Then Dad steps out.
Shit, shit, shit.
I jump off the fountain, pressing my way through the reporters, who are way too slow at getting out of my way. If I can only get back to the apartment with the passage quickly enough, then—
Police cars come rolling down every street that meets at the plaza, their sirens off but their lights flashing. In a moment, the cops have spilled out and taken control, pushing civilians back and surrounding the press.
And in the middle of it all is me.
Janey pushes off the light post and waves. “Drive safe,” she says, then spits in my direction. With a cruel laugh, she turns her back and walks away. The cops step aside to let her through.
I should’ve known she would betray me. I did know it, I was just too stupidly eager. I controlled things while I had the phone, but I didn’t control her phone when I didn’t have it. Obviously, she made a couple of calls on her own.
Fuck.
30
EMILY
The reporters protest as the cops round them up and bring them aside. There's much yelling about the freedom of the press, about rights and refusals to turn off the cameras or microphones, but no one's listening. One of the cameras smashes into the ground before a particularly beefy officer shatters what's left with his heel. None of this report is going to leave the plaza.
I can't even bring myself to care, because now I've got bigger worries.
Dad walks leisurely towards me, holding his hands out like he's welcoming home his baby girl. Or like he's mimicking a giant shark opening its maw.
“Emily. I've finally found you.”
I'd feel a lot more comfortable if he hadn't declared me for dead only last night, and we weren't surrounded by the cops who aren't busy herding the reporters into the back of a police van. And you know, if he wasn't a narcissistic asshole who thought knocking his daughter around every once in a while was okay. But he smiles as broadly as ever, and if his tears on TV were crocodile tears, then this is definitely a crocodile smile.
“I'm not coming home with you, Dad.” Brave words, but I know he can force the issue. It doesn't mean I have to go without a struggle.
“Of course you are. Where else would you go? Back to your biker boy scouts?” His tone is patronizing, like he's explaining to four-year-old me what's best for me when he's put out a bowl of carrots, but I just want ice cream. “You'll be safe at home, not here in this… this shit hole.”
“So safe they could steal me away in the night, right under your nose?”
That rankles him. He hides it well, but I know that moment he starts to frown before he catches himself. “There are more guards now, and the ones who were supposed to watch you were fired on the spot. Trust me when I say that our estate is more secure than it ever has been. Like a fortress.”
The subtext? There's no way out either. If I go with him now, I'm not going anywhere, not until he's eradicated the Screaming Eagles.
“I'm not going, and you can't make me. I'm an adult.”
He laughs, right in my face. “Adult? You're still a teenager. What would you do? Where would you go? I know what it's like for a woman in a biker club. Fucking your way through all the members, hoping one of them will take you in and put little biker-spawn in you? Is that really the life you imagined yourself? Emily, honey, come home. I've missed you. Your mother misses you. She'll be ecstatic to see you there, safe and sound.”
Will she be happy to see me? Probably. He's not lying about that. Everything else, though?
“If I go with you, you'll kill all of them. You already declared me dead so you could go ahead with your crazy plan. There are real people here, Dad, living real lives. Kids, mothers, just regular people.”
“If these are the kind of people you think we want in this city, then you've lost your mind. I'm done arguing with you.” He takes a step closer so he can speak without any of the cops around us overhearing. His voice turns low and insidious. “We don't have time for this, so I'm just going to straight out say it. The task force is gearing up for an assault—a lethal one. You're already declared dead, so it would seem very strange if I told them to watch out for you.”
“You would have them shoot your own daughter?” Even knowing what kind of man he is, I'm amazed he's willing to basically just straight up say it.
“I would never tell them to do that.” The implication is obvious, though. “But!” I wait for him to spit it out. Always with the drama. “I'm willing to make a deal with you. Come home. Make your mother happy. Make me happy, and I'll keep the task force at bay. I promise to open negotiations, and if those lowlifes you've taken up with agree to surrender and submit to proper trials, then no one will have to be shot. I'll make sure you're taken care of.”