Commodore’s good elbow hits the table and the china rattles. “Get out of this house. Take nothing but those things you actually paid for yourself. I’ll have your credit cards shut off within the hour. Let’s see how you handle life in the real world without that legacy.”

My brother’s face morphs into a picture of rage. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“It’s time for you to learn, boy. Your brother went off and made his mark before he came back, and we should’ve done the same with you, but your mother didn’t want you to be away longer than you had to be.”

My brother’s glare skewers each of us. “I’m glad she didn’t live to see the day when a Gable was welcomed into this house and her son was thrown out. That would’ve killed her.”

“You’re officially fired and homeless, Harrison. Get the hell out.” Commodore’s declaration leaves absolutely no room for misinterpretation. “Come back when you can prove that you’re worthy of the Riscoff name.”

“Fuck you. Fuck every single one of you.” Harrison stomps out of the room, and a vase smashes to the floor as he brushes past it.

“He’s going to make a mess,” McKinley says as she shoves her chair back and pushes to her feet.

“Then let him. It’s time for him to grow up and learn how to act like a decent human being. Whatever he destroys will be something he’ll have to replace in the future.”

A feeling of foreboding settles over me as I hear more glass shatter.

This isn’t going to end well.

Eighteen

Whitney

The sound of doors slamming and things breaking jerks me out of sleep. My body tenses as I blink and remember the crashing and banging of Ricky destroying everything in the house when I wouldn’t come out of the safe room that fateful day.

My heart rate skyrockets and my breathing speeds up.

No. Ricky’s dead. I’m not in the safe room.

I blink in the darkness, working to get my bearings.

I’m at the Riscoff estate. Commodore ordered us to stay here. I reach out and feel the bed. The sheets beside me are cold, and I vaguely remember Lincoln’s voice earlier this morning.

Another door slams, and it sounds like the force should have been hard enough to crack it.

I pop out of bed and throw on my clothes before I rush out into the hallway. There’s no war going on that I can see, but someone is definitely throwing a fit of rage. I bet I only need one guess as to who that is . . .

As soon as I see a suitcase being tossed into the hallway and Harrison’s furious face follow it out of a doorway, I wish I’d stayed in bed.

He straightens when he sees me, his chest heaving and nostrils flaring. “This is your fault. You couldn’t keep your goddamned legs closed, and now you’re fucking ruining everything.”

It’s still early, yet I can’t help but wonder if he’s already drunk, because he’s not making any sense.