“I’m not an investment, I’m your daughter.”
Those words don’t seem to penetrate whatsoever. “You were with him, weren’t you?” He looks me over with disgust. “Who knew you’d turn out to be such a whore? Your mother is going to be devastated when she returns.”
That is true. But not for the reason he thinks.
Hot moisture crowds my eyes, but I raise my chin, resolved. Scared but ready to do what’s necessary. And it gives me strength to know I’m not alone. That North is nearby. Waiting. Probably going insane. But waiting for me nonetheless. “I’m not going to boarding school, father. And I’m not going to the college of your choosing.”
“Oh, yes you are,” he grates, taking a step closer. “But just out of curiosity, what would you do instead? Without my tuition money and influence. Without my name? What would you do besides end up in the gutter like your little boyfriend?”
“I’d be happy,” I say, my voice gaining more strength. “I’d make my own decisions. I’d plan my own future, instead of living the one you’ve decided is most respectable.”
He laughs. “Well you definitely don’t care about being respectable. Sneaking in here in broad daylight, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. You’re an embarrassment.” A vein begins to tick in his temple. “Do I have to remind you what I’ll do if you don’t fall in line and stay the hell away from the fighter?”
“You wouldn’t really do that,” I whisper, my earlier anger once again taking hold. “You wouldn’t have him killed.”
“I assure you, I would. It would only take one phone call.” He holds up his phone. “I tracked down his address right before you walked in. Took a while, because his deadbeat parents’ names are on the lease.” His mouth spreads into a sinister smile. “You don’t think Curtis Tennison knows how to hide a body? Maybe we’ll put your little boyfriend in the concrete when we break ground on our development. It’ll be a reminder to you what happens when you rebel and besmirch the Foster name.”
“It sounds like that’s what you’re doing. Not me.”
My father rears back his hand to slap me and I close my eyes, begging him not to. Or if he does, I pray that North can control himself just a little bit longer. Just wait. I’ll be okay.
Thankfully, my father shoves his fingers through his hair instead, but his eyes are still meting out violence. I let out a slow breath of relief, saying, “Father, you shouldn’t be working with Tennison on the Foster development. I know he’s blackmailing you into using Ludlow Builders, but there has to be a way out. Once you give in to someone like him, you’ll have to give in every single time.”
He gets in my face. “Money is money, whether I make it with Tennison or elsewhere. And our partnership is already proving its advantage. I know every politician he’s got in his pocket and I’m using them for my own gain now, too. Blackmail can be a beautiful thing. So can power. I have no qualms using it to put a bullet between North Whitlock’s eyes.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I whisper, pulling up my shirt so he can see the wire.
Behind me, the front door of the house bursts open, cops filling the foyer, guns drawn.
North runs in behind them, wild-eyed, searching for me among the sudden pandemonium. When he sees me, he charges forward, picking me up and wrapping me in his arms. We back away as the police officers slap handcuffs on my stunned father, his shock slowly giving way to outrage. He demands to see a warrant, which they present him wordlessly.
“We’re picking up your buddy Curtis right now on the other side of town,” one of the cops we spent the morning with says, matter-of-factly. “Along with everyone who knowingly defrauded the city through Ludlow Builders. We knew he had his hand in the pot somewhere. And if you want a decent sentence on your conspiracy to commit murder charge, you’re going to let us know every politician Tennison has been shaking down.” The cop slaps my father on the shoulder. “The reckoning has arrived.”
“Gracie. Gracie.” North rocks me, drawing my attention, his pulse going a million miles an hour at the base of his neck. I kiss him there soothingly and he makes a rough sound. “It’s over. Christ, thank God it’s over. I haven’t taken a fucking breath in ten minutes. You were so brave, baby. I didn’t want you to have to do this for me. Not just for me…”
“Just for you?” I ask, looking up into his tortured golden eyes, framing his jaw in my hand. “Just for the other half of my soul? There’s nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for us.”