“I’m taking her with me,” I say, grabbing Harper’s arm.
Dad snatches up his gun. “She’s not going anywhere. You’ll let her leave.”
“I won’t,” I say, glaring back at him.
He lowers the gun toward her legs. “I’ll take her kneecap to make sure she can’t run. Then you can take her with you.”
“Don’t fucking point a gun at her,” I grit out. I slam out of the room and across the dining area, waiting for the sound of a gunshot. It doesn’t come. He knows that would end the saving of his operation, and he’s too greedy to chance it.
I shove open the outer doors to the mall, bracing it open against the gusting wind while six men file in. I lead them into the dining room and tell them to wait. When I step back into the kitchen, Harper’s right where I left her, and Dad’s still holding the gun. The bastard’s too scared to put it down when she’s in the room with him.
I can’t help but be impressed. It takes a lot to intimidate Tony Dolce, and even if he’d never admit it, that’s why he’s not working right now. He knows our time here is limited, and if he’d give up five minutes of money to guard her, he’s pissing himself with fear of what she’ll do—or what I’ll do if he fucks with her again.
When the packed boxes are gone, Colin sticks his head into the kitchen. “Got any more for me tonight?”
“Wait in the parking lot,” I growl.
His eyes fall on Harper, and a predatory grin spreads over his face. “Well, fuck me,” he says. “Why am I not surprised to find this little lassie running Alice? Or are you just picking up enough to keep you going through your new football team this week?”
He nods at the box next to Dad’s table, and she fixes him with a withering glare. “I don’t need your creepy sex drugs,” she says. “Though you might want to dip into your supply. Duke says they keep you going all night. Now, I don’t believe in miracles, but they might get you past the two-minute mark.”
“If two minutes is all it takes to get mine, why waste time going longer?” he asks.
I wheel around and clock the dumb fuck right in the face. He stumbles back, grabbing his nose before the door swings closed in his face.
“Royal,” Dad barks. “That’s our connection.”
“I told him to wait in the parking lot,” I say, starting toward my table.
The door swings open, and I turn back, ready to continue the little dance Colin and I have been doing for years. The bastard’s the only man in Faulkner who likes to fight more than I do.
But King’s the one who steps through the door. Behind him, there’s a whole army of random faces. I don’t take the time to place them all. I dive for the Glock on the table beside Dad.
He grabs for it at the same moment. He’s closer, and his fingers close around it before mine. My hand lands on top of his, and I grab his wrist.
We stare at each other for a second, and then I bring my other fist down on his hand as hard as I can.
Dad howls in pain.
Bones crunch under my fingers as I smash his hand between my fist and the metal table. His grip instinctively loosens, and I rip the gun free and bring it down on the back of his head.
He flops facedown on the table.
I grab the back of his neck and press the gun to his skull.
“Don’t,” King orders, his voice sharp and final.
I loosen my grip.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Exactly what it looks like,” I say. “I’m getting rid of him, just like I told you.”
“You don’t need that on you,” he says. “Let me do it.”
“You’re going to kill him?” Crystal asks.
Always Daddy’s little girl.