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Zep pressed his lips together. What the fuck was going on here? If the brothers could see him, he’d never live it down. He was barely domesticated. One night with Rachel had turned him into someone he didn’t recognise.
Abby continued to glare at them, her mouth hanging open.
“You aiming to catch flies?” he asked.
She snapped her mouth shut, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
“How do you have your coffee?”
Abby’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. She crossed her arms and let out an exasperated sigh. "White with one sugar," she muttered.
Zep stopped short.
“What?”
He shrugged. “That’s how I take my coffee.”
Abby snorted. “You, me and a billion other people.”
Rachel gently squeezed Zep's arm, then went to sit at the island bench. She took a strawberry and bit into it. Zep made Abby’s coffee and sat it in front of the chair she stood behind. He sat down opposite and took a gulp of his coffee.
After a long pause, Abby sat as well. The three sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments.
“I know your mother’s explained the reason I’m here,” Zep began.
She stared at him, which he took as a confirmation.
“Rachel’s made it clear she won't leave, and I’m not going to make her.”
Abby grunted. At least she was screaming at him.
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to leave?”
“Fuck off.”
Zep swallowed the smirk that threatened to break free. Perhaps the apple hadn’t fallen that far from the proverbial tree.
“The police said it was some other guy from your club that shot Kypianos,” said Abby. “You obviously haven’t come here alone.”
He nodded, this was progress. She was actually engaging in the conversation, albeit with a face as hard as granite. “There’s three others here. A few more are monitoring the situation here and in Victoria from the South Coast.”
“The shooter, was he following me or Kypianos?”
“Kypianos.”
Abby narrowed her eyes. “Who killed him?”
Rachel lowered her coffee cup, her fingers tapping nervously against the bench top.
Zep studied his daughter; there was no point trying to hide who he was. “I did.”
Abby drew back as if she had tasted something vile. Eventually, she spoke. “Why?”
“He threatened you.”
“Tommy Arnold pulled my hair when we were in the fourth grade!” She exploded. “Did you try to kill him as well?”
“Do you want me to?”
