Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(63)

For mother.

And daughter.

Amina deserved to be remembered for more than her death.

“This was actually perfect,” I told Genevieve. “I feel like I know your mom now. I hope my story can do her memory justice. May I ask one more question, off the record?”

“Sure.” She pivoted on the couch, giving me her attention.

“In all these photos, it was mostly just the two of you.” Even as a baby, the photos had been of only Amina and Genevieve. There’d been the occasional friend or neighbor included, but the vast majority of the photos were of mother and daughter. “What about your father?”

“Mom never talked about him. Never.” Her shoulders fell. “I’d ask. She’d say he was a nice man but not a part of my life. She always said he was a mistake but that he gave her the best gift in the world. And you know, I didn’t push. I was good with that answer because I had her. She was enough.”

“I can see that.”

“Except now that she’s gone, I wish I knew who he was. If he’s even still alive. It would be nice to know if I had another parent out there.”

My gut was screaming that Amina’s secrecy about her daughter’s lineage and the secret boyfriend were not a coincidence. Could this mystery boyfriend be Genevieve’s father?

“Did she ever tell you his name?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

If Genevieve’s father was the boyfriend, it would explain everything. Why Amina didn’t want Genevieve to meet Lee. Why she hid him from everyone. Because she wasn’t ready to introduce father and daughter.

My mind was racing, wondering how this man fit into the picture. Was he the killer? Would he try and contact Genevieve now? Did he even know he had a daughter?

More questions flew through my mind when Genevieve destroyed my theories with a single sentence. “Mom didn’t tell me his name, only that people called him Prez.”

Prez. Where had I heard that name before? No, not a name. A nickname.

Prez.

My racing mind screeched to a halt.

We’re with you, Prez.

In our meeting in the garage, Emmett had said that to Draven. He’d called Draven Prez.

I looked at Genevieve, focusing on her eyes. I knew those eyes. Like Draven had given his brown hair to his son.

He’d given those brown eyes to his daughter.





Chapter Seventeen





Dash





“Another one, Dash?”

I swirled the last swallow of beer around the bottom of my pint glass. “Yeah. Thanks, Paul.”

As he went to get my Guinness—dark, like my mood—I looked around the crowded bar. It was a busy night at The Betsy with locals out enjoying a hot summer Saturday night. People bumped into each other as they milled around the room and shouted out conversations over the loud music. Emmett and Leo were at the pool table. They each had a woman hanging off their elbow.

Emmett caught my eye and motioned me over to play. There was a third woman roaming by the pool table who’d been eye-fucking me all night.

I shook my head and faced forward, staring at the wall of liquor bottles across from me as Paul set down my fresh beer. One gulp and it was half gone because drunk was good. The only way I was going to enjoy tonight was if I got hammered.

Goddamn it, Bryce. This was her fault. She’d ruined Saturdays for me.

She’d been on my mind often over the past couple of weeks. At the garage, I’d be working on an oil change and wonder what she was doing. I’d fall asleep at night, missing the touch of her skin. I came to town early on Sundays and Wednesdays to grab a paper from the grocery store the minute they opened.

Her articles were the only ones I read. Each time, I expected to see something about me, Dad or the Gypsies on the front page, but I guess we weren’t big news anymore. Still, I’d read every word she’d written, needing that connection.

Last night, I’d been so hungry after work, I’d almost gone to her house. I’d been tempted to wait on her porch until she got home. Flash her a smile and beg her to cook me dinner. Except we’d ended things, so I’d gone home to peanut butter and jelly instead.

I’d forget about her soon enough, right? It was better for us to go our separate ways.

Or it should have been.

Until she’d ruined Saturdays. Until she’d ruined The Betsy.

The only comfortable stool in the bar was this stool, the same one she’d been on the day I’d found her here. The Betsy was normally a place I’d come to hang out with other people. Be social. Only everyone here irritated me. They weren’t as much fun to talk to as I’d remembered, not when compared to talking with Bryce. And there wasn’t a woman in the room who held any allure.

I chugged the rest of my beer and waved at Paul for a refill. One swift nod and thirty seconds later, I had a fresh Guinness. His fast service almost made up for the fact that I’d caught him eyeing Bryce’s tits.

“What are you doing over here?” Leo slapped his hand over my shoulder, pushing himself between me and the guy sitting on my right. He turned backward, a smile on his face as he scanned the bar. He winked at a woman walking by. Gave a table in the corner a chin jerk.

That used to be me. The king of this bar. This was my happy place.