Larissa Judson and Haskell Palmer novel Chapter 443

Crispin had no time for Thatch’s theatrics.

“You’ll find out what the young master wants when you get there,” he said coldly. “If you don’t want to get hurt again, I suggest you don’t resist.”

“Fine, I’ll go with you!” Thatch didn’t struggle.

Why should he? He wasn’t scared. During his time in the hospital, he’d had plenty of time to think. He’d concluded that Haskell’s recent behavior was nothing more than a childish tantrum, a desperate cry for the love and attention he’d never received. Haskell was simply jealous of the affection Thatch had always shown Draven and Valeria.

It was just like his mother, all her scheming and manipulations had been for the sole purpose of gaining his favor.

Thatch had never liked Haskell’s mother, nor Haskell, the son she’d given him, but if a little appeasement was all it took to return to his comfortable life, he was more than willing to play along.

...

An hour later.

“Sir, I’ve brought them,” Crispin announced, motioning for the bodyguards to shove Thatch and Valeria toward the gazebo.

While they had been waiting, a wave of exhaustion had washed over Larissa. She was leaning against one of the gazebo’s pillars, her eyes closed in a light doze as a gentle breeze ruffled her hair. Haskell, seeing her, had carefully taken the blanket from his own lap and draped it over her shoulders to keep her warm.

At the sound of Crispin’s voice, she slowly opened her eyes, stifling a lazy yawn. Her gaze fell on the newcomers, and a smirk played on her lips.

“Well, look at that. The illegitimate daughter is here too. Perfect. We can deal with them both at once and save ourselves the trouble.”

Thatch patted her hand reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I won’t let Haskell hurt you again.”

He then turned to Haskell, his voice sharp with accusation. “Haskell, haven’t you had enough of tormenting your brother? What is the meaning of this? Why did you drag me here?”

Haskell remained unnervingly calm. “Are you angry?” he asked quietly.

“Shouldn’t I be?” Thatch roared, his face purpling with rage. “You ungrateful son! You had your men attack your own father! It’s unforgivable!”

A chilling, mirthless smile touched Haskell’s lips. “Thatch, if anyone has the right to be angry, it’s me. You’ve been lying to me for three years… No, that’s not right. It’s been twenty-one years.”

The three years were just the time he’d spent with the fake Draven. The real deception had begun the moment his true brother was born.