Page 52 of Grim’s Angel

Hound’s voice comes over the speaker. “Prez, we have an older man in a black Mercedes. He requested entry and gave his full name.”

Grim does not ask which name.

“Search him,” he says. “Then bring him to the meeting room.”

Headlights sweep across the yard beyond the blinds. A few minutes later, footsteps approach the door.

It opens.

The man who enters is in his late sixties, silver-haired and elegant in a dark coat. He has Grim’s height, the same hard mouth, and the same severe bones beneath his skin.

None of Grim’s scars mark him.

He looks at the certificate on the screen. Then at me.

Finally, he faces his son.

“John.”

The name sounds like a hand reaching into a grave.

Grim places himself between us.

“Start with why you bought her.”

Chapter 9

Grim

My father looks old.

It is the first thing I notice after he takes the empty chair at the far end of the meeting table.

I resent him for it. Age suggests weakness, and weakness invites mercy. He offered none to my mother. He gets none from me.

McKenna stands near my right shoulder. Her heat reaches me across the few inches separating us, and every instinct I have wants her closer.

I keep my hands to myself.

My name is printed on the contract that stole her freedom. My father’s money paid the men who frightened her. The protection job came to my club because he placed it there.

Every part of the trap carries a St. Valecourt name.

“I asked you a question.”

My father looks at the Sinners surrounding the table. “This is a family matter.”

Striker leans back in his chair. “His family is already in the room.”

The words hit their target.

My father has no authority here.

“Why did you purchase McKenna’s contract?” Torch asks.

My father looks at me. “For John.”

Chairs scrape against the floor.