Epilogue Two
COOPER
Iwasn’t ready for the sound when it came.
Bang.
Bang.
A fist pounding on my door.
I looked at the woman in bed beside me, her nearly-black hair a sharp contrast to the white of the pillow. Even in the dim light of the room her lips were red, her lashes dark fans on her cheeks.
If whoever was banging on the door woke her up, I was going to kill them. If she woke up, she might remember where she was. She might leave. I wouldn't let that happen.
I liked her right where she was. Asleep in my bed. I preferred her in my arms, where she'd been a moment before the asshole at the door interrupted.
Pulling on a pair of pants, I grabbed my weapon from the bedside table and strode through my apartment. With a stab of my finger at the panel, I woke up the screen to see the face of the man I was about to kill for disturbing my sleep.
I had to blink at the image that flicked into view.
Are you fucking kidding me?
It couldn't be.
I had to be hallucinating.
As a teenager, betrayal sparked a flicker of rage in my heart. Nearly a year ago that spark ignited, the flames growing hotter day by day. At the sight of the man on the screen, those flames erupted into a raging inferno.
In an instant, my control evaporated. All I could see was red.
I was going to fucking kill him.
I wrenched open the door and stared into the ice blue eyes of Maxwell Sinclair. My father.
My father, who faked his death five years before, leaving us to grieve with no answers.
My father, who'd stolen money from the mob, making his family and the people we loved into targets.
My father, who had broken so many laws I couldn’t keep count.
My father, who moved through life thinking only of himself, leaving destruction in his wake.
My father, who stood at my door, wearing the cocky grin I'd learned to hate.
I did the only thing I could, the thing I'd dreamed of doing for far too long.
Lunging at him, I swung, my fist connecting with his jaw in a solid thunk, sending a shockwave ricocheting up my arm.
My father flew back to sprawl on the carpet in the hallway, his head lolling to the side, blood trickling from his mouth.
My chest heaved, lungs tight with adrenaline and rage.
A slender yet strong arm slid around my waist. Sky-blue eyes looked up at me, concern and amusement battling in their depths.
“I think you knocked him out,” was all she said.
We both froze at the rustle of feet on the carpet. A small figure came into view.
Her too-big sundress sliding off her shoulder, a bedraggled bear tucked under her arm, she looked up at me with a familiar pair of ice blue eyes.
“You hit my dad.”
From beside me, Alice muttered, “Oh, shit.”
Exactly.