12. Kenyon
12
Kenyon
I would’ve much rather had Zara put her feet on me and finally get some rest, but keeping my word was important. He requested Sydney’s presence, and she had requested mine, so I was in a custom black suit playing my part.
Sydney’s frame tensed as she watched her father canvas the room with his signature fake smile. The soft clink of glasses and silverware served as background music.
“I wish you would’ve made time to get your hair done,” she complained, giving me a final once-over.
“I was preoccupied with other shit. If it’s a problem, I can go home.”
“I don’t want to argue tonight.”
“You look too good for that anyway,” I whispered in her ear, and my words relaxed Sydney in her elegant red dress like clockwork.
She hooked her arm through mine as we navigated the crowd. I would’ve rather spent my night doing anything but listening to District Attorney John Jackson woo potential supporters. He couldn’t do that without Sydney because he built his campaign around family values.
“Thanks for coming with me. You know how much I hate these things.” Sydney slipped into the seat, and when I sat beside her, she leaned in, smiling up at me.
“Shit me too.”
“Look at him,” Sydney’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
A cluster of wealthy donors and local politicians surrounded John. My Pops used to be one of them. He didn’t mind playing the part and shaking hands with all these cracker’s wondering how the fuck he made enough to even stand in the room with them. Eric didn’t come from generational wealth or go to fancy private schools but still ended up being in the same rooms.
John was in full campaign mode, shaking hands and flashing his trademark smile. When he spotted us, his smile dimmed slightly as he excused himself from his guest and walked toward our table.
“Sydney, I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”
“Dad,” Sydney replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“Why don’t you go say hi to your mother? She’s been asking for you,” John smiled.
Sydney looked between us, sensing the tension, but it wasn’t until I kissed her cheek that she complied.
“Come,” he motioned as his shoulders turned. “Have a drink with me.”
I followed John to a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes and ears.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?”
My eyes squinted, trying to locate the fuckin’ point of his question. It had to be a hidden message, or maybe he was losing his mind.
“What are yours?”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t stutter motherfucka. Is this sudden support all for your campaign, or are you finally stepping up to be a father?”
He looked around to make sure none of his guests could see the real him bubbling at the surface, “Don’t tell me shit about being a father when yours never got to take its first breath.”
John was trying to bait me. I knew it, but my clenched fists struggled to hold my composure. The way he spoke about my child answered my question. If he cared about Sydney and knew how deeply it hurt her, he would’ve never said that shit out loud.
“You’re on a dangerous path bringing up my baby,” I threatened bending his wrist backward.
John tried to pull his wrist back, but I held firm for a moment longer, letting him feel the power shift. His expression tightened, the smugness slipping away, revealing a flicker of apprehension. I released John’s wrist, giving him a final, deliberate pat on the shoulder before stepping back.
“I can tell you this. When mine does take its first breath, I’ll be a better father than you ever were, and I won’t use my child as a pawn in my aspirations ‘cause I’m man enough to make shit happen on my own.”
His eyes flashed with anger, but he kept his voice measured.
“This isn’t about your feelings or hers. With Eric gone, I’m rebranding and launching a full-scale anti-corruption initiative. I can’t afford any distractions or potential scandals. And frankly, you’re a reminder of-.”
I cut him off, finishing his sentence, “All the intel you fed my father and God knows who else. All the blood on your fuckin’ hands.”
“You know, Kenyon,” he said with a slow, sarcastic smile, “you have better things to worry about too. Like staying out of jail. Especially now that Eric is dead and has taken all our secrets with him.”
“If you believe that, you didn’t know Pops at all. He might be gone, but your secrets are alive and thriving. Might wanna be careful,” I suggested with a smirk that had sweat beading on his forehead.
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just reminding you,” I said, stepping closer, my eyes locked on his. “The truth doesn’t stay hidden forever.”
He narrowed his eyes, then leaned in, “Speaking of the truth,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “Makori and his girlfriend were found dead a few nights ago.”
My heart didn’t feel remorse, so it was easy to remain impassive. “That’s unfortunate. Prayers to their family.”
“You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Why would I? I manage an apartment complex.”
“Word on the street is you got into an argument with him just a few hours prior.” I shrugged, maintaining my composure while he studied me, “Stay out of trouble.”
“You too.”
He walked away, and I spotted Sydney across the room, laughing with a group of donors, her smile lighting up the entire space. She caught my eye and waved, but all I could think about was killing her father because prison wasn’t an option. My family had already lost enough.