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The bitch can throw a hit, that’s for sure. I never expected that from her. I push off the door and stand in front of the mirror. My side is already bruised, my face isn’t much better, but it does bring me satisfaction to know she is sporting bruises on her own face. I gently press my fingers against my ribs and hiss, the pain has my head spinning and the need for me to clutch the side of the basin to remain on my feet.
How the fuck could I allow her to get the upper hand?
You’re reckless!
My father's words come back to haunt me. I look at myself in the mirror and hate that I can see so much of him and my mom in my reflection. Deep down I know they are so mad at me because of the choice I have made to follow after Royal and not take the out they gave me to study abroad and get out of this life. My mother hated being in this house and growing up a captive but I don’t. My dad fought his whole life and wants something different for me, but can’t they see I don’t want what they do? I want this life. I want to be by Royal’s side through all of this and help him lead our family into the next generation and make the changes our stubborn parents refuse to make. We will reinstall glory to our family name.
His family name.
I may be a Murdoch by blood but not by name. I’m a Murelo. Royal always says that means nothing because to him I am a Murdoch. I know me wanting to be a Murdoch hurts my father but it isn’t about wanting to hurt him, I will always be a Murelo and I am proud as fuck of that. I just want to be the same as the others. Why is that so hard for him to understand?
A knock sounds at the door. I grit my teeth, thinking it’s Royal, and pull it open ready to tell him to fuck off but clamp my mouth closed at the sight of my dad. He looks at me with an unreadable look in his eyes.
“Dad?” At the sound of my voice his features relax slightly but the same look in his eyes remains.
“We need to talk.” Four words no daughter wants to hear. He doesn’t wait for me to respond as he turns and walks away, not once checking to see if I’m following after him. We step out the front door and he walks to the end of the porch, where the rocking chairs sit. He claims one and motions for me to sit in the other. I bite down on my tongue to keep the hiss of pain inside me as my ribs begin to ache in protest. “You’re as good as me with hiding your pain.” I look out of the corner of my eye to see he isn’t looking at me.
“How would you know?”
“You’re my daughter, Chanel. I know you don’t love that fact but it doesn’t make it any less true.” Sighing I recline back in the chair and look out over the houses down the hill. Uncle Bish wanted his family close so he built all his siblings houses and made a community of his own. That is pretty fucking cool if you ask me.
“I don’t hate being your daughter.”
“Then why are you trying so hard to be a Murdoch? You don’t have to try, Chanel, you are one of them by birth.”
“I’m not trying to be anything. I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do,” I defend.
“So, telling people your last name is Murdoch instead of Murelo is the way to do that?” The hurt that laces his voice has me feeling guilty.
“It has nothing to do with being ashamed of where I come from or what my name is. Just so we're clear, I have never introduced myself as a Murdoch or a Murelo. We may have alluded to who we are and where we come from but we have never openly admitted that shit out loud, we’re not that stupid,” I snark—he thinks I’m an idiot.
“How did you go from wanting to be with me all hours of the day to not even wanting to sit next to me and have a conversation?” I lull my head to the side to find my dad staring directly at me. I hate that I see hurt in the depths of his eyes. How do I explain this to him?
“I… I…” The sound of shouts coming from inside has us both climbing to our feet heading back into the house. The moment we round the corner to the living room, I balk at the sight of Royal and Uncle Bishop shouting at each other while Aunt Kiara stands in the middle of them.
“You don’t know shit, boy!”
“Oh and you do because you’re the fucking Don?” Royal laughs, but there’s no humor to it. “Go on then, old man, pull that side piece out and force me to my knees, make me submit.” I know my cousin and I can tell he is a couple seconds away from unleashing all the fury he has buried for years.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” Aunt Kiara warns her husband.
Uncle Bishop scoffs. “You think you can do a better job, is that it?” I plead with Royal silently not to take the bait his father has just laid for him, but he’s too pissed off to see reason and falls for it.
“Yes, I do.”
The smile that graces my uncle's face at his answer has me tensing. “Oh, okay then. Well then allow me to pass this piece of knowledge onto you then, son. When you become Don, you don’t get to hide behind a deck of cards.” My eyes widen for a second before I school my features. I look across the room to see Havoc and Chaos staring at me. I give them a subtle shake of my head. They can’t prove shit unless Royal owns up to it but he won’t. “You also can’t call yourself the reminder of death because you become the Grimm fucking Reaper when you are Don.”
Royal has a huge ass ego and I know his dad taunting him like this is hard, but he needs to keep his cool or he will blow up everything we have worked our asses off to achieve.
“Oh shit,” Royal says as he takes a step back and laughs. I keep the frown off my face as I look at the twins who both stare at Royal with unease. Our cousin is a crazy son of a bitch and at any moment he can go from kind and caring to full on psycho mode in less than a second. “You think we are those little bitches out in Nevada leaving the calling cards?” He laughs again but this time there is humor to it, I get it. He’s playing it all off so they don’t catch on, he’s fucking brilliant. Judging from the look on his father’s face, he isn’t sure if the information he has been given is true or not now.
“We know it’s you,” Uncle Bishop snaps.
“Oh, well, please tell me how the four of us have time to study, play sports, train and then go out and make people disappear all in a day's work?” The sarcasm is thick in my cousin's voice.
“I mean it, Royal, if you took the fucking heir I need him back.”
“Why?” That one word holds more power than my uncle would like. None of my other uncles or aunts dare interfere in this argument knowing this is nothing unusual for these two.
