He won’t see me coming.
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through my thoughts like a blade.
I don’t need to look at the screen to know who it is.
My father.
“What do you want, old man?” I grit out as I answer, my voice steady despite the tension coiling tight beneath my skin.
“Time is up, boy,” he says, his tone flat and merciless. “I need results.”
Final. Absolute. A command, not a request.
“I have your papers, Father,” I reply calmly. “I was the one who took them.”
Silence stretches between us. Then I hear it, the familiar flick of a lighter, the slow inhale of smoke. He’s thinking. Calculating. That’s always been the most dangerous part.
“You disappoint me, son.”
I don’t rise to it. “Nothing new there.”
Another drag. The pause is deliberate now, baiting me. I light a cigarette of my own, the burn in my lungs grounding me, keeping me sharp.
“This conversation should be face to face, Khai,” he says, irritation bleeding through the cracks of his control. “Meet me at the warehouse in one hour. Don’t keep me waiting.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, smoke curling from my lips as I weigh the options. The warehouse could be a trap. Or it could be the one place he won’t bring witnesses, not now, not when he knows I’ve seen the truth. My father has never hesitated to sacrifice his own men if it keeps his secrets buried.
I pace the apartment, tension winding tighter with every step.
I call Jaxon.
Once. Twice.
Nothing.
I try again.
Straight to voicemail.
Cold creeps into my veins. Jaxon doesn’t ignore my calls.
I ring Keys instead. He answers on the second ring, the clatter of keys and rapid typing filling the background.
“Yes, boss?”
“I need Jaxon’s location,” I say sharply. “Now.”
“Give me a second.”
The pause is too long.
“I can’t pin him,Khai,” Keys finally says. “His tracker’s been disabled.”
The room tilts.
Jaxon would never turn off his tracker. Ever.
