Until I’m swallowed by blackness.
THIRTY-EIGHT
JED
Graham gasps,and my gaze shoots to the front door.
“Shit,” he hisses. “I don’t want to go back withhim. Shit, shit, shit.”
I’m out of my seat and on my way to the door before the man gets a single word out. There’s no mistaking who he is: an older, sharpened version of Graham.
Shane’s father.
Shane’s rigid, deathly still. For a man who almost never stops moving, it has my skin crawling.
The man looks past Shane, and his eyes settle on me briefly before moving back to Shane. “I’m looking for my son. Graham Ackerman. I was informed he’d be here.”
What. A. Fucking.Bastard.
He meets my gaze. “Can I come in?” His words are perfectly polite, but they reek of disdain. “It’s torrential out here.” He’s under the small covering of the front stoop, but the wind’s whipping him with rain. It’s the least he deserves.
Shane’s not responding. Still not moving. I step up beside him. “No. And we can’t help you.”
The man’s cheek tics. “I know he’s here. His phone’s location has him at this address, and I saw his car parked on the street.”
“Didn’t say he wasn’t. Still can’t help you. Now, I think it’s time for you to go.”
“You have my son in there.” His words are clipped and hold the authority of a man used to getting his way. “You’ll return him to me. Immediately. The police don’t look too kindly on kidnapping.”
“Last I checked, he was eighteen. He doesn’t want to leave. So he doesn’t.”
There’s a pad of footsteps, and then Frankie is sliding into position on Shane’s other side. “Everything all right, Shaney-babe? Is this old man bothering you?” There’s a wealth of warning in his tone. Frankie’s fangs are out.
The man’s gaze pings between Shane and Frankie, and it’s subtle, but I’ve seen it so many times I don’t miss it. The chin that jerks back a millimeter. The lip that curls up. The gaze that turns downward. Like we’re beneath them.
Disgust.
“I want my son. Now. Or else Iwillbe calling the police.”
Frankie bats his eyelashes. “And what exactly will you be charging us with? Please enlighten us.” His sickly sweet voice is tinged with warning.
“You’ve clearly lured my son here.” His gaze locks on Shane. “I don’t know what lies you’ve told him, what you’ve fed him to get him to come here.” His gaze lands back on Frankie. “But I won’t have him preyed on.”
“Or…” I say slowly and step forward. Because holy fucking asshole. “You can leave, orwe’llcall the police. For trespassing.”
“This is ridiculous,” he spits out.
Graham’s father takes a step forward. Frankie and I stay firm, but Shane flinches. And my heart cracks.
He peers over us. “Graham!” he shouts. “Graham!”
I press my hand to his chest but don’t push. I will if I need to. “You’re not welcome here.”
“I’d suggest you remove your hand,” he says quietly.
The unspoken threat doesn’t scare me. He’s a powerful man backed by family and money. But so am I. And he doesn’t get to show up at our door and hurt my man. Shane’s turned into a fucking shell of a person.
I press into him. “Or what?” I whisper.
