Page 149 of Property of Fang
“You could have left the club earlier.”
He scoffs. “You think I ever truly left those assholes?” My father shakes his head, chin dipped down. “I gave my rights back. I returned the patch and revoked any voice I had. But I ain’t gone.” He leans forward, fisting the bottle in his hand. “You aren’t ever gone from the one percent life. That shit stays in your blood until the day you die.”
The phone chirps beneath the jacket.
We both freeze.The fuck?The video memory must have reached its limit.Shit.I didn’t think of that.
Still fucking things up wherever I go.
“What was that?” His eyes narrow, gaze falling to my lap. “What you got there?”
“Nothing.” I hastily shove it back in the inside pocket and then swing the jacket around to put it on as I rise to my feet. “I need to go before that bike out there becomes an issue.”
He darts across the room, blocking the front door. “You ain’t going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck that was.”
I want to call his bluff, tell him to do his worst knowing he wouldn’t actually touch me since I’m his daughter—his flesh and blood. But he’s already proven that to be one moral boundary he has no qualm crossing.
“Did you ever love her?”
My father relaxes a pinch, but not enough to get past. “Of course, I did. Why else would I do what I did for her, Jenna? I loved your momma enough that I let it blow up my life.”
“But you never loved me, right?” His outline wavers.
I gently blink to suppress any sign of emotion that lets this fucker know how deep beneath my skin he got. He doesn’t deserve that recognition.
“I never got a chance to.” His apologetic gaze lifts from mine and drifts over my shoulder.
I stiffen, attuned to the steady inhale, exhale behind me.
My instincts were right—this asshole didn’t need a moment to regroup.
He needed a moment to strategize.
And I let him distract me with emotion.
Guess he knows just how deep he is, after all.
FIFTY
FANG
Arms foldedover the steering wheel, I lean toward the windshield and study the street. So many fucking times I let Jenna unspool her shit on me, and never did I ask the basic question: where do you live? I figured it was near the Devil’s Breed, but her journey led us to the next state over. A sleepy little dead-end spot fifteen miles off the highway. And now, here I sit, staring at my bike parked outside a nondescript house that sits among a row of other nondescript houses, wondering what else I should have asked.
Does she have siblings? Half-siblings? The way she spoke, it seemed as though she doesn’t. But who else might be at this house? Why did she come back here? Does her old man live here? Or has she bolted back to the last place she felt safe?
“Fuckin’ idiot.” I mutter the words, chin resting on the back of my hand.
There’s been no movement since I pulled up three doors down. No sign of life. The neighborhood is quiet, save for a barking dog somewhere a street over. Driveways sit empty. Garages closed. Most of the residents are probably at work in a lower-middle-class area like this. Lawns sit in various states ofcare, gardens simple or neglected. The people around here don’t have time to do much more than exist, it seems.
I eye the one thing that sticks out like a sore thumb, the reason I haven’t gotten out of the truck yet.
A lifted pickup sits vacant opposite Jenna’s house, too new and too flashy for this area. It doesn’t fit the vibe of material objects used out of necessity rather than luxury.
I tap the truck’s console to connect to Darko again.
“Yeah?”
“How much longer?” I’m impatient, but I’m not stupid. The minute the fine hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the quiet nonchalance of the street, I called for backup.
