She grimaces. “Have you seen the news?”
My heart hiccups. “News?”
Why would I need to see the news? Suddenly, I feel disconnected from the world, because no, I haven’t had contact with anyone or anything but this club and its men for more than a week.
“Yeah, news channels? Any of the local ones? Wait. Do you not have a phone?”
I shake my head. I left that behind when I ran, and I haven’t missed it much. I don’t have anyone to contact outside of the club anymore anyway.
A plate of fries slides on the bar in front of me, and my men advance, surrounding me, shielding me as Pixie pulls up the local news on her phone. She taps the screen and spins her phone on the bar to face me.
A local news chyron scrolls beneath a familiar, polished anchor.
BREAKING: Senator Delaney Releases Statement on Missing Daughter
My stomach drops.
The anchor’s voice is calm. Measured. Practiced. “Earlier this evening, Senator Ronan Delaney addressed concernssurrounding his daughter, Wren Delaney, who fled town last week under what sources describe asvolatile circumstances.
“According to the statement, Ms. Delaney has refused contact with her family and is believed to be under the influence—or control—of a known criminal organization.”
The wordcriminalfeels like a slap.
“The senator emphasized that while he loves his daughter, he does not support her recent behavior and has fully cooperated with law enforcement to ensure her safe return.”
A pause. Then the blade sinks deeper.
“The family has asked the public not to aid or harbor Ms. Delaney and warned that doing so may interfere with an ongoing investigation.”
Silence swallows the room.
Saint mutters, low and furious, “He just put a target on you.”
Pixie scrolls, bringing up another clip. Another quote.
“Senator Delaney also clarified that his daughter’s engagement to businessman Grant Dalton remains legally intact and that recent reports of misconduct are unsubstantiated.”
My chest tightens.
One last punch to my gut lands before the video ends. “The senator concluded by saying he hopes his daughter will accept responsibility for the harm she has caused and return home willingly.”
Disowned.
He disowned me. My own father disowned me.
A strategic move to refuse taking any responsibility for what’s really happening. To save face.
And my engagement is still legally intact? I’m married. To someone else.
This…this is bullshit.
A honest fucking dick move on Dad’s part. Especially the way he pulled Mom and Robbie in for his short spotlight in front of the house, like a family bonded by trouble.
Tears burn my eyes, even though I should have expected this from him.
A pair of hands smooth over my back. I don’t want to wallow, but I allow myself a few beats to come to terms with being cut loose from my family. As much as I’ve dreamed about my freedom, this isn’t the way I wanted it to happen.
“You’re ours,” Doc says.
