Read Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) for Free Online Page A

thing about it, though, is I can’t do it in front of my
brother. And I don’t understand why. It’s like we tiptoe around the subject,
neither of us breaking the ice of discussing it. My sister-in-law thinks it
damaged me beyond the point of repair. And maybe it did and I’m too fucked up
to notice. But every day since he died has been a celebration for me. I was
tethered to that fucker by an invisible chain. The day he left this Earth was
my ticket to freedom. Not that I don’t carry mental problems from what he did
to me over the years. But the simple fact that he’s gone has been a balm to my torn
and ragged soul.
    People
who’ve never been abused don’t understand—can’t understand the terror.
It’s a living, breathing thing. It doesn’t go away. It only grows and develops
into something so monstrous that it distorts every single thing you do. Even
the tiniest actions are affected. Brushing your teeth, combing your hair,
eating, even drinking water. It crushes you by its
weight until you barely function. And then he comes barreling down on
you and it intensifies even more. Living becomes almost intolerable, and there
is no way out. That was life with the Dragon. Now he’s dead and the terror is
receding. Bit by bit. And I am finally feeling that there is life for me again.
    My
adopted father, Langston Hart, was a monster. A living, fire-breathing dragon. The
cruelty began with my older brother, Kolson. I came next, and finally my
younger brother, Kade. Langston made it look like he was a great philanthropist,
adopting three boys. Philanthropist my ass—he was more like a fucking
sadist. If only they had known the truth about the monster he was … that all
along he had orchestrated a plot to acquire three sons with no questions asked.
We were all around five or six when he adopted us. We were deprived of so much,
it’s difficult to even think about, much less explain. The Dragon’s forte was
intimidation. He thrived on it and his favorite method was grasping me around the
neck and choking me. We weren’t sexually abused, but he made up for it in other
ways. He was a brutal bastard. I sincerely hope he rots in hell. We all lived
in our own hell because of him.
    It’s
four a.m. and I doubt I’ll be able to go back to sleep. A good, hard run would
set my mind right. It doesn’t take long for me to get dressed and hit the
streets. It’s still dark and quiet out. My feet strike a decent rhythm as I
make my way around all the gorgeous homes South of Broad Street. The
architecture is so interesting down here that I barely notice what street I’m
on, until I hit the battery and Murray Boulevard. The views of the water are
superb. I’m quite taken with this and find I’m all the way down by the Coast
Guard Station before I realize it. Instead of continuing on, I do a u-ey and
head back to see the homes on Murray again. I’m completely smitten with them,
which is odd because Kolson is the one who usually gets his boxers in a wad
over real estate. I’m hoping the second time around will be a let down. It’s
quite the contrary. It’s much better than the first. Christ. I can’t believe
I’m about to be an owner here. I slow my pace as I pass the house that I made
the offer on. There’s a light on upstairs and I can’t help but wonder if Carter
is asleep or is she awake and anxious about the upcoming sale.
    On
the way to the office, I have the driver find a Starbuck’s or the equivalent. I
can’t risk not having any coffee. I snag two large cups. Shayla won’t be in
until eight-thirty anyway. This will hold me until then. I hope.
    The
office is dark and empty when I arrive. My music plays as I get to work. There
are a ton of possible accounts we can establish and I shoot all my information
to Kolson and Jack. I also start running numbers and setting up spreadsheets.
We need to hire someone to run the financial end for this branch. My phone
rings.
    “Yeah.”
    “Do
you ever answer your phone in a