Page 17 of Wicked Truths
“Yeah?” I keep my eyes on Amara as she pretends not to listen.
“Saturday night at the club. We need to discuss the shipment.”
“I’ll be there.” I end the call, watching Amara’s face. She’s trying too hard to appear disinterested.
Something’s going on with her. And I’m going to find out what it is.
“Why didn’t you go to Caleb’s house?” I ask her.
“I wanted to be alone, and it felt weird with Poppy staying at the party.” She sighs. “I really wanted to talk to my mom but…”
“She was too busy to talk,” I finish for her.
She nods, but when she looks at me, tears are brimming at the edges of her eyes. “I am sorry for prying into your private space.”
She stares at me, waiting for me to say it’s okay. Her bright aquamarine eyes look more alluring than ever.
Then my gaze lands on her throat. I stare at it for a moment. “What the fuck?”
Her hand reaches to her neck.
“Oh,” she whimpers. Her hand wraps around her throat, covering what looks like slowly forming bruises.
“Show me.” My gaze holds hers.
An enormous fake smile lifts on her lips. “I’m fine. I need to go. I’m going to the beach.”
“You’re not going any fucking where until you tell me who did that to you,” I bellow, pointing at her neck. “What’s happened, Amara? Did Con do it?”
She slowly shakes her head, and I blink in frustration. I know she wants to say something but is scared or thinks it will sound ridiculous.
“It’s nothing,” she says, pushing off the stool and standing in front of me.
Today, her frame looks smaller than ever. And I do something I never do. Something I fight. Because I can’t do this. Keeping my distance from Amara is normally my specialty, but today, I pull her in for a hug.
She whimpers.
“Amara,” I whisper.
She is rigid in my hold. Iget it.
“Talk to me,” I murmur, hoping tenderness will make her talk.
“I can’t.”
I let out a sigh, holding her quietly for a few minutes. Breathing in her scent, my hand stroking her back. I hate I’m attracted to Amara; I also hate that she is my stepdaughter and far too fucking young and innocent for someone like me.
But I hate she is hurting more.
She pulls away but she doesn’t leave immediately. She waits as she looks around. And just when I think she is about to open up, she walks to the door. “Thank you, I’m fine now.”
I nod my head. “Tell me who did it, and I’ll kill him.”
Her back stiffens as her hand holds the handle of my door. “I know. That’s why I can’t tell you.”
The next day, I line up my shot, squinting against the morning sun. The golf course stretches before us, dew still clinging to the manicured grass.
It’s peaceful out here. I love these days. Just me and Caleb. No mafia talk. No Helena. Only golf and my best friend.
