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“What do you want?” I grind out, a hollow place inside me that scares the shit out of me. It’s the space Alana fills in me that she has always filled, and it’s never been empty.
Until now.
He chuckles, as if I’ve said something that amuses him. “I want a lot of things. A hot blonde. A couple million extra on my investments a day. Why don’t you be a little more specific?”
“You know full well what I’m talking about. I want Alana back, safe and well. What do you want?”
“Son, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I’m headed into the meeting with the board. I assume you’ll be here soon? I’d suggest you hurry. There’s important business to discuss. See you when you get here.” The bastard disconnects.
I blink and bring Blake into focus.
“I can tell how well that went,” he says tautly. “What do you want to do?”
“Fucking find her,” I snap, opening the door and exiting the vehicle.
Blake’s right behind me, stepping to my side, about the time Alana’s mother appears in front of me, her eyes bloodshot, voice weak. “I’m not a part of this,” she declares, picking up where we left off at the coffee shop.
I eye Blake, who takes a hint and steps away.
My attention returns to Alana’s mother, her long, brown hair fluttering in the wind, her pale skin flushed and her hands trembling. Some might fall victim to the puppy dog eyes she’s presently fixing on me, but she disgusts me at this point, and it’s all I can do to look at her. I dislike her type, a pretty woman who knows it a little too well, so unlike her daughter, who barely seems to know her beauty and worth. And no doubt, this woman didn’t tell her she should, either. Alana’s mother is no victim in this situation, and she damn sure used her body to her advantage with my father. A reality that only serves to irritate me all the more.
“Say something,” she pleads. “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” she repeats.
“Then what did you think he was going to do to her?” I demand.
“That question assumes I knew this was going to happen. I didn’t. Your father had been laying low and staying away for days after saying the press was too intense for us to risk being seen together. Then, out of the blue, he called and said he was coming over at the same time Alana was headed over.”
In other words, my father cut her off and left her floundering about, trying to win his favor by setting up her own daughter.
“I told him Alana was coming, so he had to wait,” she continues, “but he didn’t care. I think he was looking for a confrontation. That’s why I went to the coffee shop. I didn’t want her to run into him.”
“Why didn’t you call her before she got to your place?”
“After she went at him at the graveyard and on TV? No way was I risking her being just as eager as him for another confrontation. I had to force the issue.”
I’m not buying any of this. “I talked to my father. He isn’t on his way over here. He was never on his way over here.”
“He told me he was.” She reaches for her phone, and her hand trembles harder now. Because she’s lying? Because she prays I won’t look at her phone log to call her bluff? “I can show you he called,” she declares. “I think I even have a text. Yes, here. Here.” She shakes her phone at me.
I ignore her offer. “Whatever you show me means nothing. It’s all lies.”
She folds her fingers into a praying symbol, her phone in the center of her palms. “Please give me a chance here. I’m telling the truth.”
“You were willing to stand my father up, then? I’m not buying it.” I step around her and start walking.
“Damion, please!” she calls after me. “Please!”
I continue toward the building, and she reappears between it and me, holding up her hands.
“I really don’t know what’s going on, but I admit I’ve been far too absorbed in your father’s world, but it wasn’t by choice. He threatened my husband, and then, when I confronted him, he threatened Alana. A mother does what a mother must to protect her daughter.”
“Having witnessed first-hand how you treated Alana at the funeral, not to mention how you look at my father, I don’t believe you.”
She turns on the waterworks, and in a big, blubbering way. “I screwed up,” she sobs. “I let him control me, and he just owned me. I was confused and scared,” she swipes at her damp cheeks, “but I love Alana. Tell me what to do to fix this, and I will.”
“You don’t have the courage to do what needs to be done.”
She straightens, indignant, and already her tears are drying up. “I deserve more credit than that. It took courage to deal with your father. My husband couldn’t stop gambling. I had to do what I had to do to keep the goons away from him and Alana, and despite what you might think, it was degrading and horrid.”
