Chapter 142 Who killed Vincent?
Sage's POV
I stared at Ryder, my heart pounding so hard against my rib cage I could feel it in my ears. "You know who killed my Dad?"
"Yes." His voice was certain and final.
"And you also kept that from me!?" I moved toward him. "Who the hell is it? Why didn't you tell me as soon as you found out?"
But Ryder's eyes were locked on Jaxon, something hard and unforgiving in his expression. "When did you figure it out?" I asked, my voice shaking. "How long have you known and kept such an important information from me?"
"I only just figured it out a few days ago." Ryder's voice was tight. "When you showed me the gun and bloody shirt in Jaxon's closet."
"I don't understand." I looked between him and my brother. "What does the shirt have to do with anything? We already know Jaxon was there that night. He admitted he argued with dad that night. We saw him in the photo Tommy showed us."
"That's exactly it." Ryder pulled out a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. "The photo Tommy brought. The one that was sent to the clubhouse after Jaxon kicked us out when he found out we were still having an affair."
"I already confronted him about that, remember?" I said, my voice hollow. "That was weeks ago at the diner. He admitted he was arguing with Dad that night. But he said he walked away. He said that Dad got in his truck to leave after the arguement and that was the last time he saw him alive."
"He lied." Ryder's voice was hard. "Look at the photo again. Look at it really closely."
He unfolded the picture and turned the photo towards me so I could see it again. I looked at it and I could see two figures in the parking lot, clearly in a heated argument. One was my dad, the other was Jaxon.
"I've seen this before," I said, frustration creeping into my voice. "What am I supposed to be seeing that I missed?"
"The shirt." Ryder pointed at the picture. "Look at what Jaxon is wearing."
I collected the picture from his hand and squinted at the photo. Jaxon was wearing a light coloured shirt, but the image was a bit blurry to make out much details.
"I can't see anything special in it." I looked up at Ryder. "What about the shirt?"
"When you showed me that bloody shirt in Jaxon's closet, something about it felt familiar." Ryder's jaw was tight. "I couldn't place it at first. But then I remembered this photo. I went back and looked at it again, really studied it."
"And?" I pressed.
"And I recognized the shirt." Ryder's voice was quiet but certain. "The one in the photo is the same one you found covered in blood. The same color, the same style, the same fit, and the same little design on the left breast area. It used to be Jaxon's favorite shirt. I've seen him wear it a hundred times."
My breath caught. "You're saying the shirt he was wearing when he argued with dad that night is the same one that's now covered in blood and hidden in his closet."
"Yes." Ryder looked at Jaxon, who had gone very still. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
I turned to my brother slowly, my mind racing through the implications. "You told me you walked away. You said Dad got in his truck and drove off and that was the last time you saw him."
Jaxon's expression was unreadable.
"But if the shirt you were wearing that night is covered in blood now..." My voice trailed off as the pieces clicked into place. "Then you didn't walk away, did you? You stayed. You were there when Dad was shot."
"Sage—" Jaxon started but I cut him off.
"No." My voice was shaking. "No more lies. No more excuses. That shirt is covered in Dad's blood. Which means you were close enough when he was killed to get blood on your clothes."
"You don't understand—"
"Then make me understand!" I shouted. "Explain to me how that shirt got bloody if you walked away like you claimed. Explain to me how you have a gun hidden in the same closet as the blood-stained clothes."
"Who killed our dad Jaxon?!"