“You think your men can stop me from seeing my son?” I sit back down. I already know what mood he’s in before he says anything further. “Sergio, get me a fucking drink.” He pulls out a chair, and as he sits, the air from the door hits him, and I can smell her all over him. Everything in me straightens as my father relaxes back in his chair with not a care in the world.
Does he even care? No. Because if he has an issue, I solve it.
It’s been our dynamic since I was a teenager and started working with Keir.
Keir also knows this—it’s why he asked me if I’d heard from him.
I lied.
And I never lie.
Unless it’s about my father.
I hate that fact more than I can say because lies are sour, and they taste bitter off the tongue. Just like this man sitting across from me. Why do I do it? Fuck knows! I’m still trying to work that out.
I have no qualms about killing people or about those I know being killed. After all, I do most of the killing. But for some reason, my father has a grip on me I’m not sure how to conquer.
“Sergio is not your man. Do not tell my men what to do,” I bite back.
He raises a brow at me. “You angry at me?” he asks. But he doesn’t say it as someone who actually cares if I’m angry, he says it as if he’s surprised and wants to know why. Because, clearly, he could never do anything to upset anyone, now could he?
“I gave you what you wanted yesterday, so why are you here?” I ask, leaning forward and breathing through my mouth heavily. If I breathe through my nose, I may jump over the table and strangle him to get to her.
She is still my favorite thing.
“She’s feisty, that one. If that’s what you’re upset about, you can have her.”
My tongue slides over my teeth as I try to remember not to kill my father. “You no longer want her?” I ask.
He pulls up the sleeve of his shirt and shows me a cut on his arm. “The crazy bitch did that. Got a kitchen knife and fucking cut me.”
I hold back my smirk because that sounds like something she would do. I know, as I’ve had a knife to my throat as well. “So, you made me go through all this for what?” My voice is dropping, and he sits straighter when he hears the anger starting to form in the words spewing from my mouth.
“It wasn’t for nothing.” He stands, heads to the small refrigerator, and pulls out a beer, popping it open before he turns back to me.
“I even got that friend of hers. Fucked her, then beat her to get her to listen. Do you think she did?”
The door opens, and Brody enters. Sergio runs behind him, holding his stomach.
“Where is my sister, and Merci?”
My father turns to look at him. I remain seated. If I stand, I may very well pull out the gun in my pants and shoot every fucking person in this room.
Maybe then my life would be easier.
No, that’s simply wishful thinking.
“Lucas… I mean, sir.” Brody shakes his head, and I can tell how upset he is.
But do I really care? Not sure I want the answer to that.
“I don’t know where she is,” I respond evenly.
His body drops.
Motioning to my father, I add, “But he does.”
All eyes turn to Malik. He doesn’t care that this kid knows. He does care that I said something, though.