Fuck. What a way to ruin a good day. I can ignore his calls. But I can’t ignore him at home, and the last thing I need is for him to run into Jessica.
“Rousseau and Sinclair are here,” Cash informs me. “I bet they’d love to meet your girl.”
The look I give him would make a lesser man piss himself, but he’s my brother. My twin. So he just laughs under his breath and pats my shoulder as he walks past. “Our friends, or our father? I know what I’d choose.”
Well, when he puts it that way, it’s a no-brainer. That doesn’t mean I have to like it, though. Because I don’t. My friends are pigs.
Once I’ve introduced Jessica to Maverick and Noah and threatened to kill them in their sleep if they even so much assmile at her, I join Cash in our father’s office. “Nice of you to join us,” the old man says when I close the door.
Deep breaths in and out. He’s not worth jail time. The sooner we finish this, the sooner I can get back to Jessica.
“Something serious has come to light.” He takes off his reading glasses, scoots his chair back, and buttons his suit jacket. Two of his most loyal men stand quietly behind him, guns holstered at their hips.
Cash and I exchange a quick glance, but we know better than to ask questions. Silence is always the best approach when dealing with our father. You never know what kind of mood he’s in.But we know he likes to build suspense, make his enemies sweat. He says it increases the chances of them blundering.
After he rounds the desk, he stops in front of the glass cabinets with his back to us, hands in his pockets. He tilts his head, studying the expensive ornaments he’s collected over the years.
“Each of these pieces is unique. They each have a story. That isn’t the point. What matters is their rarity.” Anger simmers beneath our father’s careful words.
Cash shifts his gaze to me, and I shake my head infinitesimally, as if to say,Don’t do anything stupid.Unease swirls in my gut, mirrored by the uncertainty in his eyes.
“Some valuables are priceless.” Our father continues, and we snap our attention back to him. I don’t know what this is about, but it’s not good.
He turns to face us, his expression hard yet unreadable. “There are things at play that you’re yet in the dark about. Truths you’ll learn eventually, but until then, it’s important that we keep our allies close.”
Cash finally breaks the silence. “What’s this about?”
A pleased smirk creeps across our father’s face as he trains his eyes on me. “Your brother knows. Why don’t you go ahead and tell him, Kane?”
Fuck. The senator’s wife snitched.
“Tell me what?”
My father raises his eyebrows at me, as if to say,Go on, son. Tell him.
Swallowing bile, I focus solely on the twisted man who donated his DNA. “The senator’s wife approached me at the fundraiser the other day,” I admit. The next part is harder to say, with the way my father is looking at me.
A muscle tics in my jaw. I can feel it. Each little twitch.
I steady my voice. “I turned her down.”
The man’s smirk grows deeper, but don’t be fooled. He’s not pleased. Quite the opposite.
“What’s the problem here, boys? She’s an attractive woman, isn’t she?” His tone is casual, as are his gestures, but we know him. It’s a trap meant to lure you into a false sense of security. Beneath his fancy suit, he’s a slithering snake.
Father pours himself a glass of whiskey, sipping it patiently as he saunters back toward us.
“Answer the question.”
He bites down on ice and pauses in front of me, close enough for his whiskey breath to fill the space between us. Bitter, heavy, and sharp enough to sting.
“You’re pimping us out,” I reply, the words stuck in my throat like tar.
Another slow sip. The ice tilts back, rushing toward his lips. Father chuckles, swirling the last few remnants at the bottom of his tumbler. “Do you know what I had to do at your age?”
My jaw clenches shut. I refuse to participate in his verbal sparring, but he’ll still tell me about his youth because that’s what he always does. The man loves stories.
“They took us to secret locations and made us endure ‘breaking ceremonies.’” He brushes imaginary lint off my shoulder. “Picture it. Sensory deprivation, starvation, and hallucinogenic rituals designed to erase empathy.”
