Silent No More

Prologue

PROLOGUE

NICHOLAS LOCKHART

"W

hat the fuck does he want now?" I huff, glaring down at the name displayed on my cell phone.

If I never have to speak to him again, it'll be too soon. Jerking my hand off the steering wheel, I reach over, turning the volume down on the stereo that's blasting Avenged Sevenfold's "Nightmare" through the speakers.

My Father. A man I despise.

If God existed, the man's life surely would have ended by now. But that hasn't happened, and I don't see it happening any time soon. I'm the type of guy who prays for his dad to get a brain hemorrhage that will take him straight to Hell, where he belongs.

"Yeah?" I greet him as I turn into the underground parking garage at Lockhart Publishing in my silver Audi R8.

Way to ruin my day, Dad.

"Nicholas, is that the way you normally answer your phone? You're the CEO of a company for Christ's sake. The least you could do is act like a professional." Two companies to be exact, but what does being a CEO have to do with professionalism when the person on the other end of the line is the sorry excuse I get to call father? The man should know by now I'm going to do and act any way I want. I've never been the "do as you're told" type, so why start now?

"I wasn't aware this was a professional call." My tone is sarcastic, but I couldn't care less. The dickfuck knows I hate him. Nothing will ever change that fact. We will never drink a beer together. We will never have a strong father/son bond. Hell, the only bond we do have—is blood. Just knowing his blood is running through my veins and that it will forever link us disturbs me.

"Son, let's not argue today. I called for a specific reason, so I won't keep you any longer than necessary." I can tell by his clipped tone he doesn't want to be on the phone with me any more than I do with him.

"Fine, then tell me what you do want so I can get back to work." I breathe out in annoyance.

My father was a well-known defense attorney in Los Angeles when I was growing up. He has made a living getting criminals out of jail for many years and now he's a prominent judge. There is some real fucked-up irony in that. The man should be locked up for the things he's done to my mother over the years. Why the woman stays married to him is beyond me. It's not like she needs his money. In fact, my father has benefited from her inheritance more than she has.

Rotten bastard.

"As you know, Thursday is Thanksgiving, and your mother would like you and your sister present for lunch." He knows I'll do anything for my mom. I think I proved that to him a long time ago. "Do you think you can do this for her?" he adds. He knows I'm going to say yes.

"What time?" I ask on a sigh as I open my car door, stepping out into the dark, musky air under my building. To my annoyance, I slam the door harder than I intend. Fuck! Why do I let this man get under my skin so easily? Just the sound of his voice tends to set me off.