Page 143 of Crash Course
He’d done it with her own mother. Someone he’d claimed to love.
Would he do this? Risk his own daughter’s safety?
No.
6:30.
She’d broken routine. No, no, no.
Cilla sucked a breath, slowly turned her head, and met her father’s gaze, holding it for a long few seconds before deciding to dive into what would more than likely send her father on a rampage.
"Dad? Did you have my car blown up?"
For a moment he stood still, his face like solid stone, refusing to reveal any reaction. What kind of man could be so calm when his daughter asked a question like that?
Chill bumps broke out on Cilla’s exposed arms. Could her father be that evil?
"This is ridiculous!" Dad said. He spun on his heel and headed to the door. "I won’t be accused of this! Once you’re clearheaded, you'll apologize."
Not likely.
"Dad! Wait."
He stopped, angled back to her with a smug smile, but he wouldn’t hear what he wanted. Not from her anymore.
When she didn’t speak, her father’s smile faded, and he held out his arms. "Either apologize or I’m leaving."
"Funny," she said. "We haven’t heard you say you didn’t do it."
23
The room fellsilent while Cruz stood by, letting Cilla handle her father, but—holy hell—he wanted a piece of this asshole.
An enormous piece.
Just pound the fucker into the ground. His own father’s words came back to him.Know what you’re doing, son. Don’t be so rash all the time.
If Cruz’s suspicions about Randolph blowing up that car were true, the guy deserved whatever pain and suffering Cruz and the justice system could inflict.
Then the asshole turned to him, pointing his finger and sending a juicy surge of adrenaline roaring.
"This is your fault!" Randolph hollered, his face so red it looked about to burst. "You’re filling her head with lies! You shut your fucking mouth!"
And, oh, oh, oh, Cruz knew the craziness he saw in the man’s eyes. Had experienced it enough himself in the seconds before he lost his shit on someone. The rage. The need for release. The lack of control.
Yeah, with just a tiny push, Cruz might help old Randolph over the edge. "No," Cruz said, his voice level and matter of fact. "Not until I hear you say it. That you didn’t blow up your own daughter’s car. Say it."
"She’s my child!"
Un-huh.Still no denial.Got him."Yes, she is. And you’ll admit what you did. Tell her."
Voices from the hallway sounded. "Call security," someone said.
Randolph’s fingers curled into fists. Oh, this fucker. Let him try it. Let him take a swing. Cruz would love nothing more than to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. And right now, he didn’t give a crap that the guy was thirty-five years his senior. If he took a swing, Cruz considered it open warfare.
Besides, if anyone deserved an ass-kicking it was Darren Randolph.
"You’re messing with the wrong person, son." Randolph said.
