Luck of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #2)(17)

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you what I knew, and you didn’t ask.”

“That’s not fair. It’s a lie of omission. You can split hairs all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you tricked me into marrying you.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a step toward me. “There was no trick. You agreed to a no-questions-asked deal. I told you I would benefit from it. You didn’t ask how or why or when. Did you?”

“I was desperate!” I shout, and my screech echoes off the tile bathroom walls. “I would’ve done anything to save her.”

“That’s right. Anything. You just fucking said it, so stop pretending that I made you do something you weren’t willing to do.”

“Only if you promise me that you didn’t have a fucking thing to do with Summer being taken.” I jab him in the chest with a finger as his gaze smolders with anger.

Forge wraps a hand around my finger and gives it a squeeze. “I swear on the grave of the man who was the closest thing to a father I’ve ever known—I didn’t have a goddamned thing to do with your sister’s kidnapping. I might not be a good guy, but I’m not the fucking devil you want me to be either.”

“Then who did it?” I demand as he releases his grip on me and steps back. “And don’t even think about lying to me. I will tell the whole fucking world my side of the story if you do.”

Forge’s jaw tenses, and I wonder if my threat carries any weight, or if it’s just an annoyance he’ll swat away like a fly. Without meeting my gaze, he replies.

“Your father has enemies.”

The word throbs in my head like a heartbeat. Father. Father. Father. My stomach threatens to revolt.

“I don’t have a father,” I tell him as I rush out of the bathroom, wanting to run away from this discussion that I demanded happen.

“You weren’t the immaculate conception, Indy. You have a father,” Forge says as I march toward another door that I assume hides a closet.

I’m right, and it’s full of men’s clothes. I reach for the first T-shirt I spot and whip off the robe to pull it over my head. My hand brushes the cut on my side, and thankfully, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Once I’m covered, I stomp out of the closet and go back to the bathroom to find my shorts from yesterday.

Forge stands in the bedroom, watching me come and go, but I don’t face him again until I’m fully dressed and the T-shirt is knotted at one hip, like I’m making some kind of fashion statement instead of dressing out of desperation.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks.

“My mother said he was dead. Why the fuck should I believe you instead?” I turn for the door, but Forge reaches out again to grasp my wrist.

“Did it ever occur to you that she might have lied?”

I spin around to face him. “What reason would she have?”

His flinty gray eyes study my face. I have no idea what he’s looking for, but I know what I’m not getting out of him. Answers.

“I don’t have a father. There’s nothing you can do to make me believe you. I don’t want to hear it.” I tug my arm back and head for the door.

“Your father is the one who told me your sister had been kidnapped. He thinks the kidnappers thought they had you.”

I freeze in place. No. No. No. That’s not possible. While I rage against Forge’s statement in my head, he continues.

“Did you ever give Summer one of your IDs? Did she ever tell you that she uses your name to get into poker games?”

My mouth drops open. No. Fucking. Way.

“She wouldn’t.”

“She has. She did. That’s why they thought she was you.”

I lift a hand to my mouth to cover my shock. As much as I want to scream that he’s lying . . . I know my sister. It sounds exactly like something she would do. When she was sixteen, she swiped my ID to get into clubs and thought I wouldn’t find out. And she never fucking grew up because Alanna and I have coddled her.

I look down at the chipped pink polish on my big toe as I try to process all of this.

“You’re telling me that my sister pretended she was me and got kidnapped by an enemy of some guy who claims to be my father.” It comes out as a statement, not a question, because I already believe him.

“Yes.”

My stomach tumbles like someone tossed it in the spin cycle with the laundry. I turn around slowly and face Forge.

“And this guy just happened to come to you for help?” My voice shakes as I ask the question, because I know I won’t like the answer.

“I’m a businessman. People come to me with requests.”

“That doesn’t tell me a goddamned thing.”

Forge’s gaze narrows on me. “Why should I tell you the truth now when you’re planning on walking out that door in seconds regardless?”

My shoulders hike up around my ears. “I don’t know. So you can fucking sleep at night or look yourself in the mirror?”

“I sleep just fine.”

With my jaw tensing, I take a step toward him. “I’m done playing your game, Forge. I’m out.”

“I’ll make it worth your while to stay.”

I blink twice, like it’s somehow going to help me decide if he just said what I think he did. “You are not seriously trying to negotiate with me right now.”