I meet Phantom's eyes. "It's true, but it’s not just that. I married Grace in secret, today."
The latter part is a lie, but I’m doing it to keep these bastards off her back.
If she’s married, they can’t have her.
I’ll tell Phantom about that part later, or maybe I won’t and I’ll marry her before anyone notices.
Then she’ll be mine forever.
The words hang in the air like a grenade.
Phantom's face goes white, then red. "What?"
"Grace and me. It's true."
For a second, nobody moves. Nobody breathes.
Then Phantom lunges across the table at me.
Thunder and Blaze grab him, hold him back.
He's roaring, straining against their grip. "You son of a bitch! She's my daughter!"
I don't defend myself. Don't move. Just stand there and take his fury.
"I know," I say quietly. "And I love her."
Phantom's still struggling, veins standing out in his neck. "How long? How long have you been?—"
"Does it matter?"
"Does it matter?" He nearly breaks free. "You've been lying to my face for God knows how long!"
"Yes, I have."
The Copperhead Kings are watching with satisfaction.
This isexactlywhat they wanted—chaos, division, weakness.
Venom stands, and his crew follows. "Looks like the Shotgun Saints have bigger problems than us."
Flint's laughing. "Enforcer fucking the Prez's daughter. That's gonna make for some interesting church meetings."
Venom heads toward the door. "When you get your house in order, Phantom, we'll talk. Until then, you've got forty-eight hours to decide: return the money, give us the man who killed Bronco, or give us Grace… but it looks like that might be a little difficult now."
"None of those are happening," I say, finding my voice.
Venom pauses, looks at me. "You don't have a say in this, enforcer. Not anymore."
They start to leave, but Flint hangs back.
He approaches me, and every instinct I have screams danger.
"She's beautiful, your little vet," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "I watched her work all week. Soft hands. Gentle with animals. Bet she's gentle with you too."
My control snaps.
I'm across the space in a heartbeat, hands around his throat, slamming him against the wall hard enough to crack plaster.
