Abruptly, I release his shirt and step toward her, cocooning her in my arms. The ambassador watches our embrace, a raw and ugly expression carving into his features.
“You don’t understand the situation,” he states finally.
“Thenexplain it,” Gunnar barks.
The ambassador glares at him. “This is classified.”
“Like hell it is,” Hawk cuts in. “Not after tonight. Not after puttingmymen at risk.”
The ambassador looks cornered like a wounded animal. A guilty fucking animal.
Mackenzi lifts her head off my chest, shaking it at her father. “You knew?” Not a word passes over his lips, but the silence from him speaks volumes. Her body goes rigid against mine. “Oh my God. You fucking knew?”
The ambassador exhales slowly. “They were never supposed to reach the compound.”
Rage explodes through me so violently, I almost go for him again. “Answer her fucking question!”
“Yes!” His shout echoes through the foyer. The ambassador drags a hand through his hair roughly, his composure finally cracking, before muttering, “I knew. I knew the threats were aimed at Mackenzi.”
Her breath catches so painfully, I feel it against my chest.
“Why wouldn’t you tell us that?” Gunnar asks carefully.
The ambassador looks at his daughter, and for the first time tonight, guilt flickers across his face. Real guilt. “I made decisions.” He forces the words over his lips. “Years ago. Decisions that created enemies.”
Bad ones.
The kind who don’t forget.
The kind willing to storm a fortified compound to get what they want.
Mackenzi pulls back from me slightly, staring at her father like she doesn’t recognize him anymore.
“You lied to me.”
“No. I?—”
“Yes, you did.” Tears shine in her eyes again. “You knew I was in danger, and you didn’t tell me!”
“Kenzi—”
“You didn’t tellanyone!” Her voice breaks completely, and somehow it hurts worse than seeing her terrified earlier. Because eventually fear fades. Betrayal doesn’t.
The ambassador steps toward her instinctively, and she recoils. The movement is small, but devastating. Anguish immediately fractures his expression.
“They were never supposed to get to you—” he mutters.
“Well, they did,” I cut in, coldly. “And the next time you decide to hide the fact she’s in danger, you’d better ask yourself one question first.” His eyes lift to mine cautiously. “What happens whenIfind out?”
I can still hear Damon’s fist connecting with my father’s jaw. It replays in my head in sharp, fractured pieces while silence spreads throughout the foyer.
My father stands across from me, with blood on his mouth and his suit wrinkled. Yet somehow, none of that shocks me as much as the look in his eyes.
Guilt. Not outrage or denial. Crushing guilt.
My stomach twists so violently, I think I might actually get sick.
“It’s not what you think,” he says softly, the words scraping against every nerve in my body. My father’s eyes sweep across the room slowly: toward Damon, standing rigid beside me, then Hawk and Gunnar and Jagger, watching him like predators, deciding whether he is still a threat. “It’s not what any of you think.”
