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Beep.
I glanced down and grabbed my phone.
Dad: We need to talk.
Didn’t we always? A twitch came at the corner of my mouth as the phone rang a second later.
“You don’t fucking reply to my messages anymore?” my father snapped.
“I answered the call, didn’t I?”
There was a low snarl on the other end of the line. “You’ve made no fucking progress. You don’tanswer myfuckingcalls. What the fuck is going on over there? You think this is a goddamnholiday?”
I said nothing. That quiet resolve hardening anything that’d once been soft and vulnerable.
Hard breaths replaced the snarl as the bull on the other end of the phone growled. “Where the fuck is the launderer, Finley? I’m starting to get a real bad fucking feeling about this…a real bad feeling,andyou know what happens next.”
I knew what happened next. I knew he’d react like he always did, and it wouldn’t be good for any of us…especially that aching thing that pulsed in my chest. I just lifted my gaze to the bedroom doorway, listening to Anna in the shower. “I know what happens.”
Blood happened.
And death…
And loss.
“You’ll get your money,” I finished.
“You have two fucking days, Finley. Then I’m sending in a team. I’ll take the girl. I’ll find the father…then we’ll be looking for a new way to clean.”
A new way to clean.
Because Anna and her dad would be dead.
“I understand,” I answered carefully. “All too well.”
“You'd better,” he snapped, and ended the call.
The rush of the shower was all I heard as I lowered the phone. I stared into the refrigerator and pulled out what I knew, hoping like hell she didn’t see me for the fucking idiot I was.
I busied myself pulling out a chopping board, a knife, and ingredients from the pantry and set to work. Precision was the key here…it was all skill as I placed the main element on the board, slicing, spreading, forcing every damn inch of it as I slaved away.
And when I was done, I stopped and lifted my head as Anna stepped out of the doorway of my bedroom, her hair damp and piled into a messy bun on top of her head. She wore one of my shirts. Clean, navy. The soft cotton hugging the peaks of her breasts. Her face was still flushed from the shower, her lips pink and full as she took a step closer and stared at my masterpiece. Suddenly, under her gaze I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“You made that for me?” she murmured as she met my gaze.
“Yeah…I did. Took all my skill, too,” I bragged.
One perfect brow rose as she took a step forward and stared at the meal I’d prepared. Christ, she was stunning. I held my breath and waited as she reached out, picked up a morsel, put it into her mouth, and chewed. “Hmmm…”
“Good?” I hated how fucking needy that sounded.
She just chewed again and nodded before swallowing. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
I exhaled slowly.
“Yeah, it is. I particularly like how you spread the butter to the edges of the bread. Very impressed.”
I smiled.
