Property of Drex (Death Chasers MC 1)

Drex comes back out of the kitchen with two plates in his hand, but my appetite has vanished. He sits down beside me, putting the food on the coffee table in front of us, while I quietly digest my mother’s disgust.

He watches me as I pick at the food, nibbling small bites.

“I take it she had a low opinion of your father?” he asks, treating it as though it’s casual conversation.

“Not anymore.” I give him a forced smile, and he grunts while taking another bite of food.

“What’d your dad do?” he asks, still sounding casual, as if this isn’t a touchy subject.

Lying isn’t an option. Not that I want to lie. Not answering him is also not an option.

“He killed himself,” I mumble.

Drex doesn’t act surprised, meaning he already knew about this.

“And that’s why she hates him?” He pauses a beat. “Or why she did hate him, rather,” he amends.

I nod, hoping he doesn’t want me to elaborate.

“How close were you to him?”

A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it, but it dies in my throat when tears threaten to emerge.

“I was daddy’s girl when I was younger. But the older I got, the less he wanted me around. He grew distant… from all of us. Especially the last few years. He was barely home.”

He puts his fork down, and he studies his plate for a long minute, as though he’s trying to find a way to ask a difficult question.

“Did you know he worked for us at one time?”

My entire body tenses, then suddenly, without warning, a burst of laughter comes out of me. It’s hysterical, crazy laughter that is taking the place of the tears that I don’t want to fall.

Drex cocks an eyebrow at me as I completely lose my dignity, unable to stop laughing. Finally, I see the seriousness in his expression, and my laughter halts abruptly, almost painfully.

“You can’t be serious.” I shake my head, actually feeling a lot better now that I’ve had my weird, cathartic release. “My father was a straight-laced, stick-up-his-ass accountant. He wasn’t a biker. He drove a Fiat.” He just stares, so I repeat the last part for emphasis. “A Fiat.”

He snorts derisively, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. “Never said he was a biker. And he did indeed drive that small little car everywhere. But he was our accountant for a while.”

My skin prickles as a weird chill settles in my bones. My brow furrows in confusion, and I desperately try to grab ahold of any memory that might give me an answer as to if Drex is lying or not.

But why would he lie?

“No,” I say softly, shaking my head absently while still mulling over dusty memories.

“Any idea how he kept his family a secret? That one is baffling me. We checked him out thoroughly before taking him on, and he lived in a one-bedroom apartment downtown. No family. No history of family in his file. Nothing.”

The memory of my dad and mother separating briefly after the accident that took my sister’s life floods back to me. Even after he came back home, he often stayed somewhere else, growing more distant.

My dad was a tech genius, so faking a background check would be child’s play if he wanted to keep us hidden. But… No. Not possible. Can’t be true.

“It’s true,” Drex says, worrying me that I said that aloud. “He cooked our books and handled the shady shit I won’t explain, so he wasn’t as straight-laced as you thought.”

My veins run cold, and a new brand of betrayal singes me. How could we not have known?

“My dad… was he bullied into working for you?”

He gives me a look that borders on insulted, but it fades quickly. “No. We don’t force people to work for us. That just invites trouble. Someone in a situation like that would turn to the feds the first chance they got. Your dad came to us. But I had no clue Benny knew him.”

I sit back to gather my thoughts, but I give up on processing my feelings.

“Benny has known me for most of my life. Well, he knew me at a glance. I never really talked to him. I rarely saw him, but the few occasions I did, he never let on like he knew my dad outside of my relationship with Ben.”

Drex picks at a piece of his food as his eyes drop.

“What kind of relationship was that?” The hard edge to his tone is subtle, but I still notice it.

Is he jealous right now?

When his jaw tics, proving he’s growing impatient with my hesitation to answer, I bite back a grin. He’s freaking jealous. Of Ben.

Ben would die to have this ego stroke right now.

“It was… a good one?” I say, but it sounds like a question. When his knuckles turn white from the grip he has on his fork, I decide to put him out of his misery.