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"That was weeks ago," I bark at him.
"I had other things to do." His voice is low, and I can read between the lines.
"What other things?" The quiver is back, and I hate for him to hear it.
"I had a job to do. There is a lot you set in motion with your hasty action."
Hasty action?
He folds his arms over his chest, and I take him in. I haven't seen him in so long. He's gotten larger, more menacing than I remember. For years,his lifestylehad put a strain on his body, but something has changed. He's never been a good man, but I'm looking at a monster now.
"Hasty action?" My voice is shrill, and despite being aware of potentially drawing attention to myself, I can't stop. My fists ball, and I want to draw my blade. "How long should I have watched E rape that girl before it would've been appropriate for me to kill him?"
Jesus, I'm openly confessing to murder.
"You have no idea who Isaiah Ellis was, do you?" He scowls, stalking toward me, and I take a step back.
"He was my boss?" My reply sounds like a question, and my eyes dart around the parking lot. A cold shiver runs down my spine. What am I missing?
He steps closer and places a hand on my shoulder. The contact makes me flinch. He tightens his grip, his thumb pressing in the flesh under my collarbone. The pressure is almost too much, but I don't show him the pain he causes me.
"Ellis was your boss; that is correct. But he was also—"
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Wes's voice makes me jerk out of his grip. I spin on my heels, meeting the eyes of the man I…the man I just lost.
Wes is standing in the doorway of the bar, his ashen face visible even in the dark of night. His eyes swivel between me and the person behind me. I open my mouth to explain when he whispers, "Don't ever come near me again."
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
This can't be happening.What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On? I need to get out of here, or I'm going to kill someone. How could I've been so blind? All her secretive behavior. The guy she called for help. Of course, if someone knows how to make a body disappear, it's him. JESUS FUCK!
I pound my fist into the nearest wall until the pain in my hand overtakes my senses. Anything is better than the betrayal. She was the first person to break down my carefully constructed barrier in years. I let out the roar that's been building since I found her standing in front of the last man I ever expected to see in the flesh—with his hands on my girlfriend. Correction: ex-girlfriend. I pound the wall one last time. My knuckles are bleeding, and I'm pretty sure I broke one or more bones in my hand.
"Wes, what's—"
I whirl around and have my forearm against Kiwi's throat before he can finish the sentence. A gurgling cough comes out of his mouth, but that's all he manages.
"Did you know?" My spit flies, but I couldn't care less at this point.
"Wha—" he rasps, and I remove some of the pressure.
"Did you know she was playing me all this time?" My force on his trachea increases again. The question is more of a growl than a coherent sentence, but he understood.
His eyes close, and I have my answer. A hollow emptiness begins to spread through my body that numbs even the agony in my hand. My arm drops from his neck, and I take a step back. Blood is roaring in my ears, and at the same time, it's like I'm falling into a black hole where I deny everything I just saw outside.
"Who is he to her?" I search Kiwi's face, not wanting to miss anything.
"He is my father," King answers for him from behind us.
Everything slows, and I turn to the girl who managed to thaw the ice around my heart, make me love her, and then destroyed me.
I blink once, twice. Her father? How is that even—? My mind catapults me back to LA, two and a half years ago. I'm standing next to Rhys and Denielle, watching him on the security feed carry an unconscious Lilly over his shoulder out of her house and throw her into the back seat of his stolen car. We had no idea if she was alive or if we would ever see her again.
"Monroe is my middle name—my mother's maiden name. My full name is Kingsley MonroeTurner." She hugs her midsection and stares at the ground as she speaks. Her light-blue eyes slowly lift to mine, and I instantly see the resemblance. I may have never met him in person, but I've seen enough pictures and videos of the guy.
"You know him as Gray," she finishes, holding my gaze.
Kingsley Monroe Turner. Gray. Francis Turner. She is FrancisfuckingTurner's daughter. The dead man who got past Lilly's security, kidnapped her, and almost got her killed.
