the de Lacharrieres’ feet, respectfully groveling as soon as my body is healed enough for the drive.

  He’s a heartless bastard for not believing me and for laying his hands on me. At this rate, Father deserves to lose everything. I only feel sorry for my mother and brother because they’ll lose the life they love as well. Now I’m stuck, because I’ve been healing. Each day is one step closer to being well enough to leave the house. I’ll have to face the boys eventually, and even with the time and distance that’s been between us, I have no idea what to say to them. My heart still hurts as much as it did the day I discovered their true intentions.

  “Have you seen the quads at the academy?” I ask Sam as I seem to be a glutton for punishment. I shouldn’t keep bringing them up, but I can’t hold myself back. I want to know if they’re torn up at all, with even the tiniest bit of remorse. My best friend’s the only person who knows what’s going on with them and believes me.

  She shrugs and shakes her head. “No, the story’s still the same around school.”

  Scoffing, I glare. “Seriously? How did they come up with the idea to say we were on vacation together and that we’d be doing a two-week study internship with their grandfather in France? Anyone who comes over here would discover they’re lying! And how in the fuck do they know I’ll be back then?”

  She cringes. “You know that, and I know that but come on, think about how your parents are. They rarely have guests over unless it’s for a preplanned function. Your family always goes to the country club or whatever to meet up with anyone. They’ve kept doing their normal routine the past few weeks, but you’re absent. Of course, people are going to believe the guys’ stories if you’re not present to prove them as liars. Not to mention, your father will side with whatever the boys dream up to stay on their good side.”

  I tear up at her rationalization. She’s completely right, and it’s not fair in the slightest. God, this sucks.

  “Oh, sweetie! I’m sorry you’ve been so sick!” She leans in closer to her cell camera to blow me air kisses, and I accept the videoed affection. Sam’s the only one I need in this life. I’ll have to learn to get through the rest of it alone, if necessary. I’m lucky to have her support; I only wish I could be completely truthful with her. I love her though and couldn’t stand even more pitied looks or her outrage over my father taking his temper out on me. One day I’ll be away from it all, and I’ll bury it in my past, never to be dug up again. A girl can hope anyway.

  “Thanks, Sam. It’s just so hard being stuck in bed and knowing that the four of them is still around and unfazed. I want them to hurt like I do. I shouldn’t think like that, but I do.”

  “Yes, you should! Those jerks deserve everything they get. Don’t worry. When you come back to school, I’ll be right be
side you. You can bet your great ass, I won’t hold back for a second to tell them to fuck off and leave you alone.”

  A small giggle rises from me at her ‘fierceness,’ and she beams a bright smile. “See? You’re already on the mend!” She winks. If only her observation weren’t so true. When I’m better, I have to face them, and they’ll break me all over again.

  Another day passes, and Kresley continues to hide away from us and the rest of the world. All because we fucked up and let the plan slip. This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve stepped in to help my father with the family business, but this was the only instance where we fell head over heels for the girl in the process. Each of us has dated—or flirted—with a prospective business venture in the past. However, it’s never gone this way, not even close. Usually, we get in, play our role for a short time while our father eats away the opposing company, and then we move on, forgetting our mark almost immediately.

  Pretty shitty in retrospect, but this is business in the real world. Besides, we’ve never once claimed to be good people. As far as I’m concerned, the only opinions I give two thoughts to are from Tristan, Cole, Axel, and Dad. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. Father may not be around often, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t close to the man in our own personal ways. We’re a direct extension of him and being a quad is damn near like being one person together at times. Sure, we’re all extremely different, unique in our particular ways, but when it boils down to bare bones, we’re one solid force.

  Kresley has caught us all off guard; she doesn’t see us as one—ever. We should’ve noticed the red flags as soon as she’d given us our individual nicknames. Girls have called us many things in the past, but they’ve been unoriginal and often times dubbed us with the same sexist remarks. Kresley pointed out almost immediately that she saw us as individuals—not as one set. I tried to brush her off and keep her at a distance; we’ll call it my attempt at self-preservation. However, as she opened up and revealed her vulnerabilities to me, I didn’t stand a chance. I’m a tough guy, too. I’m hard to beat, yet she had me throwing in the towel for her in an almost embarrassingly short time frame.

  I think the only reason Father wasn’t completely disappointed in us blowing it, is because when everything hit the fan, we had to sit down and admit to him that not one of us had fallen for her. He had to come to terms with the simple fact that all four of us want her. I don’t mean in the sense to date or fuck either. When it came down to the engagement party and her discovering the business plan, we broke our silence. It was finally out in the open how we all want her and not just to play with while Father destroys his latest opponent. Kresley’s dad had no idea that Father was ready to swallow him whole either. We’d kept that simple fact hidden from him well.

  It was Cole who spoke out and broke his silence first. We had to come clean with Dad that we’d fucked up and Kres had heard us in the library. Cole stepped forward to say that if Tristan wasn’t going through with marrying Kresley, then he wanted to. I never thought I’d see the day that my irresponsible, shamming brother would step to the plate and want to take care of a woman. He can barely care for himself without us there to pick up the pieces when needed. Of course, Tristan wouldn’t have it; he’s sunk his claws into our girl far too deeply to just hand her over. He may’ve acted cold and unfeeling toward her when she’d informed us of her presence in the library, but that was only because he was scrambling. He was pissed that we were called out and could potentially lose. He had no idea what to say, and we were stunned silent like a bunch of idiots.

