Page 189 of Lethal King

My brain can’t make sense of it. My gut pulls both ways. My cock is not trustworthy.

But through all the chaos, one part of me doesn’t budge. It’s a part of me that’s crystal clear. It knows what it wants, consequences be damned.

My heart.

Part of it remains at that cozy table back at La Forcina. The warm blanket we were shrouded in is somehow still holding on through the gale force winds blowing me down.

“Fine. Don’t send any backup,” I accept. “But don’t try to stop me either. Wherever these fuckers end up, I’ll go in there quietly. But the message I leave behind will be loud and clear.”

“I understand,” Maksim says. “Just make sure you get as much out of them before—”

I try not to make a habit out of interrupting my consigliere, but when a new caller ID pops up on my car screen, I know my conversation with Maksim is done.

“My dad’s calling me,” I murmur.

“Really?”

My uncle sounds just as shocked as I am.

“I’ll call you back if I need more help. Look after Mel.”

“With my life,” Maksim affirms, hanging up before I can.

But I don’t answer my dad’s call right away. First, I try to further compose myself. Dad doesn’t need to know about all the chaos swirling around in my head.

He’s probably just calling to hear me tell him everything’s under control.

It’s not, but I can’t let him know that. He’s got enough shit on his plate.

“Hello?”

When I answer his call, he talks first.

To my surprise, there’s no concern in his voice. No rage or frustration either—at least, not that I recognize.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard the news,” I say, trying to keep the concern out of my reply.

“Several times now, and from several different sources.”

“You don’t sound too worried.”

“Why would I be? I have Rian Kilpatrick on the case. He’s never failed me before.”

The implicit trust doesn’t have the effect I imagine he wants it to have. Instead, it feels like a sharp blade digging through my chest. I’ve lied to him, and my lie hasn’t made his problems go away. Not yet. I’m still steeped in dishonesty and failure.

“I’ve failed so many times before,” I quietly remind him, rage clashing with doubt as I veer off the highway.

“No. You haven’t,” Dad insists. “You’ve made mistakes, sure. Everyone has—me included. But if you’d ever truly failed, our family wouldn’t exist anymore. Our empire wouldn’t exist.”

“Don’t jinx it just yet.”

“I’m not worried. I just wanted to check in to see how you were handling everything.”

“With as much patience as I can muster,” I admit.

“What’s the game plan? I hear an engine. Where are you headed?”

This time, when I come across a red light, I at least slow down a little. The blinking red dot on my screen is on the other side of a residential complex. I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself before I can catch up.