“Gerald, we're going in there,” Mom snaps, catching his attention. “Please get out of the way.”
He stops as he recognizes her. “Mrs. Hawthorne. And—Miss Hawthorne! I heard you were…” He trails off, confused.
“Exactly,” I say and push open the door where the conference is going on.
Dad's voice echoes, amplified by the microphones. “Not only have they killed my daughter, but now they have taken my wife. Is there no limit to what these monsters will do? I expect the city council to approve the use of deadly force to remove this blight from our city. It is our last recourse, and I won't—”
He stops short and his face pales as I come through the door. The whole room is silent.
I wave. “Hi Dad.”
Mom follows me in, then King, Wild Child and Hero. Then the whole rest of the club, spilling in until the large room starts to feel kind of crowded. As if they've coordinated it, the whole club crosses their arms over their chests and glare up at Dad, who, for perhaps the first time in his life, seems to be speechless.
I set a course for the podium, backed up by Mom and the guys. I am the biker queen with her protectors, like in my fantasy. The reporters and camera people get out of our way, though I feel the spotlights and hear the cameras click. Just by being here, I've already made a commotion. They have no idea how much more I've got for them.
As I get to the stairs to the stage, Dad's bodyguards get in front of him. There are four of them, though, against all of the Screaming Eagles, led by their boss's wife and daughter. They don't look exactly confident. Still, one of them blocks the way.
“Eeeexcuse us,” says Wild Child, indicating for the man to move. “Please let Miss Hawthorne through. She has important things to say, much more than that fucknugget up there.”
When the man starts to reach inside his jacket, King steps up. His voice has dropped into the deathly quiet register. “I would very carefully consider what you do next. Don't escalate this if you're not ready to pay the price.” He flicks his cut open, showing the gun in his belt.
Dad's expression hardens and he waves at the bodyguard. “Let them pass. They're my fucking family.” He always thinks he's in control, but today, he doesn't know how wrong he is.
Hero holds my hand for support as I climb the podium.
“Emily.” Dad puts on the crocodile smile. “You're alive. What a joyful surprise. I thought I would never see you again.”
I've wanted to say this my whole life. “Shut up, Dad.”
He blinks, then turns to Mom, who's remained on the floor. “Miriam—”
She cocks her head and smirks, “Not today. Emily's running the show. I just got her here.”
“But you can't possibly—”
I take the last couple of steps to the lectern. “Move over. It's my turn.”
No more smile. Just fury. “Hold the fuck on. This is my press conference, and you've filled the room with criminals. Don't you understand how dangerous this is?” He leans into the mic. “Someone get the police.”
One guy turns towards the door, but stops when he sees Eagle-eye in his way, shaking his head solemnly.
King grabs Dad by the back of the collar and straight up lifts him. Dad's not a small man, but King is freaking strong. “She asked you to move.”
This time, the bodyguards move, but Hero steps in front and grabs the grip of his pistol. He leaves it in his belt, but the threat is clear. “The first one who draws, starts it. We're just giving Emily the podium. Don't make us end it.” He nods his head in the direction of the rest of the Eagles, who all look eager to get into a tussle.
The guards take a step back. I'm sure Dad pays them well, but not well enough to sacrifice themselves for no reason.
Dad, on the other hand, doesn't take it nearly as well. “Set me down, you fucker!” He flails, but King's way too strong.
“Shut up,” King rumbles. “I haven't executed you, because I don't want Emily to see that, but I'm open to changing my mind.”
Dad shuts up immediately.
I face the microphones. The reporters have been watching, and probably filming, everything that's happened so far, but the moment I step up, the questions start.
God, I hate this. Being the center of attention. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't so important. I never understood why Dad likes it so much. Every eye is on me, every mic in my face, every camera lens pointed in my direction. I shudder.
Wild Child puts his hand on my shoulder. “You can do this, babe. Just picture them naked.” Then he makes a point of looking past me. “Actually, don't. Ew. Just knock 'em on their asses.”