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He smirks. “I need to talk to you, Kyle. That’s all this is about. Now let’s go.”
“We’re in the middle of dinner. If we leave now, Sage and her mom will want to know why.”
“I’ll tell them we need to talk. I’m sure they’ll be okay with that.” He gets his phone out and texts someone. I’m assuming it’s Sage’s mom. Moments later, a text comes back and he smiles. “She said she understands and that we’ll discuss the painting later.”
“I need to talk to Sage. She’s going to wonder what’s going on.”
“You didn’t tell her?” he asks, his brows raised. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I’ve lied to her this whole time. Why would I stop now?”
He can’t find out Sage knows the truth. If he does, he’ll go after her.
“So you’re not in love with the girl,” he comments.
“No,” I lie. “She was just something to pass the time.”
He grins. “Like father like son.”
Since my mom died, my dad’s been with countless women. Honestly, I think he was with other women even when my mom was alive. I think that’s why they slept in different rooms. My mom said it was because my dad snored but I think that was just an excuse.
“My car’s in the garage,” he says. “Let’s go.”
If I go with him I could be heading to my death. But at this point I can’t escape him. If I tried, he’d have his men track me down and kill me. I’m better off going with him, having it just be him and me.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he drives through the city.
“To the house.”
“Why? What are we doing there?” I try to hide the anxiousness I’m feeling and pretend we’re just having a conversation, but in my head, all I can see is an image of him holding a gun to my head the minute we arrive at the house. Or maybe he’ll have one of his men there waiting to do it so he doesn’t have to deal with the mess.
“We’re going to talk and figure out what to do.”
“About what?”
He glances at me. “Are we really still playing this game?”
“Why are you doing this? I would’ve kept quiet. I never would’ve said a word.”
“A promise I’ve heard one too many times.”
“What does that mean? Someone reported you?”
“She would’ve but wasn’t able to.”
“Who’sshe? Who are you talking about?”
“We’ll talk when we get home.”
He’s quiet the rest of the drive and I’m left wondering who it was that found out about him and what he did to her. I’m sure he killed her but when? How long ago did this happen? Even all these months later, I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my own father is capable of murder.
As we pull up to the house, adrenaline courses through me, my fight-or-flight instinct kicking in, telling me to run. As he pulls in the garage, I try my door handle but it’s locked. He shuts off the car, then closes the garage door before finally unlocking my door.
I get out but still feel trapped. He’s got me here alone, with no witnesses to see what he’s about to do. I can’t let him do this. My life is not ending this way.
“After you,” he says, holding open the door to the house. We go into the hallway that’s just off the kitchen.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” I say, heading toward it.
