I sweep his hand aside and remind myself to stay graceful under pressure. Although truth be told, it’s a struggle because what I want to do is throw myself in Havoc’s arms and release the tears I’ve been holding in for the better part of a week.
Instead, I take a calming breath and try to remember who I am and where I come from. “I don’t know where to start.”
Havoc’s expression darkens, and with him looming over me, I understand why his friends call him a Viking. A mad Viking, to be exact. He’s every bit the furious warrior ready for battle. The dark blond of his hair, shorter on the sides and longer and shaggier on top, falls over his forehead as he continues his assessment of me from head to foot. Haunted brown eyes that hold too many secrets and too much pain miss nothing. Full lips I’ve never seen lift in a genuine smile are set in a thin, angry line. Everything about him is strong and solid and terrifying.
Andhere.
In this tiny space with me, alone. Filling the room with his violent energy.
“Start with telling me how you got banged up, Kerri.”
His gruff demand has me wringing my hands again. “I have to digress.”
He leans against the damaged dresser, with the mirror above it reflecting his back. I never noticed he has a tattoo on the nape of his neck, but I can’t make out the design. “So di-fucking-gress.”
I lick my lips and nod as I gather my thoughts. “I’m not sure if you know this, but my father is a defense attorney. Nothing high profile. He works with local, low-key power players.” Although I never throw my affluent zip code in anyone’s face, it’s relevant. “Marcus—his partner—insisted they take on a new client. My father was adamantly against it. I don’t know his reasons. A week ago, my father and Marcus were involved in what the police are calling a botched carjacking. They killed Marcus. They shot my father in the head. He survived, barely.” My words hitch. I wring my hands and drag in a calming breath before I continue. “He’s in a coma at Clark-McKay Medical Center in Brighton.”
“Faith told me. I’m sorry.” Havoc keeps his perceptive gaze locked on me. Like he sees through my skin and bone and muscle. Right to my soul. “You think it was intentional.”
“I’d bet my life on it.” I notch my chin, daring him to contradict my belief. “The only botched part of the shooting is that my father was supposed to have died as well.”
He narrows those dark eyes, still studying me. “What does that have to do with tonight?” I move to sit on the bed, but Havoc clamps a hand around my upper arm and swings me away, stopping me. “Are you fucking insane? Christ knows what you’ll catch.”
I bite back a gasp as Havoc’s touch fries me. I’ve always prided myself on being strong.
A strong woman.
A dutiful daughter.
A supportive sister.
But right now, I need to… What? Lean into his touch and be weak for once? Yes. Exactly. I’m spent. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. It’s been a hellish week, speeding to and from the hospital. Worrying that each phone call I get is the one informing me my dad is gone. Fighting with the police to do their damn job and investigate whatactuallyhappened the night of the shooting.
“I won’t lie and say I haven’t been vocal about my disgust at how the police are handling things. I also did some investigating of my own since no one else seems inclined to want to find out the truth.”
Havoc closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as if wrestling for patience. When he reopens them, he shakes his head at me. “You can’t be that fucking stupid.”
Affronted by his insult, I draw back my shoulders and stare him down. “This is my father, Havoc. Someone had to do something.”
“Let me guess. You got led in circles.” He gestures to the motel room. “And look where it got you.”
I don’t appreciate his snide tone, but I keep hold of my temper. He’s here because I need his help. He’s doing me a favor, and I need to remember this important fact. I’ll allow a certain amount of incivility considering his…abrasive…personality.
“It wasn’t an empty endeavor, so you can shove your sarcasm up your ass.” Or not. I won’t have him speak to me like I’m an idiot. The entire world may be terrified of Havoc Taylor—myself included—but I’ll be damned if I’ll allow him to belittle me. “It took me all of twenty minutes to find out the client they fought over was Ralph Miller. He owned the laundromat chain Super Clean. They charged him with tax evasion. I couldn’t figure out why my father didn’t want to defend him since he was exactly the sort of client they represented. It’s not much, but at least it’s a solid start.”
Under Havoc’s scrutiny, I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly uncomfortable in the tight, black cocktail dress. It’s not revealing, but I might as well be standing in front of this man naked. I’m vulnerable. Exposed.
I don’t like it.
He’s quiet for too long. Until the silence grows painfully awkward. Finally, he says, “You put a lot of past tenses in those sentences.”
My brows slam together. “Pardon?”
“Past tenses, Kerri. You said the client’s namewasRalph Miller and that heownedthe Super Clean.”
I did, didn’t I? “That’s because someone murdered him.”
“Fuck,” Havoc growls.
