Page 192 of Black Bird

“Why’s that? And what the hell happened to you?”

Conrad forced a smirk. “You should see the other guy.”

“Oh? You file a restraining order on him, too?”

“Cute.” He reached up, pulling down a bottle of the peroxide and checking the label before sticking it into his basket. “How is your mother? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”

Brent rolled his eyes and slowly shook his head. “I couldn’t eat any more hospital food. Came out for air and lunch. If you care so much, then you should go see her.”

“You know full well why I can’t do that.”

“Because she’d rather rot in that place than be around you? Why are you shopping? Gretchen a little too proud to get your band-aids? Or did you get a saddle sore from that white horse you ride for the press?”

Conrad scoffed. “Careful, son. You’re starting to sound like—” he caught himself and shot his attention up to meet Brent’s narrowing eyes.

“Sound like who?” Brent asked, thoroughly looking him over.

“Your gaggle of misfits that you call friends.”

Brent snorted and looked towards the door. “You didn’t mean one in particular, Dad? Maybe one with red hair?”

Conrad ignored the nervous flutter in his stomach, and the tingling in his face. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but I’d start heeding that restraining order if I were you.” He nodded towards his guard, and the tight-muscled man towered next to him, giving his son a look that expressed exactly what would happen if he didn’t back off.

“Where was that muscle when you were hiding at my apartment, Pop? Better yet … where was he when you got your boo-boo?” Brent flashed a finger up to Conrad’s ear.

“Get out of here, Brent. Last warning.” Conrad turned his back on his son and started further down the aisle. He could hear Brent’s steps on the other side, following him as they strode parallel to each other, catching the attention of other shoppers.

“She’d be so proud of you … knowing the lengths you’d go. I have to be honest; it even surprises me.” Brent met him at the end of the aisle and briefly stood face-to-face with him before his bodyguard came between them. Conrad peered at his son over the hulking shoulder. “Not that it should, knowing what I know. But if Mom knew what you did to—”

“Shut your mouth, boy. I didn’t kidnap anyone. You’re not going to slander my name with your bullshit. The new boyfriend got you wanting to play detective, now? You think that’ll win her back?”

Brent’s brows raised and he cocked his head. There was a short pause, and a deafening silence between them. “Who said anything about a kidnapping?” The half-smile on his mouth nearly made him vomit. He’d blindly made a massive error in his attempt to sting his son with his weakness, and there was no taking it back. Conrad clenched his teeth, his jaw feathering as he dropped the basket to the floor and left Brent standing by himself.

“We’re leaving,” he said, trying to hide his sudden panic at his mistake as he charged for the door. His guard kept close, and Brent didn’t follow. On his way out the door, he spotted Sarah St. James and her detective stepping out of an unmarked black car across the street. He paused as he met her eyes—so did she. She was right there. The livingvessel that carried the only thing he needed. She knew it. He glanced at the detective, who smirked at him, daring him to make a move.

Their silent conversation was cut off by the sound of camera shutters, and paparazzi that came out of seemingly nowhere, calling his name. Shouted questions started pouring in from every direction and his guard shielded him as he hurried him into the SUV, slamming the door shut. As they pulled off, he stared after St. James, who almost looked as if she could see him through the illegal tint on his window, and he could have sworn something was different about her. Something darker than the way she’d looked at the benefit. As the corner of her mouth curled up, he felt a chill creep over his spine.

He’d fucked up. Amateur. Fool. Dead man.

“Well … he looks chipper.” Sarah smirked as Athan eyed the black SUV until it was out of sight. Some of the parasites followed down the sidewalk with their cameras, and of course … some didn’t, turning their attention first to him and Sarah, and then to Brent as he walked out of the pharmacy entrance. Athan took Sarah’s hand and stormed toward a particularly brave photographer who continued to let his shutter fly off as they approached.

“Take another one …” Athan seethed, baring his teeth. “I fucking dare you to do it.” The young, greasy-haired kid’s throat bobbed as he lowered his camera. The few that were left nearby paused their snapping and closely watched as Athan protectively pulled Sarah around his back. “You’ve all got two seconds to clear out. The last time this happened, there were several thousand dollars in broken equipment, and that won’t hold a candle to your hospital bills.”

Brent met eyes with Athan and stood still as the hounds scattered off, several of them muttering insults, or expletives as they left. They met Brent on the other side of the street and Sarah gripped Athan’s hand as they closed the space. “You didn’t have to come to my rescue, Sarah. I told you I’d call you back.”

Athan had to admit, he was a little surprised when Sarah stepped up, letting go of his hand and pulling Stratford into a hug. “I’m really sorry … about your mom.” While it was irritating, he understood it. Some parts of Sarah would never change, and the one thing Dahlia hated more than anything, was his leftover respect for humanity. He prayed she’d never lose it. Stratford patted her back lightly, and eased her off, glancing at Athan briefly as he did so.

Wise choice, Stratford.

“Sorry for your loss,” Athan offered, extending his hand. Brent hesitated but took it and shook gently.

“I appreciate it. Just keep that to yourselves, would you? I’m not making that news public, yet.”

Sarah slid into Athan’s arm, seeming to be slightly bothered by the sunlight as she shielded her new eyes with her hand over her brow. “Why?” she asked, innocently. Brent narrowed his eyes, staring at her curiously for a moment, and then adjusted his attention to his feet.

“I—” Brent twitched his mouth. “I don’t want him to know anything yet. He doesn’t deserve it. I just need a little more time to keep her to myself, I guess. When he finds out, he’ll milk it. The press will eat it up, and she’ll disappear. My mom deserves better than that.”

He couldn’t help but agree with him, and for the first time, a small part of Athan felt sorry for Brent Stratford. Sarah shifted on her feet. “Did you figure anything out?” she asked.

---