Touch (Denazen #1)(5)

I looked at the scene in Kale’s hands again. I hated that picture—the bike was the last gift Dad ever bought me. The day he gave it to me—the same day the picture was taken—had been a turning point in our lives. The very next day my relationship with Dad started to crumble. He started working longer hours at the law firm and everything changed.

Kale set the picture down and moved on to the next. His hand stopped mid-reach and his face paled. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “This was a setup,” he said quietly, hand falling slack against his side.

“Huh?” I followed his gaze to the picture in question. Dad and me at last year’s Community Day—neither of us smiling. As I recall, we weren’t happy about taking the picture. We were less happy about being forced to stand so close to each other.

“Why not let them take me at the water’s edge? Why lead me here?”

“Let who take you?”

“The men from the complex. The men from Denazen.”

I blinked, sure I’d heard him wrong. “Denazen? As in the law firm?”

He turned back to the picture on the mantle. “This is his home, isn’t it?”

“Do you know my dad?” This was priceless. Score another point for my megalomaniacal Dad. One of his cases, no doubt. Maybe some poor chump he’d sent to the happy house, because that’s clearly where he belonged.

“That man is the devil,” Kale replied, lips pulled back in a snarl. His voice changed from surprised to deadly in a single beat of my heart and, crazy or not, I found it kind of hot.

“My father’s a shit, but the Devil? A little harsh, don’t ya think?”

Kale scrutinized me for a moment, taking several additional steps back and inching his way closer to the door. “I won’t let them use me anymore.”

“Use you for what?” Something told me he wasn’t talking about coffee runs and collations. Acid churned in my stomach.

His eyes narrowed and radiating such hatred, I actually flinched. “If you try to stop me from leaving, I’ll kill you.”

“Okay, okay.” I held out my hands in what I hoped was a show of surrender. Something in his eyes made me believe he meant it. Instead of being freaked out—like the tiny voice of reason at the back of my brain screamed I should be—I was intrigued. That was Dad. Making friends and influencing people to threaten murder. Glad it wasn’t only me. “Why don’t you start by telling me who you think my dad is?”

“That man is the Devil of Denazen.”

“Yeah. Devil. Caught that before. But my dad’s just a lawyer. I know that in itself makes him kind of a dick, but—”

“No. That man is a killer.”

My jaw dropped. Forget balls, this guy had boulders. “A killer?”

Arms rigid, Kale began flicking his fingers like he had by the stream. Pointer, middle, ring, and pinky. Again and again. Voice low, he said, “I watched him give the order to retire a small child three days ago. That is not what a lawyer does, correct?”

Retire? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I was about to fire off another set of questions, but there was a noise outside. A car. In the driveway.

Dad’s car.

Kale must have heard it too, because his eyes went wide. He vaulted over the couch and landed beside me as Dad’s keys jingled in the lock on the front door and the knob turned. Typical. The damn thing never stuck for him.

He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him. Eyes focused on mine, he said, “Deznee, step away from the boy.” No emotion, no surprise. Only the cold, flat tone he used when speaking to me about everything ranging from toast to suspension from school.

I used to be sad about it—the fact that his career seemed to have sucked away his soul—but I was over it. Nowadays, it was easier to be mad. Trying to get a reaction from him—any reaction—was my sole purpose in life.

Kale stepped closer. At first, an insane part of my brain interpreted this to mean he was protecting me from Dad. It made sense somehow. According to him, Dad was the enemy, and I, the one who helped him back by the stream—the one who gave him my shoes and lied to those men—was a friend.

But then Kale spoke; his menacing words were delivered in a cold, harsh tone that obliterated the crazy theory.

“If you do not move aside and let me leave, I will kill her.”

Some friend.

Despite Kale’s threat, Dad remained in the doorway, blocking his path. “Deznee, I’m going to say this one last time. Step away from the boy.”

Everything Kale said about my dad rushed bounced in my head like a bad trip, churning in my stomach like sour milk.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, glaring at Dad. “Do you know him?”

Dad finally made a move. Not the kind of move you’d expect from a father fearing for his teenaged daughter’s life, but a simple, bold step forward. One that screamed I dare you.

He was playing chicken with Kale.

And he lost.

Kale shook his head, and when he spoke, he sounded kind of sad. “You should know I don’t bluff, Cross. You taught me that.”

His hand shot out, lightning fast, and clamped down on my neck. Warm fingers brushed my skin and curled around my throat. They were long and callused and wrapped more than halfway. He was going to snap my neck. Or choke me. In a panic, I tried to pry his fingers away, but it was no use. His grip was like a vice. This was it. I was a goner. All the stupid stuff I’d done and survived, and a random, almost-hookup was going to do me in. Where was the fair in that?