“What have you done?” His mother’s heart-wrenching scream tore through the house.
Scrambling to his feet, he faced her. The familiar shadows that hung under her eyes seemed to darken as her frantic gaze darted from him to the bloodied body on the floor. Her hands trembled as she covered her head, trying to make sense of the horrific scene. Despite how abusive he was, Lynette had loved his father with a toxic adoration. Braxton had known one day it was going to end in death. He just always assumed it would be his mother’s.
Shaking his head, he held out his hands. “I didn’t do this. I found him like this.” He stepped closer to take his fragile mother in his arms. She snarled and pushed him away. His heart twisted in his chest at the betrayal.
She stepped closer and then fell to her knees in front of the body, her tan slacks soaking up Remy’s blood. She buried her face in her bony hands as she let out a wail. The sound ripped at Braxton’s heart.
He bent down to tug her to her feet. She flinched at his touch and screamed, her wild eyes piercing him to the core. “Don’t touch me. You killed him.”
“What’s going on, Lynette? You okay?” Mr. Cooper, the preacher and next door neighbor, rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks. “Holy shit.”
“Mr. Cooper ...” Before Braxton could explain how he’d found his father, the preacher was out the door, hurling prayers over his shoulder as he raced back to his own home.
Uneasiness pricked the short hairs on Braxton’s neck, warning of something headed his way. His wolf instinct told him something bad was about to happen.
Sirens screeched in the distance and Braxton’s heart rate kicked into high gear. He didn’t exactly have a sterling reputation with Shreveport’s police department. He’d been thrown in jail quite a few times for disturbing the peace. It didn’t matter that he’d been protecting some of the dancers from guys who had thought their money could buy more than a lap dance at the Beaver Tail. To the Shreveport PD, Braxton was a criminal. To them, once a criminal, always a criminal.
Dancing crimson and blue lights flickered in from the living room window, momentarily blinding him. His heart fumbled in his chest.
“Hands up. We’re coming in,” two of Shreveport’s finest called out as they eased their way through the door with guns drawn.
Braxton stood still, unable to look away from his mother as she cradled the mutilated body of the worthless man, a man who hadn’t cared less if his wife lived or died.
Deep down, on some level, Braxton was relieved the fucker was gone. Maybe that made him as bad as his father.
“Freeze!” one of the cops yelled out, keeping his gun leveled at Braxton’s chest.
Braxton blew out a breath to calm his racing heart, wondering if uttering the word freeze was part of the police protocol. Did they not realize no one had moved since they entered the room?
“Get your hands up!” The bald-headed cop narrowed his eyes.
Braxton slowly lifted his hands over his head. “He’s my father.” The words tasted acrid on his tongue as he admitted his relationship to the man. “I’m the one that found him.”
His mother’s frantic wails drew his attention. “Tell them who I am, Mom.”
The cops kept their guns leveled at him while addressing Lynette. “Is this your son, ma’am?”
His mother lifted her watery gaze to Braxton and held out her bloody palm. “Why, Braxton? Why did you…”
His chest tightened. “Mom, you know I didn’t do this.” He took a step toward her. He needed to make her understand he hadn’t killed his father.
The cops rushed forward, shoving him face-first into the wall. His cheek collided with the paneling. He fought back a growl as anger surged within him.
“Hands behind your back, buddy.”
“Get your hands off me.” Braxton gritted his teeth and sucked in a deep breath as he attempted to cage his temper. “I didn’t kill the bastard.”
“Well, mommy seems to say different.” The older cop with the five o’clock shadow clicked the handcuffs around his wrists, tightening them until the metal bit into his flesh, and guided him through the front door.
Braxton squinted against the flashing red and blue lights spilling out across the yard. Neighbors crept out of their houses dressed in robes and slippers, arching their necks trying to get a better look at him, as if he were some kind of attraction from Barnum and Bailey’s murderers on parade.
He grunted as the cops shoved him against the side of the cop car and started to pat him down.
“Well, well. Looks like we got us a murder weapon.” The older cop pulled a five-inch knife from the inside of Braxton’s boot and held it in front of his face.
Fuck. He’d forgotten about the knife he always kept on him. He wanted to tell them if he wanted to kill someone he’d just rip their throats out, that he didn’t need a weapon.