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Perhaps he had, if Morgan was to be believed.
My heart fluttered at the thought, but it didn’t matter—he was still associated with a life of crime. A life I didn’t belong in.
“I’m not coming with you,” I said firmly. “You’ve been absent from my life thus far; I’d appreciate it if you’d stay that way.”
A soft snick sounded from above, raising the tiny hairs on the back of my neck
Morgan’s eyes flashed. “So you’re willing to destroy him and all his legal assets?” I saw that the grip on his knife was white-knuckled, even in the near dark.
I forced myself to nod, taking a small step forward. “I didn’t want any part of his life. I still don’t.”
We glared at each other for several moments. The second Morgan shifted his attention above us to nod at the men hiding in the rafters, I lunged.
My fist swung to his jugular while my other hand reached for the arm gripping the knife. He leapt back, narrowly dodging my attack before swiping the wicked blade toward my face. His phone dropped, the light angled to the floor, casting us in near-perfect darkness. Only the faint illumination from the streetlamps allowed me to make out an outline.
Which meant I needed to put space between us now.
I didn’t dare turn my back on the man claiming to be my father, stepping rapidly toward the light through the windows while my heart steadied to a sense of calm. This dojo was my home, and I had nothing left.
Morgan, however, had everything to lose. And I planned to carve it all away tonight. It wouldn’t be quick. Threatening me was one thing, threatening Romero another.
“Come on, I’m not playing this fucking game. I’ll have you shot and incapacitated. I don’t need you whole.” His broad form shifted, advancing, yet his steps were eerily quiet. I tried to train my ears on the rafters.
Fuck. I was helpless against guns. My best bet was to get too close to their boss. They wouldn’t shoot if there was any chance they could accidentally hit him.
When he got closer, the snowy night reflected on his face. “Last chance,” he said. The murderous gleam in his eyes didn’t shake me—I rushed for him instead and threw my body at his.
A pop rent the air, quickly followed by the crack of a bullet piercing the mat a few feet away. I held Morgan’s wrist, forcing us both to the ground. The guy was ridiculously strong. A thought that was punctuated by his fist against my cheek.
My body pitched sideways, pain blossoming on my face, but I forced myself not to let go of his knife hand. He twisted free, launching his knee at my nose. Rolling aside, I flexed myself into a backbend and snapped to my feet. I bounced on my toes, trying to keep out of the line of fire.
Morgan grinned, and I put myself within striking range. A foolish move. But as he pulled back the blade, preparing to thrust it into me, I threw my fist, connecting solidly with his nose. It moved him barely a step back, though his snarl was chilling.
Or it would have been if my veins didn’t boil with the seductive lust for blood.
“When I kill you tonight, I want the last thing you see to be the woman you drove to addiction. An addiction that took the woman you abandoned,” I said with a low, hate-filled growl. “Taking your life seems only fair since you never once gave a damn about mine.”
Morgan spit at me. He fucking spit at me. I leaned out of the way just in time, but my rage was ice slipping through my veins, turning my very heart into a cold, lifeless thing.
“Yet you’re just as much a whore as your filthy mother was,” he answered.
I faked a left hook for his face, letting him retreat a step before driving my foot into his kneecap.
Hard.
The crack was followed by a howl of pain that may have alerted anyone nearby. I didn’t care.
Another asshole in the rafters took a shot for me. Heat licked through the tip of my shoulder.
Pain erupted in its place a second later. Forcing myself to ignore it, my body fell onto Morgan’s torso. The knife came at me again, but the strike was weak. I twisted the blade from his grip and pressed it to his throat.
Leaning close, I bent over the man I hated more than anyone or anything on this earth. “Can you see me, Father?”
His gaze was hard. “You’ll die alone and unloved, just like her,” he snapped, spittle flying. A second later, he gripped my braid and tugged hard enough to send me rolling off his chest. My shoulder barked in pain as I got to my feet.
A figure shifted in my line of sight, up above. I dove into a roll, wincing when the pain from my wound became agonizing.
The mat puffing up like it had suddenly been inflated told me another bullet had been wasted. I twirled and ran for the man stumbling on his only good leg, kicking him back to the ground.
