"London." One word, one look. The kind that says this isn't a negotiation.
I accept the card, choosing to pick my battles.
He finishes eating with me still perched on his lap, and I rest my head against his shoulder, watching dust motes drift through the shafts of light from the high windows. I'm content and safe and happy in a way I didn't think would ever be possible.
"I should let you get back to work." I press a kiss to his jaw.
"Mm." His arm tightens. "Five more minutes."
We take ten.
The afternoon with the girls is wonderful—vintage finds, terrible coffee from a corner shop, and Kayla making us try on ridiculous hats until we're all doubled over in laughter. I buy a soft flannel shirt and a pair of earrings that catch the light.
When I push through the clubhouse door, shopping bags looped over my wrist, I’m still smiling from a joke Rowan told in the car.
The main room is mostly empty. A couple of prospects are wiping down the bar. Music plays low from the speakers. I'm heading toward the stairs when a voice stops me.
"Well, well. The freeloader’s back."
Kandi leans against the wall near the hallway entrance, a glass of something that looks like wine in her hand, herplatinum hair cascading over one bare shoulder. She's alone. No audience. No brothers in earshot.
I keep walking. "Not interested, Kandi."
"Oh, I think you will be." She pushes off the wall, stepping into my path. Her smile is razor-thin. "Interested in the truth, I mean."
Something about the way she says it sends an icy chill through me. I stop.
"What are you talking about?”
Her head tilts, eyes bright with malice. “I’m talking about your daddy."
My fingers tighten on the shopping bags. "I already know he's dead."
"Sure. But do you know why?" She takes a sip from her cup, savoring the moment. “Fiend wasn't just some member who caught a bullet in a bar fight, sweetheart. He was a rat."
The word drops like a stone into water.
"A traitor," she continues, leaning closer. "Sold this entire club out to a Colombian drug cartel. Got brothers killed. Nearly got the president's old lady murdered." She watches my face with hungry satisfaction. "Everyone in this club hated him. Still do."
My lungs refuse to expand. The shopping bags feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each.
"Aw." Kandi pouts, her eyes glittering. "Nobody told you? How tragic. Everybody knows. You’re the rat’s daughter.”
The hallway tilts. I grab the wall.
"And you know who was hurt the most by dear old daddy’s betrayal?” Kandi's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “His bestie, Zeus. He was devastated. Destroyed.”
I don't give her the satisfaction of watching me react. I push past her—my shoulder catching hers hard enough to make her stumble and spill some of her wine—as I half-run back outside.The bags smack against my legs with each step. My vision blurs at the edges.
All three of them—Rowan, Sarah, and Kayla—are still in the parking lot chatting.
Their smiles drop the moment they glance my way and see the look on my face.
“Is it true? Was my father a traitor to this club?" My voice is a blade.
No one speaks, but their expressions tell me everything. Rowan takes a step toward me. Sarah closes the trunk of her car.
"London—" Kayla starts.
