I don’t understand why he’s asking, but I nod.
Byron spins around in his seat and looks at Reed. “Darren saw potential in Mr. Nolan and gave him a job, saving him from a life of petty crime, incarceration and recidivism. Isn’t that right?”
“It is,” Reed agrees, though his face darkens.
“But he’s not Darren’s first outreach to a wayward youth,” Byron continues. “He’s had, and has, other wards. Did either of you know that?”
I shake my head — how would I know?
“I didn’t,” Reed says.
“Really?” asks Prescott.
Reed takes a second, thinking about it, then his eyebrows raise in comprehension. “Lance once mentioned ‘Dad’s freeloaders.’ I thought that referred to people in politics who wanted favors.”
Prescott chuckles. “I have plenty of those, but no, he was referring to my ex-wife Karen and the daughters she had with her new husband. They lived off my divorce settlement for years.”
I turn to look at Jacqueline, who stares down at the ground, a tear rolling down her face.
Shit. Oh shit.
“Lance never really talked about them,” Reed says, his voice gone gravelly.
“He never really knew them,” Prescott replies. “They lived in Nice for a long time, until Karen and Mel passed away in a boating accident.”
Jacqueline shakes her head. “You killed them, you asshole.”
Reed’s jaw drops, getting it now.
Ignoring her comment, Prescott continues, “After that, I offered to pay their living expenses back here. They visited the mansion sometimes, but I had to keep them away from Lance. I don’t think my son was enough of a freak to try anything with his half-sisters, but I wasn’t taking any chances. They were mine, and I wasn’t sharing them.”
I’d tell him he’s a sick fuck if not for the tape on my face. Reed’s gone deathly pale and looks about to vomit.
“That’s probably why Lance resented them,” Prescott says. “Wanting something you can’t have takes us all to dark places, doesn’t it? Lance and I had that in common, for sure.” He steps over and sets his hands on Jacqueline’s shoulders. “Except, there’s nothing I can’t have.”
“Fuck you,” she spits, shaking her head.
Icy aches claw inside my chest, and my heart pounds with rage. I thought I hated Prescott before — I had no fucking idea.
“Watch it, bitch,” Darren warns, running his hands over the scars on her back. “I could give you some fresh ones, or I could go see Isabel-”
“I’m sorry!” Jacqueline shrieks so loud we all flinch. “I’m sorry, okay?” she says, sniffing.
He grins, stroking her chin with a finger. “That’s better. She’s so well-trained these days, though I think Ms. Harris here is bringing out some of the old Jacqueline.” He turns to me and laughs. “You two really have so much in common. Both of you have come very, very close to killing a Prescott.”
My eyes go wide and I turn to Jacqueline. I’d love to offer her my sympathies that she didn’t succeed.
“Yeah, it was a neat trick too, poisoning my favorite bottle of bourbon. She could have killed me from a hundred miles away. I got lucky my house cleaner decided to sneak a shot while I was in Washington; Lance found her the next morning when he noticed her car was still in the driveway. What a way to go, huh? And it was such a waste: that bourbon costs four-hundred dollars a bottle.”
Jacqueline sobs, shaking her head, her eyes red with tears. I keep waiting for her to explode with rage, but she doesn’t — I’ve never seen her look so defeated.
“I moved the bitch here after that; I knew she’d try to kill me again, but I couldn’t turn her in. Walker was the perfect place to make her disappear. Thankfully I still have Isabel to enjoy, now that she’s of age. And, best of all, the bitch now knows not to make trouble, or I’ll punish Isabel, and Isabel knows to behave or she’ll end up at Walker with big sis.”
“What this means,” Byron says, cutting in, “is that the bitch reports to me. If she knows something important, like that Quinn expects an uprising in the prison any day now, she makes sure to tell me.”
No. No no no!
“She’s never made anything like that up, so I assume it’s the truth.”