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“I’ll call our accountant about your request tomorrow,” Tido snaps, and I still.
“Are you sure?” I ask him, dropping my gaze from Zoe. I don’t want her to see the answer in my eyes.
Fuck.
“Yes,” Tido snaps. “Got to go, Ma. I’ll be home late.”
The call ends and I take in a ragged breath as I try to figure out the best way totell my princess.
“Gray?” she whispers, knowing the news isn’t good. “Just tell me.”
When my gaze darts back up to hers, I notice Slasher, Munroe, and Alana standing behind her, waiting to hear who it was too. I don’t look at them though. I keep my eyes glued to my princess and clear my throat.
“Zo. I’m sorry. It was your dad.”
A gasp flies from Alana before she can stop it, and in my peripheral, I see Slasher pull her into his side to offer her comfort, but I don’t take my eyes off Zoe.
She’s calm.
Too calm.
“Zo?”
“They killed my dad and strung him up on the pier?” she asks in a monotone voice.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
“They killed him because I haven’t handed myself in to them?” she asks, but it’s rhetorical.
“You can’t think like that.” I counter, not wanting her to carry that burden.
Slowly, Zoe stands from my lap, keeping her gaze locked with mine. “Good. I’m glad he’s dead. My only regret is that I wasn’t the one to end his life.”
She turns then, and moves across the space to leave the room, all eyes on her before she turns back.
“Ask Tido to send the photos through. I want to see his dead body for myself.”
With those final words, she steps out of the room, and all eyes flick to me.
Fuck.
“Slasher, ask Tido to send everything through when he can.” I stand and follow my princess, not willing to leave her alone for even a minute.
I find her in the back room, slipping the gloves on that she’s been using with her training, and she starts pounding the bag swinging from the meat hook in the ceiling.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask, but she grunts.
“Not particularly.”
I nod to myself, knowing she just needs to process this in her own way, so I approach the bag and shove it toward her. She reacts quickly, kicking out just like Cara taught her to fight off the attack.
And that’s where we stay for the next few hours.
By the time Slasher comes to find us, the daylight has fallen to darkness beyond the frosted glass windows that sit high along one wall, the room now lit with white fluorescent light that does nothing to help the paleness of Zoe’s face.
She needs to eat. She needs to rest. Yet she refuses to do either.
“Prez.” Slasher holds up his phone, and Zoe stops punching the bag, darting her head toward our VP.
