Chapter 44
Kennedy
“Nothing is what it seems,” I mumble.
It hurts to breathe.
As I stare into Dae’s dark eyes, the memories from over a decade ago hit me like a tidal wave. He was that boy in the alleyway. The one I saw getting pummeled by three other guys.
The one who ran away that I thought I’d never see again.
I should’ve made the connection sooner.
Maybe somewhere along the line I had. The dreams I had, the sensation that I’d met Dae before. I probably knew long before I found the handkerchief in his nightstand.
I glance around the room but don’t see the broken furniture, shattered glass, or destroyed decor.
“You’re bleeding,” Dae says, and his voice crashes through the ringing in my ears. He steps in my direction but stops when I hold up the wooden stick.
“Don’t.”
He pauses, and his gaze falls to my arm, presumably where the blood runs down it from the shard of glass that pierced my flesh.
Fear doesn’t linger in his gaze. At least not the fear of being struck by me. It’s as if he’s afraid for me, like he hates the idea of me being in pain.
Shaking my head, I step away from him. I refuse to think like that. To think that this psychotic son of a bitch who locked me in his fucking house cares about me.
What a joke.
“You’re hurt,” he says by way of explanation.
I scoff. “I’ll fucking say.”
But it has nothing to do with the blood running down my arm.
“You’re a conniving, lying son of a bitch,” I snarl.
“I never lied to you. I just never told you—”
I cut his lies off. “What about this?” I dig into the pocket of my jeans and pull out Preston Waters’ business card.
He squints and then hardens his face as he stares at the business card.
“You’re friends with my fucking boss,” I yell. “How long?”
He shakes his head. “We’re not friends. He’s a member of the club. I’ve told you that.”
“Do you keep all members’ business cards in your nightstand?”
His jaw tightens.
My heart sinks because his refusal isn’t immediate.
“Did you …” I have to push the rest of the question out. “Are you the reason he hired me at The Regal?”
He shakes his head. “No,” he insists. “Not entirely.”
Another shred of my heart falls away. My hand wobbles, and my grip on the stick loosens. I almost drop it, but catch myself before that happens.
“What … what did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter!” I yell at the top of my lungs.
“It doesn’t fucking matter, Kennedy,” he insists. “You are the reason you got that job. Nothing else.”
I tighten my hold around the object in my hand. “What. Did. You. Do?”
There’s a reason he had Preston Water’s card in his drawer.
He stares off, his jaw hardening as he clenches his teeth. “I spoke with him and showed him a few of your articles,” he admits through gritted teeth.
My head spins, and the stick falls away from my hand. I shake my head.
“Kennedy, baby,” he calls, his voice growing closer.
“Don’t call me that,” I say, my voice hoarse and barely audible. I feel his warmth as his long arms wrap around me.
“Baby—”
“Don’t call me that!” I yell and slap at him, pushing out of his hug. I want to do more. To thrash and fight him and punch him for the pain racing through my heart, but I’m too weak.
My energy is spent, and it takes everything inside of me to remain on my two feet.
I manage to back away from him. “All of this time—” I break off to swallow the emotion clogging my throat. “I suspected my father was behind me getting this job. I accused him and my brother … but it was you.”
“You earned your position,” he insists. “You’re a hell of a reporter. No one can take that away from you.”
“Shut up!” I don’t want to hear his words. This man who’s been a part of my life for over a decade without me knowing about it. I can’t think straight.
My heart and head start to throb.
All I know is that I can’t be here anymore. I can’t be in his presence.
“Give me my phones,” I say.
“Kennedy—”
“My phones!” I scream. “Now.”
His movements are reluctant. He knows that when he hands me the phones, that’s it. There’s nothing left between us.
Because there isn’t.
He pulls my phones out of his pockets, and it pisses me off all over again to see them in his hand.
I snatch them out of his hold, making sure not to touch him as I do.
I meet his gaze for the last time.
“I don’t ever want to see you again,” I say with a finality that slices through the air.
He moves as if he’s going to come forward again.
“Ever. Never in this lifetime do I want to lay eyes on you.”
I kick a few pieces of broken furniture out of my way as I walk toward the door that leads to the garage where my car is parked.
Each step feels like I’m sinking in quicksand. But I forge forward without a look over my shoulder. This is the last time I will ever see Dae Kim again.