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My dad’s eyes widen in aggravation.
Archer’s hand comes out, and he pats my dad’s chest a little too roughly, and I internally cringe, feeling the tension growing by the second.
This is not going to be a pleasant evening.
“Don’t lie to us about where Lakyn is again,” Archer snaps as he follows Kyler into the house.
Creed shakes his head, walking up the steps. His hand goes out, and he brushes his finger along my jaw. “I’m so glad nothing serious happened to Lakyn. If any of us find out she was hurt in any way”—his fingers drift to his side as he turns to my dad—“it’s not going to be pretty.”
He walks into the house, and a warm hand presses against my lower back. I glance over my shoulder, seeing Reign watching my dad with what I can only explain is a threat, a warning.
“Mr. Whitmore.” My dad’s eyes narrow. “What are you doing in town?”
I hold my breath as the heat of Reign sinks into me. My throat is scratchy as I attempt to swallow, a sudden dryness from the nerves overtaking me. I curl my toes in my shoes as I stare at my dad, too worried about what would happen if I glanced at Reign. If I saw the true feelings in his eyes.
He wants me to look at him, I can feel it in the way he stands close, the skin of his corded arms grazing against mine. It brings back old feelings, how he used to hold me, how he used to protect me.
How he broke me.
I can hear the dangerous smile in his tone. “When I heard there was a murder, and then Lakyn was missing, I had to come and see things for myself.”
My father sticks his chest out. “Well, you can see Lakyn is here. All is well. It’s sad what happened to that poor boy, but it’s in the past. It’s probably best not to tie the strings of Lakyn and that boy together.”
Reign’s fingers tighten on my back as he lets out a hum.
My father reaches out to me, grabbing onto my wrist. He starts pulling me into the house, when Reign’s hand snaps out, tearing his fingers from my body. “Don’t you dare put your hands on her like that.”
My dad straightens, and I can see the rage in his eyes. “Lakyn, get in the house. Mr. Whitmore, you are not welcome in here. The last time we heard of you, you broke my daughter’s heart, then up and left. You will not be coming to dinner tonight, I’m afraid.”
I can feel Reign turn to stone beside me.
“Well, since that’s the case, let’s get going, Lakyn.” Reign turns me, and I look up at him with wide eyes as he pulls me down the stairs.
“Lakyn, get inside now,” my dad barks.
I glance over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes. I didn’t need the guys here, and honestly, I don’t even know if I want Reign here, but I don’t want my father to dictate any part of my life anymore. He doesn’t get that power over me. Mostly after pushing me away and kicking me out. No longer.
“You don’t get to control me anymore, Dad. If Reign isn’t allowed inside, then I don’t think I’ll be coming to dinner tonight.”
My dad’s jaw clenches, and I can see the frustration in his tense body, the way his eyes spear mine. He doesn’t really care whether I come to dinner or not, he just doesn’t like to lose.
His finger raises, and he points at Reign. “I’ve heard of the shit you’ve gotten involved in, in New York City. If I find out, even slightly, that you’ve pulled my daughter into your mess, I’ll make you regret ever stepping foot into my house tonight.”
Reign’s fingers tighten, bruising my skin.
Silently, he spins around and walks into the house. Reign stands there with me for a moment, his fingers clenching and unclenching around my arm. After a moment, they loosen, wisping down my skin until he reaches my fingertips. A precipice we’re on, a fork in the road, and I’m not sure where to turn.
Reign chooses for us.
“Watch your father, Lakyn. He touches you like that again and he loses both his hands,” he mumbles, before gripping me tightly once more. He pulls me into the house, a place he’s been many times before, walking effortlessly through the home without a second thought.
My parents’ house is grand, with tall ceilings and large columns throughout. Everything is painted in shades of cream and white, with tiled floors and a large, curving staircase and banister as the entry’s centerpiece. It’s a beautiful colonial styled house, though that’s all it is. It’s a house, not a home.
We follow my dad through the hallway, and I stare at his rigid form, his suit pressed perfectly against his tense muscles. As we broach the entryway to the dining room, my dad glances at us over his shoulder. “The next person who wants to threaten me might end up in a situation they don’t want to be in.” His eyes slide to mine. “You might want to notify your friends of this, Lakyn.”
Reign steps up to me, his body stone. His hand goes to my back, and I can feel his fingers digging into my hip. “Lakyn, you might want to tell your father he shouldn’t threaten your friends. They’re so protective of you, they would kill for you. Even if it’s your own family,” Reign threatens lowly, his voice a rasp, the vibrations working through his arm and into my skin.
My father narrows his eyes at Reign before spinning around, walking stiffly into the dining room.
