Chapter 39
Dash
“ Where were you?” I grill Damian, who arrives five minutes late.
He swallows, avoiding my gaze, “ Nowhere.” So he was seeing Plain Jane.
I shake my head as I snatch a garlic roll out of the bread basket. I detest these family dinners. Everything my family does in public is carefully staged and planned. Nothing is accidental. We hold these media dinners solely to prevent speculation. The more elusive you are, the more people want to dig, so we give them a little to stave off their curiosity.
Outside, as Titan ’ s dad ’ s car arrives, photographers turn and shout. A tall, leggy brunette steps out first, waving and smiling, clearly enjoying the attention. I glance a look at Titan. His nostrils flare as he watches his dad pull out the chair for his date. Titan ’ s father always flaunts women to distract everyone from his brothers. This ensures that no one pays attention to my dad, who hasn ’ t smiled since mom passed away, or to my uncle Elijah, who looks like he's plotting to murder God himself.
At least my dad never publically paraded around another woman. If I take Dad for his word, he ’ s never been with another since Mom.
I don ’ t like the thickening in my throat over that fact. It makes me kind of like that small aspect about my dad.
My dad arrives next. He ’ s looking weary and aged. The wrinkles on his forehead are like a map, etched deep into his skin, and his blonde hair has turned silver.
I wonder what mom would look like now?
Don ’ t think about her!
I watch as my dad looks at Damian first before his eyes slide to me. His lip tugs up in a smile.
Instantly, I ’ m on alert.
Since when have you smiled at me? Never. It ’ s not for the cameras who are being escorted across the street to allow the diners to eat undisturbed.
I set the bread roll down and grab my water.Dad just watches me, slowly moving his eyes over my face to my shoulders before he looks me in the eye again and nods.
“ What”?” I snap.
He shakes his head. “ I ’ m just thinking about your mother,” he mutters as he finally looks away.
Damian ’ s eyes burn into me. What does he think I ’ m going to cry, stand and hug my dad, or throw a punch?
I roll my eyes as I grab my phone and message Mila ’ s guard.
Dash: Where is she?
Hank: She asked to sleep at your house tonight. I just dropped her off inside.
My house? Will I find her in my bed when I get home, or will my little fox stick to this pause she thinks we ’ re on?
Any bit of fake happiness dies when my uncle Elijah joins us wearing his famous black suit, shirt, and pants—you get the picture. Black is for his soul. He doesn ’ t look at Damian at all. Not one glance or fake nod for the camera.
The waiter makes his way around the table, filling everyone ’ s drinks and taking orders. Uncle Lucas ’ s date babbles on and on about her job as a model. I want to puke, but I resist and drink some of the whiskey Titan ordered. I glance at Damian, who keeps discreetly looking towards my father. When the model turns to him to make conversation, I chuckle. Damian looks like a volcano ready to erupt. He doesn ’ t do small talk.
“ How are things going, Uncle Elijah?” I take another drink as his permanently enraged eyes glance my way. We ’ re the same height now, but he has that ability to make it feel like he ’ s always looking down his nose at you. Like he ’ s sitting on a throne surrounded by fire, and he ’ s wondering where to burn you first.
“ What do you want?”
“ To know why Greg Michelson was able to upset you and my dad so badly,” I whisper with a mischievous grin.“Losing your grip on King Corporations? That ’ s a shame.” I grunt a perverse chuckle. “ There goes our inheritances.” My voice is loud enough that the model pauses and looks at Uncle Lucas.
Money hungry. “ Watch out for her, Uncle Lucas. She will suck the money out of your wallet more than she sucks your cock.” I sneer, but the model can ’ t hear because she ’ s too tipsy and self-centered.
A harsh kick from my father nails my shin from under the table. Instead of replying, Uncle Lucas glances at Titan. It ’ s a threat. He ’ s going to hurt Titan because of my remark. But I can ’ t stop because I ’ m pissed off, and I want our fathers to burn, even if that means we catch a flame too.
I turn my smug smirk onto Uncle Elijah again. His eyes tighten into little slits so minuscule I can ’ t see the color of his eyes.
“ It bothers you, doesn ’ t it? Me asking that out here in the open?” As I reached for a breadstick, our eyes clash. I take a bite, the crisp sound echoing over the fake conversations before I begin to chew slowly.
