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“Fuck!” Justin scrubs his hand down his face. “I’m going to be late.”
Flipping my wrist, I look down at my smartwatch to see what time it is, and sure enough, he is going to be late. He has ten minutes before he has to be at his interview.
“My father’s office is only a couple of blocks away. I’ll walk.”
He looks at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“No, you won’t. Let’s go. I’ll still drop you off. If I’m late, I’m late. I’m not that kind of asshole, Bri.”
“I never said you were. It’s not a big deal, Justin.”
He sighs, closing his eyes. For a second, I think he’s going to concede and leave me, but he doesn’t. My hand is once again locked in his, and he’s pulling me toward the parking lot. This time I don’t grumble. I know it would be of no use. He’s set on taking me, so why argue?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
My dad’s office is only five blocks away from where we were, and I could have easily done the trek by foot instead of Justin driving me. Five blocks are nothing compared to what I used to walk when I was first hired on as a rookie. Although, I can say I don’t miss it. I love working out. I enjoy the MMA style best. Treadmills, ellipticals, and normal gym equipment, I hate. It bores me; there is no thought process to the workout. It’s mundane and not something that engages my mind.
“Hey, Susan,” I greet my dad’s receptionist.
“Brianna,” she greets me, the surprise evident on her face. “What brings you by today?”
For a lady close to my father’s age, she is fit, the same as my dad. Susan is taller than me by several inches with styled dark blonde hair. I have a lot of hair myself, but I can never bring myself to trim it above my shoulder blades. Hers sits just under her chin, cut at an angle. The last time I saw her, she had a hairstyle that reminded me of Rachel’s fromFriendsback in the day when I used to watch that sitcom as a teenager. The show was nearing its end by the time I started it, but I always found it funny.
Before I have the opportunity to ask if my dad is busy, I hear shouting coming from behind his closed office door.
Tapping my hip on instinct, I double check making sure my weapon is there even though I already know it is. Now that I’m finally wearing it again, my holstered gun is like a second skin. You know it’s there but you don’t always feel it. It long stopped feeling foreign.
The shouts are loud and don’t sound like my father’s voice—which has me on high alert.
“Bri,” Susan calls, but I don’t answer her as I move in the direction of my dad’s office.
He’s in real estate, corporate and residential, so this may be just another day at the office for him, but I’m a cop and I too often see yelling escalate to violence. My father and I may never see eye-to-eye on most things, but he’s still my dad and if I need to protect him, I will.
I open his office door without knocking, expecting to find anyone besides the man I see shouting at my father. The side of his face is filled with more anger than I’ve ever witnessed.
“Jackson,” I holler over his booming voice. The room finally goes silent. “What the hell? Why are you yelling at Dad?” I demand.
I’ve never seen my brother raise his voice. Sure, he’s a stern man and I’ve watched him on numerous occasions correct or discipline one of his kids, but he nor Alana scream at them. He’s never yelled at me, even though I’ve given him plenty of reasons to over the years. It’s not that I ever got into a lot of trouble, but I was a teenager and there was more than once that I acted a little too wild for my own good. Parties were fun and they always had alcohol. Back then, I couldn’t hold my liquor for shit. What kid can?
“What are you doing here, kiddo?” Dad asks, concern etched on his forehead. “Are you okay?”
I can understand why he fears something may be wrong. It’s not like me to pop into his office unannounced. I can probably count the number of times I’ve been here since moving to LA.
“Bri.” Jackson twists around, facing me. He lets out a heavy sigh before stalking over and grabbing me in an aggressive hug, also unlike my brother.
He is a lot larger than me and firmer. Jackson is tall at six-foot-two, the same height as our dad, but he’s leaner than Drago. Jackson is a big runner, so even though he’s strong, he’s leaner than most men. Aggressive, he is not; at least he’s never been with me.
“Your brother is upset I didn’t tell him what happened to you,” my dad says, standing from behind his desk and buttoning his suit jacket.
“You mean pissed off you didn’t tell me my sister was shot or that she lost a baby for Christ’s sake?” Jackson corrects.
He releases me, taking a step back.
“Why didn’t you call me, Bri? Why keep me in the dark like you did?”
“Jack,” I start to whine. I knew when he found out I’d feel like shit. This is much worse than when I told Alana. She got over the hurt quicker than I thought, so my guilt evaporated. With my brother, I don’t think that’s going to be the case.
“Why wasn’t I notified, Brianna?” I really hate when he calls me by my full name. He makes me feel like one of his kids when he does it, and he knows that, which is why he uses it to his advantage.
