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I’ve seen him give Grant a beating, but never something like this. He’s calm, his face never losing that passive look. I shiver, wetness gathering between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together. Now is not the time to get horny.
Dante snaps his fingers and I crawl to his side. When he hauls me to my feet, I stumble, my heels getting caught on the thin, aging carpet. Jenkins should have replaced it by now. I glance up once I’ve steadied myself and lock eyes with the reason this entire night has been off.
My father narrows his gaze on me, then dips to Dante’s hold on my arm. He bares his teeth, and I realize how unhinged he looks. Burn marks scar the side of his face and he leans, favoring his left leg.
I knock my foot against Dante’s, trying to get his attention. He’s too busy watching Byron being hauled away. I step on his toe, digging in and he flexes his fingers. When he glances around, though, my father is gone—disappeared into the crowd.
“He was right there,” I mumble, ice sliding through my veins.
Dante doesn’t respond, yanking me toward the exit. Byron’s shouts precede us, filling the foyer with his objections at being unceremoniously tossed out. This will be another test for Jenkins regarding Dante. If he lets Dante’s decision stand, then maybe we’re not in as much of a shitshow as we thought.
“Who was it?” Dante asks from the corner of his mouth, still dragging me along. I can barely keep up, still stunned by the appearance of Anders.
“My father,” I breathe.
I swivel my head around, searching for the familiar blue eyes, so like my brother’s, yet not. Roman always looked at me with love, whereas my father only had indifference for me. I never was told why he despised my existence so much. It hardly matters now, but the little girl inside me, the one who craved his approval, cries out for answers. I wish we could go back to him ignoring me, but since Dante came, he’s been around so much more, openly berating me, all while he obsesses over Synd’s leaders.
“Get in the room. Don’t leave. Wait until I get back.”
He pushes me toward Jag, his face a mask of detachment as if he didn’t even register what I said. Jag’s hand lands on my elbow, ushering me through the door, cutting off Dante as he strides away. I thought the off feeling would dissipate since seeing my father, but it’s only amplified.
A fog floats through my mind, muffling my thoughts as I stand in the middle of the room, not registering anything around me. Jag’s voice is a rolling thunder through the room as he talks to someone—probably Avery—but I close my eyes, trying to block them out.
My father’s image floats behind my lids, the deranged glint in his eye is nothing new, but the fact that it was directed at me is. As my chest tightens, I dig my nails into my arm to distract myself. Something was off with him. Something doesn’t fit right. The scene wavers as a scuffle to my left breaks out and I plug my ears, squeezing my eyes tight.
There.A voice whispers.
“Blood,” I whisper.
“Aelia?” Avery calls and I shake my head.
He was shot. Or stabbed. Something injured him to the point where there was blood seeping through his light gray slacks, staining the fabric. I may not have seen him actually limping, but I’d put cash money he’s hurt more than he’d like others to know..
My eyes fly open, searching for Jag. “Something happened in Synd. You have to find out what.”
“Aelia, why don’t you sit down,” Jag says, his wide eyes searching mine.
“Don’t fucking dismiss her. Are you going to tell her to calm down next? For fuck’s sake.” Avery shoves him, but he’s like a brick wall, not moving an inch. I’d probably laugh if my stomach wasn’t rolling.
Avery grabs my hand, tugging me gently toward the bed. I sink onto the comforter as a vise clamps around my lungs. Avery shoves my head between my legs, then rubs my back as I struggle to pull in a full breath. Thoughts ping around my brain, never settling long enough for me to think them through.
“What happened?” Avery asks when I sit up, my head still swimming.
“My father is back. He’s injured, but I think he’s going to target me.” I wave my hand when she opens her mouth to interrupt. “That’s not the problem. He’s hated me my entire life. The issue is, he was in Synd. He’s determined to bring down the people running the city for some ridiculous vendetta. Keeps pushing Jenkins to send the Guild there again.”
Avery glances at Jag. “Again?”
“The Guild tried to take over Synd last year. It didn’t go like it usually does. They got pushed out, but then Jenkins settled here. They’ll probably try to go back if they have the chance, but my father is obsessed. He’ll never stop trying to burn Synd to the ground.”
“Do you think Drake will be able to convince Jenkins to pivot? If we could shift the pressure from Rima to Synd, we might be able to stop the Auction and bring them down.” Jag pulls out his phone, swiping at the screen frantically.
“Jenkins won’t. He’s already pissed about the fact he wasn’t able to have two Auctions this year. Then having to postpone the one they have every year...add in the money issues and he’ll focus on one thing at a time. My father doesn’t give two shits what the Guild wants unless he can exploit them, which is exactly what he’s going to do.”
“Exploit the Guild? How?” Avery’s hand drops from my back as she jumps up to peek at Jag’s phone.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t exactly share his plans with me. But if he found out who Dante is...”
Jag whips his head up, eyes meeting mine. I press my lips together, swallowing the words I want to scream at him. I want to tell him to run—get Dante and run. I don’t even know what the implications of Dante’s identity are. All I know is he’s from Rima and the president of an MC. Frustration hammers at me, and I wish I wasn’t so isolated. The only motorcycle club I’ve heard Jenkins talk about...