  We quickly came to our senses and to a mutual agreement that we wouldn’t let her drown, that we’d take care of her no matter how this mess turned out. We’d already agreed from the very beginning to share her if we wanted to, while Tristan was stringing her along. But this…this was no game for any of us anymore. She officially belongs to the four of us, and even though dear old Dad thinks we’re far too young to be making such prominent life choices just yet, he respects our united decision.

  Axel nudges his glasses back into place before exhaling with a sigh. “Still no change.”

  “Nothing?” I growl, peaking over his shoulder at the tiny screen in his hands.

  Ax had cameras set up in Kresley’s room. Initially, it was so we could eavesdrop; you never know just how much information can float around when you’re planning to take over someone’s livelihood. We soon discovered how she knows next to nothing about what her father is involved in. The surveillance quickly morphed from research into our sick obsession of checking on her at random times when she’s not with us.

  Being that nearly a month has passed since everything blew up in our faces, we’ve been clutching to the screen like it’s our personal lifeline. In a sense, I guess it is, as she’s grown to mean everything to all of us. If anything, the silence and distance from her have hooked the line in even deeper when it comes to how we feel about her. My brothers and I miss her warmth and bright smile that we’d grown so comfortable with receiving every day.

  “She’s healed well, thankfully. It looks like almost all her bruises have faded away too. Her ribs hold the coloring, though. That was a really deep bruise.”

  “That fucking pig father of hers should be six feet under! Fuck!” I roar.

  It’s become a daily outburst of mine, but it’s a far better reaction than when I’d initially learned of what he’d done to her. My brothers were forced to sedate me upon that discovery. I was hell-bent on breaking into her home, beating her father to death, and burying him for ever laying a hand on our perfect, sweet girl. It takes one sick motherfucker to physically injure his young daughter the way he had. Her pleading with him in his office, before the first hit happened, completely broke me, and I went on a destructive rampage. Had my brothers not been there to knock me out in my frenzy, I’d have killed her father after watching the recorded footage. I know it.

  I’d demolished a large portion of the beautifully constructed house in my wrath and continued to do so in the days to follow. I’ve just begun to calm down this past week with the destruction, and I think it’s because I can see with my own eyes that she’s finally healing up. That’s the real reason we haven’t turned around and sold this house and fully moved to the new mansion. My fury couldn’t be contained, nor could we bear being that far from Kresley if her father were to come after her again. My brothers agreed with me that if her shitbag father laid another finger on her, that we’d find some possible way to dispose of his body, no matter the consequences we’d have to face.

  “I don’t like being away from her either,” Tristan admits as his fingers fly to his temples and he kicks an overturned side table out of his path. He’s been having migraines, self-medicating, and bulking up because he’s been worrying about her so much. It’s not healthy for him to be so reckless with his body, but who am I to say anything? I’ve been destroying this house in my own outbursts of rage.

  Axel gets migraines often because he’s the smart one. He always has his head buried in a book, his eyes on a screen, or his fingers flying to write down some sort of formula. Tristan is the lighthearted jock with the world at his fingertips, but not having Kresley around, and his worrying is starting to wear on him as well. He’s been overworking his body in our home gym and sucking down juiced-up protein shakes like he can’t possibly retain enough calories to work his frustrations out. My brother has always been driven to be the absolute best when it came to football, but this is on an entirely different level—even for me.

  Cole finishes off his tumbler of whiskey. Never mind that it’s only ten a.m. “She’ll come back to us,” he mutters. “Give her time to herself. She’s stuck in her head right now.”

  I scoff, “Seriously? How can you be blasé about her being over there and fucking broken? For all we know she could decide to run away and disappear as soon as she’s able to. The fucked-up part is that I wouldn’t even blame her if she did. Hell, I probably would if I were in her shoes.”
r />   It sucks to admit it, but that’s one scenario I’ve been fighting myself with trying to accept. It’s another reason why I’ve been checking in on her constantly. I tell myself it’s because I want to be the one to put my hands around her father’s throat should the occasion presents itself. In reality, it’s because I’m silently terrified. I’m scared that one day I’ll log on and discover she’s gone for good, and we’ve completely lost her.

  Kresley’s not like us or anyone else we’re used to dealing with. She may have money in her life, but she doesn’t need it. She doesn’t constantly shop for expensive things or actively search for a rich man to marry someday. She goes for sweaty runs, studies hard, and spends time away at a budget summer camp where she can help kids that have had a rough time at home or with their weight. She’s not like any other young woman I’ve met before. She’s so much more.

  Cole releases a heavy breath, retorting, “Non, I’m not blasé, trust me. I’ve had the help call her house daily to request mon beba’s presence here. I want her with us just as badly as you three do.”

  Axel nods, his forehead wrinkled in contemplation as he agrees. “I hate to say it, but it’s all we can do right now. We don’t want to push her anymore, or we might lose her forever. We all know her father is too stupid and off the hinges to believe any slice of truth from his daughter. He’s far too money hungry to give up such a potential merger between our families. We have that in our favor, as he’ll push Kresley to continue with hers and Tris’s engagement.”

  “He better not touch her!” I growl, and Tristan steps in front of me, his hands moving to grip my tense, stacked shoulders. I’ve always been more ripped than he is, but little brother may finally have me beat with his obsessiveness these past weeks.

  “We made a promise to each other that we’ll never allow him to touch her ever again. If we’d have seen everything she was going through when it initially transpired we could’ve stepped in, but we didn’t know until after it had already happened. You have to stop blaming yourself for what he did to her, Brent. We fucked up and let our girl find out the plan; we aren’t the ones who laid our hands on Kresley. That was all her gutter rat father, and we’ll make sure he pays for it in the way it’ll hurt him most—his bank account.”