Bastards and Scapegoats

  Bastards and Scapegoats

  Twisted Legacy Duet

  CoraLee June

  Copyright © 2020 by CoraLee June

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by: HarleyQuinn Zaler

  Editor: Helayna Trask with Polished Perfection

  Cover Photographer: Marx Chavez

  Cover Model: Roque Arrais

  Created with Vellum

  For Christine Estevez. I am so thankful for your friendship and support. I couldn’t do this gig without you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Vera

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  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 made you wish that you didn’t have to try so damn hard. Her new husband offered comforts neither of us had dared to even dream of, but the privilege of peace came at a price.

  The smile stretched along my face felt sore and forced. I’d been wearing it all day, and the happy mask was just as foreign to me as the three-thousand-dollar designer lace dress clinging to my thin body, and the heels strapped to my throbbing feet. My light brown hair was swept into an elegant updo, my full lips lined with mauve liner and matte lipstick. I had red paint on my nails. My tan skin was buffed and shined to perfection. My brown eyes lined with smoky makeup.

  I didn’t want to be here. Not really. The makeup caked onto my skin had all but sweat off in the September humidity, and the lashes expertly glued to my eyelids earlier this afternoon by Connecticut’s finest makeup artist, were now hanging by a thread.

  But my mother wanted an outdoor wedding.

  She wanted the fairy tale.

  She wanted everything her unplanned teen pregnancy had been denying her all these years.

  The only thing that could make her special day more perfect was if I weren’t here.

  No. That was an intrusive thought orchestrated by my deep-rooted insecurities. My mom loved me. She wouldn’t have worked so hard to give us a good life otherwise.

  The happy couple walked around the room, shaking hands with their guests and greeting attendees with wide, practiced smiles. When they got to me, Joseph awkwardly patted me on the shoulder, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at me.

  “I love you,” Mom whispered before kissing me on the cheek. Her glossy lips left a sticky residue on my skin.

  “Love you too, Mom. Congrats, Joseph.”

  Ignoring me, my new stepfather cleared his throat, pressed his hand to the small of Mom’s back, and whispered, “There are more people to see. The Vice President is here.”

  With a gracious nod and a pleased grin, Mom squeezed my hand and followed her husband off to a group of gu
ests to my right.

  She looked happy, with her vintage dress and petite body gliding across the ground. The setting looked straight out of a fairy tale. Twinkle lights woven like thread and strung from poles towered above us and made the sweat on her face glow. Her breasts were spilling from her dress, giving onlookers a tease of what was underneath the sixteen-thousand-dollar gown she wore.

  She wanted to feel like a princess today.

  Don’t get me wrong, Lilah Beauregard deserved to feel like a princess. We hadn’t had an easy life. The day she realized she was pregnant with me, was the start of her misery, and she had earned the right to a happily ever after. The tenacious woman paid in blood, sweat, and tears. Lilah worked three grueling jobs while getting her GED. She also made sure I had food on the table, and I never really felt unsafe. Her creepy boyfriends never slept over. There were times we feared not making rent, but she didn’t purposefully go out of her way to make me feel like a burden. My mother loved me. She wasn’t abusive or cruel. She was just human, a fact that I had slowly realized over time.

  Growing up meant accepting the vulnerabilities of your parents. I learned to normalize their flaws because expecting more from her led to disappointment. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact moment I realized that she silently resented me. Perhaps it was two years ago, on my sixteenth birthday. She got me a purse I’d been eyeing at the local thrift store and a prescription for birth control. She made me swear not to ruin my life like she did.

  Or maybe it was the night of homecoming when she uncharacteristically sobbed at the sight of me in a dress. It hadn’t occurred to me until later that she missed her own homecoming because of me.

  Or maybe it was tonight, as I watched her clink her glass of champagne for a toast. The words fresh start escaped her lips.

  She loved me. Hell, she devoted her young life to raising me. But everything was about to change. I could feel it in my bones. Up until now, life was nothing more than a long, slow dance with survival.

  “You don’t have to smile the entire time, Vera,” my new grandfather said while settling at my side. I wasn’t expecting him to chat with me. There were much more important people here than I. And didn’t he know? I had to smile. The alternative was crying. There was no in-between. I let out a light chuckle while continuing to watch my mother. She was grinning broadly at something Joseph had whispered in her ear.

  “I’m afraid if I stop, someone will take a photo and I’ll end up in tomorrow’s headlines,” I murmured with a slight wince. I was forced to swiftly get used to the publicity of our new family. My new grandfather, Governor Jack Beauregard, looked around the room, frowning slightly at the various clicking cameras zoomed in on the happily married couple, pausing when he noticed a few of them trained on us. Like the skilled politician he was, Jack wrapped his arm around me for a comforting side hug.

  “I know it’s a lot to learn. There is a spotlight on my family not many can handle. You’ve adapted well.” I resisted the urge to snort. If adapting well meant crying into my pillow every night, then yes, I was adjusting accordingly.

  The Beauregards weren’t just politically inclined. They shoved their hands into every money-making industry until they were up to their elbows in privilege and wealth. My mother would never admit it in polite company, but she chiseled at her rocky foundation with nothing more than a pin needle and somehow managed to strike gold. “Your love and support for your mother has been commendable. You moved across the state. Helped plan this monster of a wedding and are wearing a dress that looks tremendously uncomfortable. Honestly, you should look for a job in politics, because you haven’t cracked once.”

