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“Stone.” He refused to look at me. “It’s a miracle I’ve avoided him this long.”
“But you had,” he snapped. “How could I forget about the fucking paparazzi?”
“Because you don’t live your life like a celebrity,” I said. This time I was the calm one.
“I’ve brought one hell after another on you.”
“You’ve also shown me I’m capable of more than I ever dreamed.” I pulled the comforter over him. “Get some rest.”
The thickness of what might have been settled over us. Between us.
“I’m so damn sorry,” he mumbled, slumping back down on the bed. I prayed the pain meds would give him a restful sleep.
“Me too,” I whispered.
I’d made a mistake.
I should’ve killed my father. If I had, we might have had a chance to heal. Try to move forward. But I’d hesitated. Now my family would pay the price.
If there was one thing I knew about my father, it was that he would not let me go, not now that he’d found me. He was a master at getting what he wanted. He’d find what meant the most to a person and threaten to take it away. Then they’d do anything he wished.
He knew my weakness was Stone, Daniel, and Vivian. Would he start with one of them, or go after all three at once?
I eased from the bed and tip-toed to the bathroom, carefully closing the door. Once inside, I ran to the toilet, barely making it before I vomited.
Shaking, I slumped against the wall and pulled my knees to my chest. As long as my father drew breath, this nightmare would never be over.
I trusted Daniel and Stone with my life, but they didn’t know who they were up against. If I’d been afraid before, when he thought I was dead, I was terrified now that he knew otherwise. Certainly for myself, but that was nothing compared to the fear I had for my family.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. There were two choices.
Surrender myself in exchange for their safety.
Or kill the bastard.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Stone
“Mama, I—”
“Don’t you dare give me some flimsy excuse, Stone Jacobs. Tell me you can’t talk about it, but don’t lie.”
Underneath all that pissed off tone was worry.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”
“You sure as hell should have,” she said before lowering her voice. “Where are you? We’ve been worried sick.”
“I got held up in New York.”
“They not have phones up there?” she snipped.
If my side hadn’t hurt like hell, I’d have laughed. I couldn’t tell my mama the truth. She’d reach through this phone and strangle me for not calling her sooner.
“What’s happened to you, boy?” Dad’s voice thundered down the line. “You keep saying you’re gonna show up and then you cancel at the last minute or just plain skip out? We raised you to be a man of your word.”
Age didn’t matter in the Jacobs household. Nobody was too old for a good scolding.
