David's POV
The cigar snapped between Griffin's fingers, tobacco spilling across his mahogany desk like scattered ashes of the dead.
That reaction ignited something dark inside my chest. A cruel satisfaction I had never felt before this moment. This moment when I suspected he had whispered secrets about me to Trina, secrets that belonged to no one but myself.
Alcohol might cloud his judgment, but it gave him no right to betray my trust.
"Don't act shocked," I said, pulling my hands from my pockets and letting them hang loose at my sides. "You know exactly when you lost every ounce of my respect. The day you murdered our mother."
He exploded from his chair like a man possessed, sending papers flying as he slammed his palms against the desk. "I never laid a finger on her!" The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate.
