“Consider it done,” my father says before looking up. His gaze is cold. Assessing. Always weighing.
“Khai. How nice of you to finally join us.”
“What do you want?” I ask, already wishing I were elsewhere. Watching someone else breathe.
He studies me through cigar smoke. “You’re healing well. Good. I have a job for you. Tonight. It needs to be clean.”
Urgency coils through me, sharp and unwelcome. Jobs like this are never clean. There’s no time to prepare. Too many unknowns.
Jaxon shifts. “Care to tell us anything useful?”
My phone buzzes. I glance down before I can stop myself, and there it is.
Little Heaven:
I’m not yours.
A slow smile curves my mouth.
That’s what she thinks.
My father waves a dismissive hand. “Everything you need will be sent. The client requires proof. Don’t disappoint me.”
Jaxon stands, muttering under his breath as he passes. I turn to follow, until my father speaks again.
“Khai.”
I stop.
“You seem distracted,” he says mildly. “I trust it won’t interfere.”
My jaw tightens. “No distractions.”
“It better stay that way.”
I don’t respond. I don’t need to.
Asshole.
We receive the details after we leave. One of my father’s men.
Interesting.
Loyalty means nothing to him when secrets are involved.
We switch to my truck, dark, unremarkable, invisible. The kind of vehicle meant to pass unnoticed. The street is quiet when we arrive. Suburban. Peaceful. People asleep in their beds, ignorant to how thin the line between safety and chaos really is.
“Why would he erase one of his own?” Jaxon murmurs, his voice low, thoughtful. “What kind of secret is worth a life?”
I scan the house as I answer, eyes tracing shadows, windows, blind spots. “My father doesn’t keep secrets,” I say coldly. “Heisone. He breathes them. Bleeds them. Drowns in them.” I pause, jaw tightening. “I don’t want to know what this one was. Being his son is burden enough.”
And it’s true. Knowledge is poison in my family. I don’t crave answers, I crave distance. The job finished. Money exchanged. One day,disappearing from my father’s reach entirely. Or ending him. I haven’t decided which outcome I prefer.
We slip from the truck without a sound. I don’t bother locking it, escape always comes before caution. Jaxon moves with me, weapon steady, lethal focus etched into every step.
The house looms quiet as we approach, stairs creaking softly beneath our weight. We split instinctively, ghosts on the veranda, peering through darkened windows, searching for movement.
For life.
