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“Because if Razor knew where you were, you'd already be dead,” Crow said. Angel swallowed hard, and Crow stood. She watched him walk toward the workbench. He picked up a bottle of water. “Want some?”

“No,” she lied. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara.

“You've been drugged. Drink the fucking water,” he said.

“You were the asshole who drugged me!” she spat.

“Details,” he drawled.

“Go to hell,” she shouted.

Crow sighed. “Your father used to say the same thing.”

“Don't talk about him,” she insisted.

“We need to talk about your old man,” Crow said.

Angel's chest tightened. “No, we don’t.”

Crow walked back and crouched in front of her again. “Viper didn't die because of the Reapers of Ruin.” Angel stopped breathing, and Crow held her gaze. “The Nomad Knights killed him.”

The words hit her like a fist to her chest. “No.”

“Yes,” he said.

“You're lying,” she accused.

“I wish I was,” Crow grumbled.

“My father died in a club war,” she reminded.

“That's what Razor wanted everyone to believe,” Crow said.

Angel shook her head. “No.”

“Viper figured out Razor was skimming money from the club,” Crow admitted.

“Stop,” she demanded.

“He also figured out Razor was selling information,” Crow said. “To our rivals.”

“Shut up,” she said.

“He was selling information to the cops, too,” Crow said.

“Shut the fuck up!” she spat. Crow waited for Angel to calm down as her chest heaved. Seven years—seven fucking years she'd replayed her father's death in her head. Every detail, every rumor, and every story. “You were there,” she whispered.

Crow's jaw tightened. “At the bar?” He nodded.

“Did you see him die?” she asked. He gave another nod. Angel's eyes burned. “Who shot my father?” Crow looked away, and that was all the answer she needed. “Oh, my God.”

“Lina—” he said.

“You knew,” she accused. “You fucking knew.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And you let me believe the Reapers killed him?” she said.