I’m already out of bed. I drag on my jeans as I yank my flannel off the floor, tossing it around her. She’s trembling now, her knees pulled to her chest.
“Stay here,” I say firmly. “No matter what happens, you don’t come out of this room. Do you understand me?”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, to fight me on it, but she nods. I press my forehead to hers, kissing her once.Like it might be the last time. I turn on my heel and leave, shutting the door behind me with a soft click that echoes in the silence.
My footsteps are steady, each one heavier than the last, like my body already knows the kind of weight waiting for me on the other side of the front door.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
That fucker better stop hitting my door like that.
“Carter!” he yells.
I unlock the door and swing it wide open with unnecessary force.
There he is, Vartan Ajemian, drenched in his tailored Armani suit. His jaw is clenched, his dark eyes lit with rage, and for a second, it’s like staring at a loaded gun.
“I haven’t heard from you in fucking months after our phone call. Where is my fucking daughter.” he snarls.
My jaw tightens.
I step into the doorway, letting the storm wet my shoulders, blocking his view of the house behind me like a goddamn wall.
“She’s in here somewhere,” he snaps. “Where the fuck is she?”
I don’t answer, because silence will always say more than a lie.
He scoffs, looking past me like he’s about to barrel inside. “I haven’t heard from you in months. No progress reports on her, what’s next? You’re going to tell me that you’re fucking that disappointment?” he belts out.
That’s when I snap. I step forward—close enough that he can feel my breath and feel the heat radiating off my chest.
My voice drops an octave. “You say one more thing likethat, and I swear to God, I’ll bury you so fucking deep in this mud, even your money won’t find you.”
I don’t care if he knows; I’m done hiding this. She means more to me now than our frayed friendship.
Vartan doesn’t flinch. He stands there, his face twisted in something cruel, something I don’t even recognize anymore. This isn’t the man I used to call a brother.
“Where the fuck is she,” he spits out.
I plant my feet, choosing not to say shit. I breathe through the red crawling up the back of my neck.
Then I hear soft footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder, and there she is. She’s wrapped in my old red flannel, her face pale, and her arms hug her body as if she’s trying to hold all the broken pieces in.
And just like that, he sees her too.
Fuck.
“Well, well. Look at you,” he scoffs, glancing down at his gold Rolex before making eye contact with her. “Still good at spreading your legs for the wrong fucking man, huh?”
My blood runs cold.
“Fucking my best friend?” He laughs—a bitter, hollow sound. “That’s a new kind of pathetic, even for you.”
Baby, why didn’t you listen to me and stay up there?
I step forward, crowding him, chest to chest. My jaw tightens so hard it aches. “Don’t you fucking talk to her like that,” I growl. “Don’t even fucking look at her.”
He looks right past me and sets his eyes on her.
