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My father doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even flinch as Alan takes a step closer to him, aiming the gun at his chest—a killing shot, one that I know my father wouldn’t be able to dodge, even if he had a warning. One second, one mistake, and Charles Davenport will be dead. I tense, my muscles bunching as my pulse races.
“You really had to come down here and fuck things up, didn’t you?” Alan says, shaking his head in disdain. “Your empire is steadily growing, your business booming. And you’re going to throw it all away for this? For her? I thought better of you, Charles.”
Because apparently, in Alan’s personal dictionary, being better means giving up your daughter and ignoring that she ever existed for years. My fists curl at my sides, aching to lash out and connect with his face. To break his too-perfect nose or his fucking jaw.
But I can’t.
Because he has a gun, and I know by now that he won’t hesitate to use it.
My heart thumps wildly in my chest. I’ve never been a religious person. I’ve seen too much shit to believe anyone out there is listening to my prayers. One time, Brody forced us all to go to church with him, even though I doubted he’d ever been to church in his life. I spent the whole hour and a half passing notes to Jared and wondering why my foster father, of all people, wanted to go to church. A few weeks later, I got my answer: Brody was
fucking the pastor’s wife. I decided then and there I was done with church.
I still don’t really believe in a higher power, but I suddenly want to pray to whoever or whatever might be controlling our fucked up universe. I want to beg them to fix this shit, to let us all get out of this alive.
But prayer isn’t going to fucking work right now. The only way we’re getting out of here is by our own strength and cunning. We have to overpower Alan somehow.
As if drawn by my thoughts, the polished older man gestures toward me. “Is she really worth it? I need you to think about what you’re doing, Charles. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to kill any of you. But I need to protect my business. I’m sure you can understand that.”
Charles clenches his jaw, but doesn’t respond. Alan lets out a huffed breath, shaking his head. “I’m sorry things worked out the way they did. But I took care of Sabrina while she was under my roof. I kept her safe until she ran away. She was willful and disobedient, and those qualities have only grown worse over time. You can’t trust her. Whatever she’s told you, I guarantee, she’s just trying to use you.”
I see red. I want to lunge at him and rip his fucking tongue out, but I know I’d never reach him before he swung his gun toward me and fired.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to turn my father against me, to bargain like he always does and strike up some kind of deal with Charles—the two most powerful and well-connected men in this room striking an arrangement that will benefit them both.
He’s trying to keep this from getting any messier than it already is. Trying to limit the number of people he needs to kill. And he still thinks Charles is his best shot at finding an ally, if he can just turn my father against me.
“I’ve read her file, Charles,” Alan says in an almost conspiratorial voice. “She’s a mess. She tried to seduce her foster father. She attacked my son. I don’t know why you let her talk you into this, but if you leave now, I can make all this go away. You’ve had a great first quarter this year, haven’t you? I can make the rest of your year even better.”
Charles shifts his weight, his nostrils flaring as he licks his lips. I can’t tell what’s going on inside his head, and I can feel my body tensing—either to attack him or Alan, I’m not sure which.
“She’s not worth the Davenport name,” Alan continues, a smile curving his lips as if he’s sharing some inside joke with Charles. “Trust me. If you let her back into your life, she’ll ruin you. Let me take care of her.”
“Alan…” Charles’s voice is gruff.
“She’s a worthless whore.” Alan’s gaze flicks to me as he speaks, his lip curling in disgust. “She’s fucked these three men just to gain their protection, but at least I know you’ll be able to see through her act. She—”
Before he can continue, my father roars. There aren’t even any words to it, just an inarticulate sound of fury. He lunges toward Alan, raising his fists. But as he charges toward the other man, three shots ring out, one after the other, reverberating around the chamber with nauseating volume.
My stomach clenches, the world moving in slow motion around me again. Charles’s body hits the ground with a heavy thud, and before I can even scream, I register the way his face twists in pain. Then his eyes go blank.
He’s gone.
My heart pounds in my chest, beating faster even as my father’s heart stops. His tall form is crumpled on the ground with blood pooling slowly around it.
Fucking dead.
I tear my gaze from Charles’s body and meet Alan’s cold eyes, memories flashing through my mind one after the other. I remember this look—this cold, calculating, calm look. It’s not the look of rage, the look that someone gets when they’re about to launch themselves at you, a look that instinctively makes you flinch back. But this is more terrifying, somehow.
It scares the shit out of me, because he always looked like this right before he was about to do something awful. Some animal part of my mind recognizes this look, and fear slithers through me.
It’s like he’s shutting off the last of his humanity, turning into some heartless monster who can’t feel anything.
Not guilt.
Not pity.
Nothing.
