Page 259 of Wicked Brutal

“Wake them up,” Dad says.

Arthur stares at him. Dad stares back. Arthur sighs. “I’ll wake them up.”

Callum will make quiet inquiries about Celeste without using her name. Gideon takes Tremblay’s marriages, re-read through Jane’s information. Thomas thinks he knows someone who can tell them what kind of agreement would fit Roman and Victor’s overlapping interests — only what they need, Arthur tells him, twice.

Dad hasn’t said anything. He’s staring at Tobias’s picture again.

Arthur notices. “We’ll use it, Walter.”

“Tell me what you need.”

Arthur pauses. “Right now?”

“Any time.” Dad looks around the table. “Money. Lawyers. Investigators. Security. Somebody who can get into records you can’t. Somebody who keeps Roman from getting within fifty feet of them once they’re out. I don’t care what it costs.” His voice is completely calm now. That’s worse than when he wanted his keys. “You tell me what it takes.”

Arthur nods slowly. “I will.”

Dad’s eyes drop to my phone. Tobias. Then Ally. Then Jane. His mouth tightens. “You get my kids out of that house.”

Nobody corrects him. Nobody asks which kids.

Five thirty-six. The meeting breaks fast after that. It has to. The dads leave with names and pieces instead of the whole thing. Arthur stays long enough to forward himself something from my phone; Iz waits by the door for him. Kaid and X are already talking low. Danny hasn’t moved. Clifford stays beside him. So does Theodore.

I walk over. “You okay?”

Danny laughs once. “No.” Fair. “But I will be.” His eyes lift to mine. “If she has any bleeding—“

“I know.”

“Ryan. Don’t fuck around with it.”

“I won’t.”

Theodore puts a hand on his shoulder. “Neither will she.”

Danny looks at him, and for a second I can see Becca between them even though she isn’t here.

Then Clifford squeezes the back of his son’s neck. “Come on. You still have to get dressed.”

“That’s fucking cruel.”

“School tends to require pants.”

“I have pants.”

Clifford looks down at his sweatpants. “Debatable.”

Danny flips him off. There he is. They leave.

Within minutes the driveway empties, headlights disappearing down the street one by one until the house is quiet again. Dad stays at the table. So do I. My phone sits between us, Tobias’s picture still open.

Dad reaches over and locks the screen. “I want him here.”

“I know.”

“Both of them.”

“I know.”