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Come to think of it, that last client we had was when things started going to shit. When that dumbass client refused to pay.
How convenient.
Maybe someone offered him a great deal of money to end my reign in the Red Thorns. Or maybe someone had offered him something sweeter. Power. Control. Ownership over something in exchange for my life.
I stared at my father for what seemed like decades. And when he smiled, the nape of my neck prickled.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, son.”
I shrugged. “I’m not implying anything. I’m asking you a question. Do you know who’s coming after me?”
He chuckled. But he didn’
t say anything. He just kept looking at me before he chuckled. Then, he’d stop. His eyes would find mine. And he’d chuckle again.
“Come on, John. There are no answers for us here,” I said.
I turned my back on Ashton before he spoke again.
“Your little club is just that, Max.”
I paused. “What?”
“A little club. That’s all it is. Maybe your parading around this town like you own the damn place has rubbed some people the wrong way.”
My eyes gravitated over to my brother and I saw fear in his eyes. I kept my back to my father, trying to seem unaffected by his words. I didn’t like the tone of them, though. That accusing tone. That gaslighting, manipulative bullshit he always pulled on people.
Not on me, though. “That what you think? Or is that what you’ve heard?”
I slowly turned around and faced my father again, watching as he threw back the rest of his second drink.
“You know my sources are always accurate.”
I snickered. “Sources. Got it.”
He shrugged. “You’re the one that came to ask. I’m sorry the answer isn’t more… fulfilling.”
“Yeah. Maybe. But, in any case, in this town, there’s only a handful of people with the manpower to send trained thugs after me. Twice.”
My father’s eyes held mine. “Perhaps you should consider the other threats more carefully, son.”
I ran my eyes down my father’s body, studying his posture. I took in the way he still held his glass, even though he was done with the drink. His shoulders weren’t rolled back, but squared off. Ready for a fight. His hands were always his tell, though. My father had this fidgety way about his pinky whenever he got waist-deep into a lie of his. And holding his glass gave that damn pinky something to do other than fly around in the air like it always did.
The hard line of his jaw and the creases in his brow gave me everything I needed to know, though.
“Tell me, Dad. When were you going to tell us you got a better contract with another crew?”
John’s voice piped up from behind. “Let’s just go. He’s not going to tell you anything.”
Dad pointed. “Listen to your brother out in the hallway, Max. He’s always had a better sense of what’s good for him.”
“Calling out our positions to your hidden men now, Dad?”
“John knows when to walk away. You’d do well to learn from him.”
“Why? So you can manipulate me like you can him?”
John snarled. “Let’s go. Now.”
