Bastards and Scapegoats (Twisted Legacy Duet #1) - CoraLee June

Prologue

Hamilton

My mother used to tell me that death was just a monster she couldn’t figure out how to conquer. At eight years old, I didn’t understand what she meant. I just thought monsters were the creatures that hid under my bed and in my big brother’s clenched fist. The day she died, Mom learned how to best the beast. I found her writhing on the floor with armor made of fentanyl while clutching a needle-like sword in her palm.

I remember how I pleaded. “You can’t die.” I clutched her hand while sobbing over her soft skin. Her hair was soaked with salty sweat and clung to her forehead. “You can’t.”

I refused to believe that she’d done it at her happy place. This was supposed to be the one place where the monster couldn’t catch her. The place where she used to put Band-Aids on my scraped knees and bake my favorite pies. Not where we used to build her pillow forts in the living room and eat chocolate as she cried. Even though her moments of motherly affection were few and far between, they were special to me. This place was special to me.

I’d sometimes catch her sliding down the wall while biting her fist. She used to find the darkest corner of our house and settle there for a week or a month or my entire childhood. Dad said she liked to play hide-and-seek. We made a game out of her depression.

“Mom!”

She didn’t answer me. She was too damn high—too lost—to make her mouth work. When I found her passed out on the ground and foaming at the mouth, I called an ambulance. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to do this. Young boys shouldn’t have to know the right things to say to a 911 operator. Young boys shouldn’t have to know words like overdose. She loved things that damaged her. She loved to kiss death on the cheek.

She loved to make me feel terrible for existing.

Oh, she loved me, too. In her own special way. I was one of those damaging addictions she forced herself to love. It was the worst kind of love. Love wasn’t meant to be forced.

“Mom?” She started seizing. “No!”

I did this crazy thing where I almost laughed. Because I was so fucking scared—so terrified of losing her that the adrenaline cracked my mouth into a manic, terrible, nervous smile. I wouldn’t know until much later that the weakness in my expression would seal my fate.

I clutched her to my chest. “Don’t do this,” I pleaded as I shook her frail body.

She died in the arms of the bastard son she never wanted.

1

Vera

“I love you,” Mom whispered in a voice that lacked conviction. Although her new husband ate those words up like apple pie, I wasn’t sure if it was her affection that made him smile, or the idea of owning someone.

“Love you, too,” he whispered back with equal yet still impossibly lackluster enthusiasm. He leaned over and grazed her lips with his mouth. It was a satisfying sort of sadness, watching my mother kiss the love of her life on her wedding day. Her smile caused a pang of remorse to creep up my throat and settle on my tongue. I swallowed away emotions like I was drinking bitter, unsweet iced tea, and cheered at all the appropriate times. It was the right thing to do. I always did the right thing.

Lilah Garner—sorry, Beauregard—looked stunning. She was beautifully aware of her appearance and wielded it like a weapon. She poised herself like a goddess in the middle of the room, daring you to look at her until your eyes bled. Mom was rough around the edges. Her makeup was a bit too thick for her conservative husband, her dress a bit too revealing on her thin frame. This wedding was her grand performance. Romantic love was nothing but theatrics for the woman who birthed me. I’m sure in her own special way, she cared for Joseph. But it wasn’t the sort of love you read about in books. It was a love born out of opportunity, and everyone knew it.

“Introducing, Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard!” the announcer said as the happy couple walked onto the dance floor. I politely clapped along with everyone else watching.

My mother and I were close. Only fifteen short years separated our ages, and we fought for our place in this world. She always wanted a comfortable life. I suppose spending all your existence clawing your way through bullshit