Wild Card (Vegas Underground 8)

He swallows.

“Tell me.”

“It looks like... someone who’s supposed to be dead.”

Minchia.

Just what we need right now—a fucking family reunion. I have to say, though, I’m not surprised. I had a feeling the little fucker was still alive.

I palm the gun and try the front door. It’s open, which surprises me. Lake West and a skanky woman are on their feet, jackets still on like they just arrived. Caitlin stands opposite them. When I see Caitlin’s pale face and dead eyes, I forget everything but getting my arms around her.

Lake recognized me and his eyes fly wide with terror. Because yeah. He thinks I want him dead. He draws a weapon at the same time I do.

Fuck.

I should lower my weapon. This is Caitlin’s father. I don't trust him not to shoot me though. Not until I explain I'm not after him, I'm here for Caitlin.

“Hold up, both of you,” Trevor commands.

"Who the fuck are you?" Lake snaps.

"Of course you wouldn't recognize your own son," Trevor mutters.

I need to take fucking charge of this situation. “Listen, West. I didn’t come here to kill you,” I say evenly. “I came for Caitlin. And the baby of mine she’s carrying.” I drop that bomb to convey to West the nature of our relationship, in case he doesn’t know.

Surprise definitely registers on Lake’s face. I can’t focus on Caitlin, but I sense her surprise too.

“You know?” she asks.

“Yeah, I know. Is that why you left, doll?” I shift my focus to her face for a fraction of a second.

A mistake.

Lake lunges for her and puts her in a headlock, holding the gun to her head.

I want to howl in rage. How stupid was I to let him know what matters to me? To assume he would care about his daughter and unborn grandchild as much as I do? Or be smart enough to reason that I'm not a threat.

I hold my gun steady. I could shoot him. I have a clear shot and I’m confident in my aim. But I can’t risk Caitlin’s life. Plus, he’s still her dad, even if he’s the lowest of the low.

I release my finger from the trigger and turn the gun to the side, moving slowly. “Okay, West. I’m putting the gun down.” I set it on the coffee table. “Now put yours down. You’re scaring your daughter.” I purposely use those words, trying to appeal to his fatherly instincts, although he clearly has none.

He doesn’t lower the gun, but he does shift to point it at me. I see it all in slow motion.

His finger squeezes the trigger. Caitlin grabs his wrist. I lunge to the side.

The bullet goes through the window.

In a second, I’m on him, knocking the gun out of his hand and slamming my fist into his face. He goes down and I follow, pounding with both my fists. This man held a gun to my girl’s head. He left her to that monster of a foster father at age fourteen.

He’s gonna pay.

Caitlin

I’m so far out of my body, I’m on Mars. I see the scene unfolding from far, far away. Trevor still standing there with a gun in his shaking hand.

My dad on his back getting the shit beat out of him by Paolo.

His bitch of a girlfriend shrinking in the corner with terror in her eyes.

And I feel nothing.

A better person would stop Paolo. Or at least a living one. But I’m not better and I’m definitely not present.

And if I did feel anything, I’m pretty sure it would be satisfaction that my dad is getting his due.

All this time, he’s been alive.

What are you doing here, Caitie? was all he had to say to me when he got out of his pickup. Like I don’t belong here. Like he resented me being here. No explanation or apology for ditching out on his two kids when they were the ripe old age of eight and fourteen. For leaving us to become wards of the state. To rot in foster care while he was off living large.

What are you doing here? I shot back and he had the audacity to say, this place belongs to me.

The thud of bone cracking bone trickles into my awareness. Blood splatters on the floor. It’s amazing how many punches a guy can take and still be conscious. Still be breathing.

I wonder if Paolo will kill him.

And it’s only the memory of not wanting Paolo to kill for me when he offered to take care of my foster father that makes me reach out and touch his arm.

I expect him to shake me off. Or to not even notice me because he’s in warrior zone, but the moment I touch him, he straightens, turns and pulls me into his arms.

I want to feel it. I can tell it would be nice to be held by Paolo right now. That I’ve been in need of his strength and protection. He rubs my back. I wish I could feel it.