  “At least not publicly,” I whispered, making him chuckle. Jack liked to point out how mature I was for my age. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was forced to grow up the day I was born. I was eighteen going on seventy. Smiling, I twisted to face him. Jack had salt-and-pepper hair and deep wrinkles carved into his pale skin. The tux he wore was polished and dignified. I noticed a nick on his chin, probably from shaving. He had genuine laugh lines painted around his mouth, like he spent his entire life finding everything amusing.

  I had yet to meet someone who didn’t like my new grandfather—including me. Though he seemed to know that the public always had their eyes on him, he still maintained a joyful disposition. Jack took the time to get to know me. He hosted barbeques and asked me about what books I was reading. He also got me into one of the best local universities so I could still be close to my mother during this strange transition.

  “You’re doing great, kid. I just wish my wife could have lived long enough to see Joseph married. She would have loved you.”

  I inhaled slow and steady, trying to come up with a response. I never knew what to say when Jack’s wife was brought up. “I’m sure she was lovely. She’s here in spirit,” I replied before reaching out to gently squeeze my new grandfather’s arm reassuringly.

  He patted me on the shoulder before looking back at my mother and new stepfather. “And you look beautiful tonight.” The compliment made me dip my head. I never did well with compliments. I didn’t really know the right way to accept them. That was my mother’s expertise. “You’re so supportive. I’m proud to have you join the family.”

  “I just want her to be happy,” I admitted. It was a phrase I’d learned to use repeatedly when reporters asked how I felt about the shotgun wedding and her rumored pregnancy. Four months ago, they were just dating. Two months ago, they were engaged. Now? Mom had a rock the size of California on her hand. And as far as the pregnancy rumors? I’d found a positive test in the trash, but she hadn’t told me yet.

  “It’s okay to want to be happy, too,” Jack said while leaning over and tapping me on the nose. “I’m going to talk to my buddy over there. See you later, Vera.” I inhaled his whiskey scent and nodded, like it was the appropriate thing to do, before turning my attention back to my mother.

  The bride and groom’s grand exit wasn’t for another hour, according to the itinerary, and I needed to cool off in the main house for a bit before posing for the camera again. I also needed to find some lipstick.

  I smiled while walking by senators, governors, diplomats, CEOs and other important people I knew nothing about. I wasn’t raised in this life. I didn’t know the first thing about what my mother was marrying into, but I was quickly learning.

  Politicians lived their life on stage. They couldn’t so much as take a shit without everyone knowing. Joseph was following in his father’s footsteps, and Mom looked forward to posing at his side. It seemed appropriate. She was a modern-day Cinderella now standing at the side of a prince. But I didn’t trust in their happily ever after.

  After grabbing a glass of water and heading up the trail toward the large house, I guzzled down the chilled drink and took in our surroundings. Jack owned the estate where my mother and Joseph got married. Surrounded by sprawling lawns that were beautiful, the large home was surprisingly modern despite the overgrown vines and traditional landscaping. The blocky house with tall rectangular windows almost felt out of place. Jack had it built as a gift for his late wife and spent some of his summers here. He called it his second retirement home. It was crazy what money could do.

  I passed the security guard, who gave me a subtle nod of acknowledgement, before making my way inside and upstairs to the bedroom I was staying in for the next two weeks while my mother and Joseph were honeymooning in Paris. Fucking Paris. Apparently, the Beauregards had a flat in the city, with an incredible view. The only time I’d ever been on vacation was when we went camping at the local state park.

  My wobbling ankles ached as I ascended the stairs. Reaching behind my back, I slowly unzipped my dress for a bit of temporary breathing room before letting out a sigh of relief and loosening the smile cemented on my face. “Fucking finally,” I said while walking up the stairs leading to my suite. It wasn’t until I heard a distinct whimper that I stopped on the top step.

  “Hello?” I aske
d. This place was supposed to be off-limits for anyone but the bridal party and families—not that Mom and I had anyone.

  “Harder baby,” a high-pitched woman demanded. “Fuck that pussy.”

  My eyes widened as a slapping sound filled my ears. Oh, shit. The sound was coming from my room. If someone was bumping uglies in my bed, I was going to lose it.

  I instinctively knew I should have walked away. A wiser woman would have fled. But I was drawn to the loud moans. My hand went to the doorknob, and my heart twisted in my chest. I turned the handle slowly, slowly, slowly.

  I expected a dark room. My fumbling experiences with sex involved a high school ex-boyfriend who wasn’t worth mentioning. Our twisted experiments were always in the dark. Always while Mom was working a double shift at the restaurant. Always with the pillow clenched between my teeth to stop my moans from shattering the paper-thin walls of my bedroom.

  But this wasn’t two bodies seeking pleasure in the silent shroud of darkness. The entire space was drenched in light. It was like they didn’t care if they were seen or heard. They were too lost in the power of pleasure. It was loud and chaotic. Intoxicating.

  Directly across from where I was standing at the door, was an old vanity with a large, lit up mirror. Two bodies moving on and against it. I immediately recognized the girl, the hard lines of her face a picture of pleasure in the mirror’s reflection. She was a younger waitress who worked with my mom. They were acquaintances at best, just someone Mom liked to gossip with during her lunch break, but Mom needed people to stand beside her at the altar, and Colleen looked amazing in a dress.