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“They have a key…” Another loud banging ensues. “Why would they…?”
“Open the fucking door!” A sharp, angry voice calls. “I know you’re in there.”
Abby’s eyes, full of panic, go wide, meeting mine. “It’s my dad.”
“How the fuck did he even get up here?”
“He has his ways,” Abby mutters. “There isn’t a string that exists that my dad can’t pull. Doesn’t help that people in this city treat him like he’s the mayor or something.”
My body goes on high alert. “I can ignore him. We don’t have to let him in. We can wait for Jack and Ian.”
Almost as if he can hear us, Bradley yells, “Ian! I’m not leaving!”
“No,” Abby says, drawing in an unsteady breath. “Let him in. He’s just going to draw more attention to us if he keeps yelling like that.”
“Are you sure?”
She’s already sliding off her chair. “I’m sure.”
“Stay there.”
I push past her, determined not to let Bradley Chase cause any more grief for the Chase siblings if I can help it. I steel all five foot four of myself before reaching for the handle, turning it, and pulling the door wide to reveal one angry, elder Chase.
“I want to talk to my son,” he says curtly. “Get him.”
“I’m failing to hear the request in there,” I say coolly.
His eyes narrow. “I’m not here to play games with you, little girl.”
“Never been very good at games,” I say sweetly.
He pushes past me then, ignoring my sound of protest as he rushes into the apartment. His eyes scan the space quickly, settling on Abby, who is still frozen in the kitchen and pausing as confusion colors his features.
“Abigail?”
“Hi, Dad,” she says meekly.
“What are you doing here? Where is Ian?” His eyes narrow yet again. “Did the two of you conspire to do this? Is this some sort of ploy to get more money? Because, I swear to God, I will fucking ruin the both of you.”
Abby’s face goes white, her skin paling so much that her freckles look starker, more noticeable. The entire effect makes her seem smaller, younger even. Her nonanswer seems to be enough for Bradley to come to his own conclusions, and his face purples with rage.
“Dad, I just—”
Bradley makes a disgusted sound. “I should have known. Haven’t I done everything for you? Who pays for that fancy grad school? What, that wasn’t enough for you?”
“I never wanted to—”
“Wanted to what?” He stomps toward her, shaking a finger at her. “You never wanted to be a total fucking disappointment? I thought maybe one of my children could do what they’re fucking told, but you’re both just complete wastes of time, aren’t you? I don’t even know why I bother. Your brother might be a fuckup, but I thought I could at least count on you to keep your mouth shut, considering you’d have nothing without me.”
I can’t take it anymore. I leave the door ajar as I rush across the room, ignoring the fact that Bradley might as well be twice my size as I give him a hard shove in the side to put myself between him and Abby.
“Leave her alone,” I seethe. “You think you’re some kind of big man coming in here and making threats? Throwing your weight around like we’re supposed to be scared of some bitter old man who cares more about some dumbass legacy than his own children? News flash, Mr. Chase, your son is twice the man you ever were or could ever hope to be, and I barely even know your daughter but can confidently say that she deserves better than the likes of you for a father.”
Bradley takes a menacing step, the vein at his temple throbbing as he sneers. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You think because you’re fucking my son that you’re important? You’re nothing. Just some two-bit cake maker with a cable show no one cares about. Who the fuck cares what you think?”
A flash of movement in the open door behind us catches my eye, but before I can even register it fully—hands grasp the sleeve of Bradley’s shirt, shoving him away as Ian’s broad body slams into his, his normally happy face teeming with unchecked anger as he practically spits at his father:
“I do.”