There is not a word on this planet that can define what I feel for Uncle Elijah. Not after what he did to Damian, how he blamed his child for his cowardly wife ’ s suicide.
“ It won ’ t be bothering me much longer.” He scoffs under his breath.
My eye twitches. Is he going to kill Mila ’ s dad? I don ’ t like Greg, but if he dies, it will upset Mila, and I don ’ t want that either.She ’ s already struggling to be this new, strong version of herself.
From the corner of my eye, I see Titan ’ s spine go rigid, his phone in hand, as his eyes begin to scan the surroundings.
Did the unknown number text him?
A sharp, pinpoint red light blinds my eyes as it glides over the window. It ’ s so brief and faint, like a dying breath that was lost in the thick night air.
I know what that is, but I ’ m not a hero. I can ’ t move faster than light. I ’ m forced to sit and watch as it happens.
Crack! The glass shatters!
We ’ re under attack!
We ’ ve never been assaulted in the open. No one is stupid enough to try!
I look up, but my dad and Lucas ’ s chairs are tipped back. Figures they dive for cover before saving us.
Screams drown out the Italian music playing overhead as our guards burst into the room. The photographers outside are running, but some stay and snap photos, causing the world around us to flicker with blinding snapshots. The loudest scream is coming from the model, so I dive, grab her, and push her under the table for cover.
I look for Damian, but he ’ s gone, already running through the front door in search of the sniper. Titan comes to my side; I shift to make room for him as I grab my gun, but my hand slips on something. The sight below is a gruesome mix of blood, flesh, and small fragments of bone.
I don ’ t panic. Initiation 101 trained that out of me.
I ’ m not hit. Is Titan? No.
Turning, I see Uncle Lucas and Elijah hovering over a body.
My father.
He ’ s lying on the floor, not moving.
Dad…
It ’ s not just a pool of blood; there ’ s something else.
No, I know what that is. I ’ ve placed my bullets through it too many times to count.
For far too long, I don ’ t move. I can ’ t. I feel a cooling sensation grasp my feet; then, as it inches up my legs to my heart, it becomes so frigid that I start to shiver. I jerk, finally breaking its grip on me. I inch forward on my hands and knees, and when Lucas does move, I shove him away with all my force.
“ Move!” I howl. “ Fucking do something!” I scream at Uncle Elijah.
I ball my fist and place them on Dad ’ s chest, ready to force that evil heart of his to beat again, but that ’ s when I see it close up.
Come to terms with it.
A bullet to the head. Sure, I could force his heart to pump, have a machine do it at a hospital, but his mind? That ’ s DOA. It ’ s like a branch cut from a tree; it ’ s never going to grow again. You can use it in a different way, reshape it into something new, set it aside and polish it like a delicate piece of furniture—the type you put in a corner and look at but never use.
I could do that to dad ’ s body but…it ’ s never going to be a tree again. Because his brain is dead, cut off forever, set adrift.
My hands fall lifeless, my knuckles dragging across the bloodstained floor.
Some think a gunshot to the head is always a guaranteed instant kill. I ’ ve heard other opinions; some scientists think it takes a few minutes of lingering paralysis as death devours you. Like that tree branch freshly cut, it needs time to dry out to realize it will never grow another leaf, taste another season, or feel the heat of the sun.
I wonder which is true?
I wanted my dad to suffer.
I did.
I did?
I lick my lips, raise my hand, and run my hand down his eyes, closing them. “ I know we didn ’ t agree, but I don ’ t agree with this.” This death is too quick. It ’ s not by my hands.
We have too many things that need to be spoken, Dad.
I lower my lips to his ear, still feeling the heat from his body, but any second, that heat is going to fade away; oh wait, it already is. “ I ’ m going to make them pay because that ’ s what Mom would have wanted. You ’ ll get to see her now. Tell her I miss her and love her.” I whisper.
I begin to pull away, but I feel like a fish with a hook in my cheek; something pulls me back, and then I hesitate before I press my lips to his ear again. “ I love you too because you gave me the tools to keep Mila safe.”
Mom taught me how to love, but that is never enough to keep the person you cherish breathing. Fucking blinking and responding!
Dad showed me how to hate, how to kill and be a monster. It ’ s not hope that keeps love thriving; it ’ s a potent mixture of hate and the skills to keep death at bay.
Thanks, Dad.