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“Clara? Are you okay?”
Martin clicks his tongue. “She must be going through withdrawal. Baby, I’m here?—”
I almost stab his hand with a fork when he reaches for me.Almost, as in, it’s definitely in my hand. And I definitely slammed down on top of his outstretched hand. I just had the stupid, merciful thought to cover the prongs before taking the plunge.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.”
I don’t know where this is coming from. I’ve never let my rage simmer over and burst out of me in their faces. I’ve always been too scared of their retaliation.
Now? I don’t fucking care what they do.
And it.
Feels.
Phenomenal.
Martin pulls his hand back, eyes wide with surprise. He swallows, hard.
Dad tries to grab my hand. “Clara?—”
“You, too.” I turn on him, literally as well as figuratively. I grit my teeth and keep my voice low, but there’s no mistaking my fury for anything else. “Get. Your hands. Off. Me.”
For a moment, I don’t think he actually will. But then I see him glance around us and I’m suddenly aware of the eyes flicking our way as this scene unfolds. A man sits in one corner, casually reading a newspaper. A tired nurse, still in her scrubs, pokes at a stack of pancakes at the counter. The waitress freshens up the coffeemaker but keeps glancing our way.
Neither Dad nor Martin are in uniform. For all anyone knows, they’re a couple of guys seriously stressing out a lone woman.
So Dad removes his hand from my shoulder and sarcastically lifts both of his in mock surrender. “Alright, Clara. You’re calling the shots.”
I’d feel like I’ve finally accomplished something, if it weren’t for the fact that I know that exact jargon from his years in the force. He’s not conceding—he’s starting hostage negotiations.
Demyen was right: this was a trap. No one wants to hear me out or actually help me; they just want me to play Good Girl and do exactly what they want, whenever they want.
Fuck me, right? As long as Martin gets his dick wet and can lord his claim over my daughter.
And as long as Dad gets to feel like he’s actually doing something good for a change. Fuck if he actually does. I needed him, now more than ever, and he dangled that carrot in front of me without blinking.
I slap my palms on the table and start to slide out of the booth. “Well, this has been hell. I’m out.”
“You can’t just leave?—”
“I can and I will.” I stare Martin dead in the eyes. “I did it before, didn’t I? At least now you’ll be able to watch me leave.”
“Clara.” Dad lifts a hand again, as if I’m about to bite his head off again. “We just want to know you and Willow are safe.”
“She is. We are.”
“Where is she?”
“With a friend.”A friend with a whole fucking army. The thought makes my lips tug up in a tiny smile.
Dad narrows his eyes. “Who? I already checked with Roxy.”
Martin’s whole countenance shifts. I feel it before I see it; it happened so often back when I was dumb and naive enough to stick around for his twisted games. The air around him grows colder. His posture stiffens.
He glares at me. He knows exactly where Willow is, who she’s with, and it pisses him off.
So he stares daggers at me.
