Still, Molly doesn’t flinch. I shove that nugget down for analysis later.
Right as I’m poised to flick the first piece of shrapnel free, the goddamn replacement cellphone jitters on the tabletop. My father’s number lights up the screen.Goddamn it.I remove the first piece of glass from Molly’s arm and wipe it on the napkin.
The phone rings again.Fuck.I tap to answer, then jam it between my shoulder and my ear as I continue working on my brave patient.
“Why the hell wouldn’t you answer me until now?”
“It was literally the second time you tried,” I sass, flicking another piece onto the napkin. “Calm down.”
“I’ve been trying all afternoon.”
My blood chills. “Why?”
“Call it a father’s love,” he says without an ounce of that so-called care in his tone. “I wanted to give you a heads up, but it seems you’ve gotten pretty darn comfortable where you are.”
“Because I didn’t answer your calls?” I scoff, focusing on the task at hand. “The phone broke, Dad.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“It’s the truth. What do you want anyway? Ready to reconsider the invite?”
“Checking in to make sure you’re unhurt.”
Knife hovering over Molly’s arm, I freeze, gaze scouring the room. “Why would you say that?”
“Having a smashing time there with your crowned fuckers?” I can hear the leering twist of his mouth as he says it.
That asshole.“How do you know where I am?”
The phone chimes in my ear. I pull it away to see he’s sent a photo. My hand trembles when I open it in full screen and find a screenshot of a chat thread. A picture of the diner with me at the table is at the top, dark and grainy but clear. The text underneath reads,“Do we go ahead anyway?”My eyes flick over the details of the screenshot: the time, the lack of a name assigned to whoever messaged, the person’s position when they snapped the shot.
One detail stands out—the message thread belongs to an iPhone. My father has a Samsung.
“Where did you get that?” I ask after returning the call to my ear. “That’s not from your phone.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, Dad,” I bite, drawing Molly’s attention. “Who sent it to you? Who okayed the hit?”
What did they hope to get out of threatening my father with that information?
He’s quiet for a short while before muttering, “Acid.”
Smoke’s VP.The slimy little fuck risked our lives to taunt my father. There’s no shortage of animosity between the men after Acid took the role my father vacated, but shit—to drive a goddamn truck at a table with a kid to prove a point?
Sick.Yet one detail itches at my brain more than Molly’s safety.
“I thought they didn’t know who I was,” I say, confronting my father with the detail that makes the least sense. “If they don’t know I exist, or that I’m your daughter, why would Acid send you that? And how would the driver know to check first?”
He stays quiet, save for the crackle of a cigarette as it burns.
“How long have they known who I am?” My heart rate increases, and I jolt when Molly sets her hand on my arm in comfort.Did they know when I was taken?Didheknow they planned to take me?
Did I really fucking kill Mary-Beth for no goddamn reason at all?
“How long, Dad?” I repeat the question, louder, nausea building.
He sighs. “You need to come home so we can sort this out.”
