Page 66 of Forbidden Heroes

“Dad?” I ask, more than just a little bewildered. How the hell did he get my number is the first thing that pops in my head. Then the sudden rush of anger takes hold. I tense at the memories of him abandoning me when I needed him most. Not caring enough to get clean for me.

“Yeeeeah, it’s me. Man, I missed ya so much. Now listen, don’t hang up.”

I’m not sure what the hell is going through my head. I mean, normally a line like that serves as the first clue to do just that, but I don’t. Instead I stand there with the phone to my ear mouth hinged open like a first-class idiot for several seconds.

“There’s a lot I gotta tell ya. But first let me say I’m clean?—”

That did it. Hearing the word clean come out of his mouth is worse than hearing a priest swear. “There’s nothing to say. I don’t want anything to do with you. Why can’t you wrap your brain around that by now?”

“Aww…you don’t mean that, baby girl.”

“I do. I really do. I don't have time for this. For you.” I move to hit end but can’t when I hear the desperation in his voice.

“Don't hang up. Please, ya gotta hear me out, baby girl. I need bail money and you’re my one phone call.”

One of the several times I left him in rehab, I had to leave my phone number in case of an emergency. Some soft spot in my heart of hearts kept me from ditching the burner. What if he died and I didn’t know? So I kept it and now I’m wishing I hadn’t.

“You’re kidding me.” My shoulders droop and it’s a struggle to find any silver lining in this day. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m wading through hell right now. “What the hell have you done? You know what, never mind. I don’t care. No,” I say flatly gripping my phone so tight I hear a faint crack. “I’m not going to help you this time. Solve your own damn problems.”

“You won't help the man that brought you into this world? Who put you through school and put clothes on your back?”

He sounds so deflated but I can’t muster enough feeling to care enough.

I tuck my chin close to my chest and lower my voice. Why I don’t know, there’s not a soul around but I still feel embarrassed I have such a pathetic family and a worthless father. “I’ve earned everything ever given to me either by slaving in that house you think was a home but was nothing more than a junkie pit stop for all your friends. Or, working for it myself. So I don’t owe you anything. I won’t ever lift a finger to help you again. How many times did I personally drive you to rehab? And for what? So the answer is no. Not even if it means a free ride into Heaven on a cloud of angel wings.” I’m growling by the time I get to the end of my tirade.

“You'll regret this. You hear me! I’ll make sure of it.”

Bastard.

He speaks softly, but I hear the raw bitterness in his voice drip through the speaker. Unfortunately for him, it stirs no feelings of remorse or regret a daughter should feel for her father.

I shrug but realize he can’t see my flippant response. “I doubt it. Being in there means you can't get high. So count this as my one last effort to help you after all.”

I hit end and drop the phone in my bag. There’s a row of chairs to my left, and I slump into one. Maybe I was wrong coming here thinking I could ever get out from under my father’s thumb, build a better life. I’m in over my head that much can’t be argued. All I want right now is a bed, hot shower and to hold off the breakdown I feel coming on like a freight train with warp speed capabilities.

“Ms. McBride. What are you doing here?”

A sinfully rugged, deep voice vibrates along my nerve endings, and I’m on my feet and facing the direction it came from before I get a full breath of air in my lungs.

Crystal blue eyes and a thatch of black hair catches my eye first but my gaze quickly flutters over taut pecs and the stretched white material of Dean Spencer’s crisp dress shirt as he crosses his arms over his chest. It’s open at the neck and peeled back to reveal a hint of tanned skin and a dusting of hair.

Sexy as hell. I had no idea that small patch of short chest hair could be so damn mouth-watering, but here I am breathing heavy and lust-drunk in just the few seconds he’s been anywhere near my personal space.

I watch as he closes a bit more of the distance between us until I catch lingering hints of his cologne. Masculine, rich mixed with leather from his office no doubt. And I think hints of sandalwood.

Towering over me, his eyes trail along my face and down my body and I’m not imagining the flash of the same hunger in his eyes I see when I’m on stage. It lasts all but a second before it’s gone.

A sense of nervousness invades me, along with a flood of unwanted heat filling up the empty crevices of my senses as he continues to watch me in silence.

He’s looking at me through narrowed eyes like there’s no way in hell I belong here. A part of me feels he’s right. I don’t, and my current situation proves it enough to stiffen my spine. I reposition my purse, suddenly tired of our little game.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion. I should go. I’ll come back later.” He’s turned in a way where his body blocks my exit. I’d have to walk within a whisper of him to leave and I don’t trust myself to be that close and not touch.

I’m so busy thinking about soft kisses, long pillow talks and the feel of his hands on me I don’t realize he’s stepped in until he has my elbow in hand. My heart is thudding against my ribcage and it takes a couple of seconds for me to manage some kind of control over the warm flush blasting my cheeks.

He leans in close to me, close enough to feel his body heat brush against mine and cause goosebumps to pebble over my arms. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? Maybe I can help?”

Our eyes stay locked until Maddox breaks the spell to walk me over to a set of chairs positioned against the wall. He takes one and pulls me down into another beside him.

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