Page 79 of XO Karma

Belle’s words echo in my mind. Just talk to him… for me?

We haven’t spoken since I chewed her out for giving my father my new number. Only a text here or there. Is she okay? Is that why she was so insistent I call him?

The ringing starts again, and I force myself to stop being such a little bitch and tap the accept button.

Bringing the phone to my ear, I hear, “Aster?”

“Gregory.”

He huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Call me whatever you’d like, but you’re still my son.”

“What do you want?” I ask, not in the mood for his bullshit.

“What, a father can’t just call to catch up?”

“If I thought you actually gave a shit about me, sure. But you?” I force a calming breath. “Nah, you want something. What is it?”

“I’ve seen the news, son. You’re doing good work there.”

“Since when do you care about my journalistic efforts?” Last I remember, he said it was a blatant waste of talent, and I might as well become a ballerina. Does he even realize how hard they work?

“I wasn’t talking about the articles,” he says, tone dripping with insinuation, and my muscles seize.

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Don’t play coy. The Kodak Killer?” He tsks, and I push off the bike, pacing before it. “I bought you your first camera when you were thirteen. I may think journalism is a waste of time, but I never denied you had the talent for it. Written or photographed.”

Why the hell do I keep being accused of kills that aren’t mine? I mean, damn, I’m happy I’m not accused of the ones that are, but still. “I don’t know what you think you know,” I grit out, blood boiling at his insinuation. “But the only thing I have to do with Kodak is reporting his crimes.”

“Aster.” His tone is placating. “You have a unique set of skills. Which I helped hone and train since you and Oliver were kids.”

“Don’t talk about Ollie,” I snap, anger vibrating to my bones.

“When are you going to accept what happened to him as necessary?”

“When hell freezes over,” I grit out, clutching the seat of my bike.

“Such a waste.” He clucks his tongue. “Well, whenever you’re done playing vigilante, there’s a position for you.”

“When will you get it through your head?” I snap. “I’m never coming back.”

He chuckles, low and easy in a way that makes me nervous. “We’ll see about that.”

“Are we done here?” I knew answering this call would be a mistake.

“I’ll make sure Annabelle’s on standby in case you need to get bailed out again.”

“Leave Belle out of this.” My hands shake, pure, all-consuming hatred causing the temperature of my body to rise. “I’m perfectly capable of calling her myself.”

“Family protects family.” It’s a threat, not a promise. The same one he used on me the night Oliver died. “We’ll be here when you need us.”

And the line goes dead. Not if I need him. When I need him.

Like he’s so damn sure I’m going to mess up and get caught. I’d rather chew off my own arm than ask him for help.

Gripping the device tightly, I fight the urge to smash it against the pavement.

My father has been trying to manipulate me my entire life. Since Oliver and I were old enough to join him on hunting expeditions, which according to him, was the age of ten. I knew how to gut a hog by the age of twelve and skin a bear by the age of fourteen.