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Her gaze snapped to mine, lethal and as quick as a cobra strike. "Be very careful, dear."
"Or what? You'll cut me off from the family fortune?" I snapped. "Oh wait, you've already done that."
"Enough." She signaled the end of our discussion. "I won't indulge this any longer."
"Indulge?" My head reeled, disbelief mingling with anger. "All I'm asking for is?—"
"Nothing I’m willing to give," she interrupted sharply. "Get out and don't come back until you can behave like a civilized person."
“Don't worry, I've got no intentions of darkening your doorstep ever again." With that, I turned on my heel, each step away from her a step closer to the truth. I didn't need her. I had myself, and that was enough.
"Good riddance," she spat behind me, but I was already gone, out into the storm that mirrored my own fury, my anger hardened like steel in the forge of betrayal.
The butler offered an awkward, sympathetic smile, one that I returned with a grimace. He knew the score—just another spectator in the Winslow circus. The revolving door released me into the downpour and fat droplets of rain pelted against my face like Clarissa's thinly veiled insults.
"Watch me, Clarissa," I whispered to the howling wind. "Watch me find him without you."
Chapter
Four
"Damn it," I paced the cramped confines of my apartment like a caged animal. The stench of yesterday's Chinese takeout mingled with the dampness that seeped in through the poorly insulated windows, a reminder that life just loved to rub salt in old wounds. The only way forward was through the man who'd left my life in shackles—my dear old dad, currently playing house in the clink.
I hadn't seen him since I was seven, that day emblazoned in my brain like a shitty tattoo. Now, twenty-odd years later, the thought of facing him churned my stomach. But if anyone had the answers I needed, it was him.
"Shit," My hand hovered over the closet door. With a reluctant tug, I pulled out an ancient box, a Pandora's container of dusty memories and musty regrets. My hands trembled as I opened it, revealing tokens of a childhood lost: a battered teddy bear, a broken keychain, and photos that had never graced the walls of Aunt Clarissa’s House of Horrors.
"Ah, family," I thumbed through photographs with a smirk. "Nothing says love like a bit of psychological warfare before bedtime." The images whisked me back to those joyous days under my aunt's care, where affection was as scarce as a good hair day in this godforsaken city.
The week stretched out like a bad joke, each punchline worse than the last. There I was, slouched on my dingy couch, digging through every database known to man—or at least to a PI with too much time on her hands. If only my libido had been half as active as my obsession with this whole shit show, maybe I wouldn't have been so pent up.
Who knew childhood trauma could be such a cockblock?
I ruffled through papers strewn across the coffee table. A week of this detective work between dull shifts at the precinct, and the most action I'd gotten was a paper cut. Sexy.
Jesus, Averill, you need a drink. Or a date. Or at least a damn hobby.
My aunt had done a bang-up job of hiding the whereabouts of Daddy’s new digs, but she underestimated my stubborn streak. And my ability to cyber-stalk like a pro.
"Gotcha," I finally hissed and the screen's glow illuminated the triumph on my face. Smudge, my involuntary roommate, sniffed disapprovingly from his corner. "Don't judge me. You're the one who can't go two days without spraying the toaster."
With the prison info in my hot little hands, a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. Now came the hard part: sitting across from the man whose blood ran through my veins but felt more like a stranger's. It was time to see if the apple really did fall far from the tree—or if it just rotted nearby.
"Kylo, if you don't stop blowing up my phone like a paranoid ex, I'm gonna start charging you for the emotional labor," I muttered under my breath and swiped away another text as I cruised through the rain-slicked streets of the city.
Seriously, Ave, are you dodging me? What's got you so tied up lately? ??
Nothing that a good old-fashioned bar brawl can't fix ??
The dashboard lights flickered in sync with my mounting irritation.
Or maybe just a beer... at Sullivan's? Our spot? ??
Rain check, partner. I’m swamped. ??
Right, because your couch surfing is super important.
Hey, it’s a pretty competitive sport. ??
