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“I thought the magic number was three, but what do I know?”
Three. The number of completion. Past, present, future. Beginning, middle, end. Birth, life, death. It all came in threes.
Dad turned to face me. The smooth lines of his face grew hard, and his eyes darkened to soulless orbs. He lifted his glass as if to agree, then drained the contents in one drink. “He’s going to take her from you, you know.”
Okay, Dad. I’ll bite.
I crossed the room and rested one hip against his desk. “Who?”
His lips curved into a malevolent grin. “Huntington.” He angled his body to pour himself another drink. “He’s running for president.”
I remembered the hunt and Malcolm’s promise that when Jacob’s term was up, he was taking the reins. I guess I hadn’t realized so much time had passed already.
I squared my shoulders, now curious where the rest of the conversation was going.
“Your great-grandfather started all this.” He held his hand up in a swirling motion, indicating our surroundings. “He was a self-made billionaire.” Dad took a sip, hissing when the liquid coated his throat. “Until the government—one of Huntington’s ancestors—decided it wasn’t fair for one man to have it all. One man shouldn’t be so powerful.” Another drink. “So, they made him split it up, sell it off piece by piece.” He chuckled. “They made him share.” He spoke the last word as if it poisoned his tongue.
I knew this already. Grandpa Donahue started Donahue Oil, which was later split into other companies like Chevron and Exxon. What any of this had to do with Tatum or me, I wasn’t sure, but I had a pretty good idea where he was going with it. If I was right, I was going to march right out of here and snatch the life out of Malcolm Huntington’s body.
“Always fucking with us, those Huntingtons. Always taking what’s rightfully ours. Since the very beginning.” Dad gulped down the rest of his drink, then set the glass on the cabinet top with a heavy thud. “He’s going to give his daughter to Khalid. Then he’s going to shut down our pipelines and shove import/export regulations down our throats again.”
I didn’t give two shits about the pipelines. All I heard washe’s going to give his daughter to Khalid. Fury bubbled within me. Rage roiled in my chest, and hatred coiled around my heart like barbed wire.
“He’s going to cut us off, give the industry to Khalid, along with a nice little care package to make sure he still gets his piece of the pie.”
That motherfucker.
Shut us down. Force the U.S. to get our oil from Khalid, fattening his pockets. Hand Tatum over as a consolation prize to make sure Huntington gets his share of the profits without breaking any rules. They would technically be Tatum’s shares, but at that point, no one would give a shit. No one would care that she’d be degraded and cheated on by a man who murdered anyone who dared to fight for women’s rights. No one cared that the fire in her eyes would be stripped away with every set of rules he gave her or if he sliced off her clit to keep her from pleasuring herself.
Whoever decided money should have been green was wrong. It should have been black because that was exactly what it did to people’s souls. It sent them into the darkest pits of hell until they came out as nothing more than a pile of ash.
I was going to kill Huntington. Slice his throat, then piss on his corpse before I carved him into pieces and fed him to the family dog.
I would have said my father was bluffing if it weren’t for his unsettling demeanor and the drinking… and the fact that he rarely ever bluffed. If Kipton Donahue told you something, you could believe it as truth. He had no use for gossip.
Dad laughed, the sound maniacal in contrast to his distinguished appearance. “Well, I guess it’s Khalid who will be getting a piece of the pie, isn’t it?”
I clenched my teeth. “Shut up.”
He took a step toward me and smiled, like he was proud of his next words. “How does it feel to know that pussy you’re willing to give up everything for is going to be riding the cock of the man trying to steal our empire?”
I fisted his shirt in my hands and slammed him on the ground. “I said shut the fuck up!” I knelt over him and grabbed his tie, then wrapped it around his neck, ready to choke the fucking life out of him.
Someone cleared their throat in the doorway.
I glanced up, temporarily distracted by the sound. Dad took the opportunity to shove me off of him. I laid flat on my back and stared at the ceiling, forcing my demons back into their cage. I tried to remember a recent time when my father had been warm, when he’d seen me as a son rather than an enemy. All I came up with were memories of seething anger and resentment.
“Good afternoon, Judge Flannery,” Dad said as he stood and straightened his tie.
I followed his gaze as he grinned at the heavyset man with gray hair and glasses.
“Just the man I wanted to see.” He stood over me, peering down. “You see, son, Huntington is wrong. Itispossible for one man to have all the power, and Judge Flannery is here to make sure that man is me. We just need to sort through some pesky paperwork first.” Dad carefully placed his Italian leather shoe on my throat, pressing down hard enough to make it uncomfortable to breathe. “If you even think about touching me again, I will kill you and not even flinch. Understood?”
I narrowed my eyes and did my best to spit on his shoe. The trail of saliva just ended up falling on my chin.
Dad laughed, then removed his foot and held out his hand.
I slapped it away and stood up on my own.
