That was worse.
“Runs are clean,” I said. “Collections are on time. I’m not drinking more than usual. I’m not fighting brothers. I’m not causing problems.”
“No,” Callum said. “You’re not causing anything.”
I went still.
“You’re too quiet,” he continued. “Too controlled. Too damn careful. That usually means a man’s got something eating through him from the inside.”
Nate lifted a hand. “I have a theory.”
“No one wants it,” I said.
“Everyone wants it.”
Callum’s eyes shifted to him.
Nate brightened. “Excellent.”
I already hated him.
“It’s Destiny,” Nate said.
My jaw locked.
Callum’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“Edge’s daughter?” he asked.
Nate pointed at him. “See? That tone. That’s why he’s been pretending it’s not a thing.”
“It’s not a thing.”
Nate snorted. “He says, lying through his teeth while his bloodstream runs like a teenage boy who discovered lingerie ads.”
“Nate.”
“What? I’m helping.”
“You’re about to need help.”
Callum held up one hand, but his eyes stayed on me. “Tell me nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Dylan.”
I leaned forward. “Nothing happened.”
Nate made a face. “Define nothing.”
I turned slowly toward him.
He lifted both hands. “For legal and interchapter diplomacy reasons.”
