Around us, the streets change. Brick gives way to high walls and cameras that track the car. Every lens we pass feels like a deadbolt sliding home, but I stay in the seat and let him drive me into it.
I keep waiting for the moment I’ll wake up. This isn't my life. This is a scene from a movie I’d usually turn off because it feels too impossible to believe. “Where are we?”
“This won’t take long.”
We slow near a guarded gate. Two men stand under a small roof in black coats and earpieces. One looks through the windshield while the other leans toward the window. Dad rolls it down and gives his name.
When the gate slides open, my heart gives a weird lurch. “Dad,” I say quietly. “What is this place?”
“Don’t start now, Jonah. Just behave. It’s important.” His hand tightens on the wheel.
“Behave?” Like I’m fourteen again and talked back at dinner. “Really? You’re dragging me to this place and?—”
I shut my mouth as the headlights sweep over the drive. The mansion is massive, a wall of white stone and glass. Before the car even stops, it is swarmed by guards. “Dad…”
“I told you, this will only be a short meeting.” He parks under an arch. Before we even have time to get out, the car is already swarmed by guards. They’re all dressed in the same black coats,earpieces tucked away, coiled wires disappearing into their collars.
I keep waiting for the moment I’ll wake up. This isn't my life. This is a scene from a movie I’d usually turn off because it feels too impossible to believe.
“Are those guns?” Fuck me, they are.
“This way,” the tallest of them says. Two of them guide us up the steps. I hear them talking in a foreign language. I think it’s Russian, but I’m not sure. I was never gifted in the language department.
Inside, there’s a sharp undertone of disinfectant, like someone wiped down a surface recently. I shiver at the thought.
“Rader.” A man in a dark suit stands near the bottom of the staircase.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Dad starts. “I appreciate?—”
“Follow me.”
My father obeys. We move down a hallway lined with closed doors. Two more men stand at the corners, hands behind their backs, their eyes fixed ahead.
My pulse beats in my throat. “Dad,” I whisper. “I don’t like this. Who are these people?”
He keeps walking. “Stop talking and keep up.”
“You dragged me out here in the middle of the night. You can give me one straight answer.” Of course, he gives me nothing.
The hallway opens into a wide room, and everything gets worse from there. It looks like a living room at first glance, but my eyes land on the wrong thing.
The man in the chair.
He sits in the center of the room, his socks wet with something dark on the floor. His hands are tied behind the chair. A bruise swells along his jaw, and one eye is already closing. Two guards stand on either side of him.
“What the hell,” I breathe. I stop walking. He must have heard me, because the man looks up. Our gazes meet before he drops his like he’s been trained not to stare.
“Jack Rader. You finally decided to show up.”
A large couch dominates the far wall. A man sits there, watching us. He shifts back into the cushions and snaps his fingers. A guard steps forward and pours a drink. I flinch at the sound of the liquid hitting the glass. The man takes a sip, his eyes already locked on mine. He swallows and tips the glass in my direction. “Who’s your friend?”
“He’s my son.” Dad’s shoulders hunch. He looks smaller than he did on my porch. Smaller than the man in the chair.
The man’s mouth quirks. “That wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
“I told you I could fix this,” Dad says quickly.
“Your son,” the man repeats, tasting it, his eyes still on me. “And every time you swear you’ll fix this, it falls apart. Last month. The month before.” He tips his glass. “You owe a lot.”
