My heart rate kicked up. He knew about Talia.
“Benji O’Connor is literally a fucking alpha,” I growled.
“One of only two in the entire O’Connor family. And no omegas, either.”
“You’re an alpha too. Why would you support making alphas go feral?”
I knew why. It was because he put profit over people. His own gains over everyone else in the world. He didn’t care what happened, so long as he came out on top.
My father wanted to make me into a beast like him, and god was I fucking glad I never gave in.
“No skin off my back if they do. Did you have a reason for calling, or did you only want to waste my goddamn time?” Pops asked with an irritated growl.
“I want you to stop hunting us down.”
“Tough luck. Benji O’Connor wants you dead, and I plan to deliver.”
There it was.
My father, admitting out loud and with no remorse, that he was trying to kill me, and that he orchestrated this entire plan to do it.
My chest tightened—the feeling was akin to betrayal, but not as potent. It was more of a resigned pain. Nothing about this surprised me, but he was still my father. It shouldn’t be like this.
“Some asshole wants me dead and that’s it? You’ll kill me?” I asked.
“Not like you’re a suitable heir. Weak little shit. Better to take the money—then my millions can be my legacy.”
My packmate’s rage reached a boiling point.
“Fuck you, Grave,” West snarled. “Mercy could have been as ruthless as you, and you still would have thrown him under the bus.”
“Arsenal, of course you’ve stuck with my son. Just as pathetic as he is.”
“I’m loyal, unlike some fucking people.”
“Loyalty is overrated. Face it. Benji wants you dead and wants your little omega pet to be his puppet, and he has plenty of people willing to work for him. You’ll die, whether I’m the one to kill you or not. Why not profit?”
My temper snapped too. “Because you’re my fucking father!” I bellowed.
“Not anymore,” Pops growled. “Consider yourself disowned.”
Disowned? Like it mattered now.
He was driving the club into the ground, and they’d all taken his side. That was my only inheritance, and it wasn’t going to exist much longer.
“Fine,” I said coldly, reigning my anger back in. “Then I guess this is our last conversation.”
“Unless you’re turning yourself over, I have no reason to talk to you again,” Pops said.
“I’m not.”
He hung up.
Not even a goodbye. Nothing.
I watched the screen flash once to show the ended call, and then go black.
That… was it, then. We hadn’t gotten much workable information, but I could classify this as closure. Until that conversation, a small part of me had hoped that maybe Pops was being coerced.
