Chapter 34
I can still hear Damon’s fist connecting with my father’s jaw. It replays in my head in sharp, fractured pieces while silence spreads throughout the foyer.
My father stands across from me, with blood on his mouth and his suit wrinkled. Yet somehow, none of that shocks me as much as the look in his eyes.
Guilt. Not outrage or denial. Crushing guilt.
My stomach twists so violently, I think I might actually get sick.
“It’s not what you think,” he says softly, the words scraping against every nerve in my body.
My father’s eyes sweep across the room slowly: toward Damon, standing rigid beside me, then Hawk and Gunnar and Jagger, watching him like predators, deciding whether he is still a threat. “It’s not what any of you think.”
I almost laugh. The sound nearly escapes me because the alternative is screaming at him.
Damon’s hand remains firm on my waist. It’s grounding and the only thing keeping me upright.
“I never wanted any of this near her,” my father exhales.
“Then start fucking talking,” Gunnar says.
My father closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, his blue eyes look like they’ve aged decades. Like he’s been carrying something rotten for so long, it finally poisoned everything around him.
“It started ten years ago,” he shares.
I wrap my arms tightly around myself to quell the chill that runs down my spine.
Ten years ago…
That’s when Mom died. The thought hits me so hard, I physically sway. Damon’s hand tightens instantly on my side. “You okay?”
No. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
I nod, even though it’s not true.
“There was a major expansion project planned for the southern port,” my father continues.
“Additional trade routes. New shipping contracts. Massive infrastructure funding. It was supposed to bring billions into the region.” His voice slips into that polished diplomatic cadence I grew up hearing from him at press conferences and political dinners.
“The cartel wanted access to the port once construction had finished. Full access. They approached officials privately first. Bribes. Then threats.”
Damon’s expression darkens beside me.
“And you refused,” Hawk asks flatly.
“At first.” My father exhales slowly, guilt tearing in his eyes. “They threatened Camille.” He stares past all of us for a moment, his eyes distant.
“They sent photographs first.” He focuses entirely on me.
“Pictures of your mother leaving restaurants. Shopping. Walking on the beach. They wanted me to understand they could reach her anytime they wanted.” Another chill crawls down my spine.
“She was terrified. We both were. I took everything to the DEA immediately. Names. Messages. Threats.”
“What did they do?” Gunnar asks.
Dad laughs bitterly, the sound barely human.
“They told me there wasn’t enough evidence. They shrugged it off because the threats weren’t directed at me personally. Said cartels make noise all the time. That I was overreacting.”
I stare at him, my chest actually hurting, like someone has shoved broken glass between my ribs.
“I took them at their word.” His voice cracks. “I didn’t give the cartel what they wanted. So they killed her.”
The foyer spins, my brain catching up. He’s been lying to me for a decade.
“They intercepted her car on the highway coming back from a charity event. The things they did to her… The videos they sent me… She was gone hours before the SUV went off that garage.”
The brakes failed. There was an accident.
That’s what everyone told me.
“No,” I whisper, my legs threatening to give way underneath me. Tears burn, hot and heavy, behind my eyes. “You lied to me,”
His expression crumples slightly. “I was trying to protect you.”
“You let me believe she died in an accident.”
“You were nine years old...”
I can barely see through the tears suddenly flooding my vision. All these years. All these years, I grieved her, thinking fate had taken her from me randomly. And the entire time, my father knew someone had murdered her. Because of him. Because he got involved with monsters.
“I complied after that,” he says quietly.
Disgust slithers through my stomach. “What?”
His jaw tightens. “They made it clear that if I resisted again, you would be next. I didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Damon says coldly.
“You think I don’t know that?” my father snaps. “You think I don’t relive that decision every single day?”
The room vibrates with tension.
“For ten years,” my father continues, breathing harder now, “I’ve done what they asked. Political favors. Shipping access. Ignored inspections. Cleared routes through the port.”
I stare at him, horror-struck.
“All this time…” My voice sounds thin. “All this time, you’ve been publicly campaigning about stopping cartel expansion.”
His eyes close briefly, and suddenly, I understand.
The speeches.
The outrage.
The policies.
The interviews.
It was all theater.
“You’ve literally been helping them grow?” The disdain in my voice is unmistakable. I don’t even try to hide it.
“For you,” he whispers. “I did it for you.”
“For me?” Emotions rise so violently in my chest, I can barely contain them.
My body shakes, but it’s not from fear—it’s rage.
Betrayal, and grief so overwhelming I feel like I’m drowning.
“You spent years standing in front of cameras, talking about justice and security and protecting families, while you were helping the people who murdered Mom?”
“I was protecting you!”
“You were protecting yourself!” My accusation slices through the room, and my father recoils. I want him to hurt. I want him to feel a fraction of what’s tearing through me right now.
“You think I wanted this?” he shouts. “You think I wanted blood on my hands?”
“You already had blood on your hands.”
My father drags a hand over his face, his professional mask sliding back into place.
“Recently, they escalated things. They started requesting personal transportation services in the United States. Packages carried directly by diplomatic courier. With my credentials, customs inspections become… easier. And with all the trips to and from Westbridge?—”
“You used my flights to traffic drugs?”
“No.” The answer comes, sharp and immediate. “I refused, so they became less subtle,” he admits quietly. “The threats intensified. Surveillance. Messages. They made it very clear they wanted compliance.”
“So you went back to the DEA,” Gunnar asks.
“Yes. I falsified evidence. Told them I was the target, hoping they would do something.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hawk mutters. “They don’t have any jurisdiction. What exactly were you expecting them to do?”
I sink onto the stairs, my legs unable to support me anymore. Damon crouches beside me instantly, one hand braced carefully against my knee.
My father watches us with hollow eyes. “The DEA connected us with Aegis. Because of your reputation.” His gaze lands on Damon. “You were supposed to keep her safe.”
His words hit me strangely. Not because of what they mean, but because of how Damon reacts to them.
His entire expression darkens with possession.
And for one terrible moment, all I can think about is how safe I feel when he looks at me like that, and how wrong this entire night would be if he didn’t.
My father looks at me again. “Kenzi…”
I can’t describe the emotion that twists together so tightly, I can’t separate them. I shake my head at him. “I can’t even look at you. I don’t even know who you are.”
The words might be cruel, but I don’t care. I spent years defending him, believing him, and trusting him. And now every memory feels poisoned. Lies. All of it is nothing but lies.
I push myself shakily off the stairs. The second I stand, Damon rises, too. I take two steps, and his hand catches my wrist gently. “Trouble…”
“I need a minute.”
His eyes search mine with concern. He clearly doesn’t want to leave me alone after tonight.
I don’t want to leave his side, either, but if I stand here a minute longer, everyone is going to see me cry.
Damon hesitates before finally loosening his grip and letting his hand fall from my wrist, his thumb brushing lightly through my palm before we lose contact.
“I’ll come find you as soon as I can,” he says softly.
I nod once because I can’t speak anymore, turn, and walk away, before anyone sees the tears finally spill over.