A Debt Repaid (The Debt Duet 2)

None are needed. A hug like this says more than a thousand words ever could.

“I’m surprised he let you out again,” Deion jokes.

“Yeah, well, he knows I can’t be held down.”

Deion chuckles. “As long as he treats you right.”

“Oh, yeah …” I blush. “Though, the jealousy probably won’t disappear.”

“The man’s smitten. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” He tucks his hands into his pants. “But that’s none of my business, of course.”

I nod and lower my eyes. I need to say what’s on my mind, what’s been bugging me for quite some time now. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“I know,” Deion says. “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I do. I mean, Easton used you both,” I say. “And I let him because I fell for his charms.”

“Ah!” Deion holds up his hand. “Enough apologizing. He did it to save us, and he already explained, so it’s time we moved past it. Besides, you love him, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts,” he interrupts. “You love him. People do stupid things for love.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t include endangering others,” I say, and I rub my lips together. “Aren’t you scared?”

He shakes his head. “No. Easton said your father would never try to harm us again.”

I swallow and nod. “I’m sorry about that too.”

“You didn’t choose your father. None of us did,” he says. “Mine isn’t exactly perfect either.”

“Mine is!” Ashanti says with a big smile on her face, which makes us both chuckle.

She always manages to break the ice and make awkward situations laughable. It’s as if she has a sixth sense for it.

“Wanna come in? Have a cup of tea?” he asks, opening the door farther.

I smile from ear to ear. “I’d love to.”

It’s been months, but the moment my father’s face appears, my stomach drops. Not because it’s been so long or because I fear him, but because I want this visit to be over as quickly as possible.

I walk down the hallway to the booth where we’ll meet while separated by glass. With greasy hair and his face covered in blotches, he sits there with the phone in his hand.

What a long way to fall for such a rich man.

My father stares blankly at me while I pick up the phone.

“Hello, Father. I hope you’re doing well,” I say with a smirk.

“Came to laugh? Ridicule me? Pity me?” he mocks.

“No, I just wanted to see how you’re coping,” I say.

“I don’t need to talk to you,” he hisses.

“You got what you deserved. You know that, right?” I say.

“I hope that guy’s dick was worth the effort,” he scoffs.

I have to bite my tongue. “He’s a far better man than you’ll ever be. Trying to kill off my friends? How dare you?”

“At least you’re with him now, and I live,” he says, not looking me in the eyes.

He never could; not when it came to him losing face. And I can imagine nothing’s worse than your own daughter seeing you behind bars, even if it’s where he belongs.

“Life? In this metal box? You’ll have to spend the rest of your days in a place far worse than I ever will. A small, confined cell with nothing to hold your interest except your own regretful thoughts. What a life.” I smirk. “I hope you’re proud of your accomplishments. This is the last time you’ll ever see me.”

“Why did you come then? If you hate me so much?” he asks, grimacing as he finally glances at me.

I rub my stomach, and say, “Because I want you to know that you’ll never get out … and that you’ll never, ever meet your grandchildren.”

His eyes widen and zoom in on my belly. “What? You’re … pregnant?”

I nod. I’ve known for a few weeks now after I didn’t get my period twice in a row. When I told Easton and showed him the test, he went insane with happiness. I’d never seen a bigger smile on his face. But at the same time, I knew I needed to wrap this up with what I once called my family. It’s time to turn over a new leaf.

My eyes narrow as my father gets up and places a flat hand on the glass that separates us. “When? Is it a girl or a boy? What will their names be?”

I’m sure he’d like to know, but I won’t tell. He can die trying to imagine my child and its name.

“It’s time for goodbyes.”

“Wait, what? No! Tell me!” he says, banging the glass, but a guard interrupts him.

“I don’t care what you want,” I spit. “I just wanted you to know that you’ll play no part in their lives. Nor in mine. You’re dead to me,” I say, and I hold my head high. “I hope you rot in hell.” And with that, I drop the phone, get up and walk.