Hooked (Never After, #1)(30)

Shoes come into my line of vision and my dad crouches at my side. “Little Shadow.” He sighs, slipping down next to me, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Wendy.”

“Just say you’ll be here.” The words stick in my throat, the hole in my chest throbbing. “Say you’ll start to make us a priority.”

He’s quiet for long moments before his arm comes around my shoulders and brings me into his side. I bite my lip and swallow harshly to keep the sobs at bay. The last thing I want is to look weak in front of the man who’s always so strong.

“You’re the most important thing in the world to me,” he says.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” I mutter.

“You are. You always have been.”

“And Jon,” I add, irritation slicing through the haze of his attention.

“What?” His body tenses.

“You said I’m the most important thing in the world to you. But I’m not your only kid. You forgot to mention Jon.”

He clears his throat. “Right, of course. Jon too.”

“Sometimes,” I whisper, seizing my newfound confidence and running with it. “Sometimes it feels like you’ve forgotten we exist at all.”

There’s a tingling sensation on the top of my head as he presses a kiss to my hair, and I curl into him farther. “Please tell him,” I beg again. “I don’t want to be the one who does.”

He nods against me. “I’ll tell him in the morning.”

Blowing out a breath, I allow his words to wrap around me like a blanket, relief swallowing up the sadness—at least temporarily.

But in the morning, he’s gone. And Jon still doesn’t know.





18





James





Meeting with Peter put everything back in focus; his death so close I can smell it in the air. Now I just have to convince Ru that striking a business deal with him won’t work in our favor. I will be extremely irritated if my plans become more difficult because our business starts depending heavily on his.

Even if Peter’s days weren’t severely numbered, I would be wary of using him. Years of dreaming up ways to kill the man responsible for every trauma of your life gives you ample time to learn about his weaknesses. About his past. And I’ve learned more about Peter than even his closest confidantes. I know that he grew up in South Florida, his parents so poor they could barely afford the rice they put on the table. I know that he was a common drug pusher by the age of fourteen, running through the streets, going by the name of Pan, whispering ideas of grandeur in people’s ears. Promising a life of adventure if only they followed his lead. I know that while he rose to power slowly through the ranks, he left others behind. Most of whom ended up disappearing without a trace.

And I know that when he bought a failing airplane company, it was for pennies on the dollar, and somehow, the original owner was never heard from again.

I know Michaels is not his original last name. And I know the only thing he cares about in this world besides his money and his stature is his daughter.

Wendy.

But I can’t tell Ru all of that without admitting there is a huge piece of my life he’s never been privy to. And while Ru isn’t a nosy type of man, I can’t imagine he would take it well knowing that he’s allowed me into his fold, and I’ve kept the majority of myself a secret.

But I’ll deal with that tonight when I get back to the JR.

Right now, my focus is on a new bakery that opened on Maize Street. Normally, it’s the twins who make the rounds, collecting protection tax and the like, but after having issues with the new shop, I figured I’d pay them a personal visit.

Sighing, I sit down in the seat across from George, the owner, my stomach twisting with unease from the way flour sticks to all of the surfaces in the kitchen. I take out my gloves, the black leather encasing my hands in warmth, and I flex my fingers slowly as I speak. “Now… George.” I smile, crossing my foot on my opposite knee. “Tell me one more time what happened.”

George wipes his brow with a white towel, his potbelly expanding with each of his heavy breaths. “I told you, someone already came three days ago. I already paid.”

“Impossible,” I snap, irritation at this man’s blatant lies tearing up my insides. Taking in a deep breath, I lean my neck to the side, allowing the crack of my bones to settle my anger. “I do apologize,” I chuckle, closing my eyes. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper. It’s just… that’s impossible.”

He puts his hands up. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“I certainly hope so.” Uncrossing my legs, I pull out my knife, flipping it open and running my gloved thumb across the blade, reveling in the way the metal shines as it presses against the leather. “Tell me, do you know who I am?”

The man shakes his head no.

“Your neighbors didn’t mention me?” I press my free hand to my chest. “I’m hurt.”

“Listen, I told you what I know.” The man starts to stand up, throwing the towel over his shoulder. “There are customers ab—”

“Sit. Down,” I hiss.

The twins—who up until this point have been standing to the side—straighten and move closer. His eyes widen, but he plops back into the chair.