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Yes, yes I would. Killing was a job, a duty that had to be done.
“Please, Zander,” I said.
He stared at me for a while, and then I saw his features soften. He got up, saying not a single word, and walked out of the room, leaving me alone. The more time I spent away from my father was a bonus.
I’d meant what I’d decided before: I was going to do everything in my power to fuck up my father’s plans. I didn’t care anymore. I’d play a good daughter to his face, but behind his back? It was my turn to scheme, my turn to plan. He wouldn’t know what hit him.
But first… I had to figure out who the hell shot me.
I should be thankful I was still alive, but frankly, I couldn’t say that I was. While I wasn’t going out of my way to die anymore, I still couldn’t say whether being alive was any better than being dead. Maybe the me of three years ago had been on to something.
What was the point of life if all it involved was pain? I wasn’t stupid enough to ever think that I could be happy, truly happy. Maybe I’d have small moments here and there, but true happiness, true peace? Nah, I didn’t think so. I was Miguel Santos’s daughter, and because of that, I could never be happy. My life was forfeited the moment I was born.
How depressing.
Though I’d wanted more time to myself, my father strolled into the room right then, shoving his phone into his pocket and giving me a tight-lipped smile when he saw I was awake. Damn it. “You’re awake. Good.” He went to shut the door, thereby forcing me to be alone with him.
Be calm. Be the daughter he wants you to be. No matter how much I told that to myself, I still had trouble meeting his smile with one of my own. He had to give me some credit, since I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, a wound in my gut.
“We need to talk about what happened,” he said, moving to stand beside the bed, towering over me. He looked almost unearthly in the fluorescent light. No how are you feeling, no telling me how long I was out; it was straight to the point with him, as it always was. “What exactly were you doing out so late by yourself, Giselle? I told you I wanted Zander with you at all times.”
I assumed he wouldn’t accept going for a late-night walk as an answer, so I said the one thing I knew would piss him off: “I don’t remember.” For added effect, I reached up and rubbed the side of my head. I flinched when I touched the back of my head, and I had to wonder whether I’d hit it on the concrete when I’d fallen.
I remembered just fine, but he didn’t need to know that.
My father stared at me for a few tense minutes. The only thing he did was breathe and blink a few times, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “Very well. Do you happen to remember who shot you? The police were here earlier—they want to question you about it, write up a report.” I could tell by the tone of his voice he didn’t believe my amnesia stunt, but he was willing to go past it, so I considered it a win.
“The only thing I remember is that it was a man—I think in a black hoodie? Or maybe just all black. Oh, and he had a gun.” I hoped I sounded as unhelpful and vague as I thought I did, hoped my father would believe it was due to me hitting my head after the ordeal.
“Do you remember what type of gun? Whether he was white, black—anything like that?” My father lowered his voice, even though we were still alone, “I want to find the man responsible for this, mija, and I want to put a bullet in him myself. I don’t know whether those officers work with the Hand or not, but I’m not going to take any chances. Tell them what you must, but if you remember any other details, I expect you to come straight to me with that information. No one attacks a Santos and walks away from it.”
I sighed. He sounded like he could attack every single person in Cypress because of this, and because he was Miguel Santos, I knew he was more than capable of raining down terror upon anyone he suspected had shot his precious daughter.
As if he cared about me. He didn’t.
“Do you think it was Shay Arrowwood or one of her many boyfriends?” My father openly mocked her choice of dating. “I heard from Zander she wasn’t too happy about you sniffing around them.”
“Maybe” was all I ended up saying, but really, I didn’t think it was Shay or one of her guys. If it had been one of them, I’d be dead. When you were good, you didn’t miss, and that shooter had plenty of time to aim.
“I’m going to talk to Atticus about it, see if he has any leads.” It was forbidden for any of us to go after other potential Hand members and their heirs. The possibility that it was someone my father was basically competing against put a new spin on it, definitely.
But… still, that didn’t feel right. The men my father was up against for that Black Hand position were all businessmen, and probably all killers, too. They wouldn’t let me walk away. They wouldn’t shoot me in my side. They’d aim for the head or the heart, and they wouldn’t miss.
“For now, I want you to rest. Zander will be at your side at all times from now on, when you’re out of the house. Is that understood?” My father glared down at me, and all I could do was nod in agreement. I couldn’t argue with him. “Now, I need to go make a few calls.”
I watched him go, well aware that he never said he was glad I was okay, that I hadn’t died. He didn’t try to hug me or touch me at all; not that I wanted him to. I just… that’s what a normal father would have done, right?
That’s what Father Charlie would’ve done, but the man was dead. Deader than dead, and if this city had its way, I’d follow suit shortly.
My father turned down the hall, and I watched him through the window on the wall. He passed Zander, his phone already in his right hand. With his left, he gripped Zander’s shoulder and pulled him in close, leaning into his ear to whisper something. Zander didn’t look too happy, and if I had to guess, I’d say my father was reiterating what he’d just told me, that he was never going to leave my side again. We were stuck to each other like glue.
A part of me wasn’t happy about it. Of course I didn’t want a babysitter. But another part of me, a more selfish part, was kind of glad. If he was with me, he wouldn’t have time to run off and get close with Piper.
Not that I cared, because I really, really didn’t.
I didn’t.
No matter how many times I thought that to myself, I knew it wasn’t true, and that’s what pissed me off the most. If I could just turn my feelings off, that would be great. Everything would be so much easier. But alas, I was stuck with these stupid emotions.
