Page 34 of Turmoil's Target

My father eyes me warily, taking in my tight muscle shirt and ripped jeans, so different from the tailored suits and designer clothes he’s used to seeing. “It seems you’ve fallen far from the tree, haven’t you?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “Just finding my own way, same as you did.”

Something flashes in his eyes then—a mix of surprise, perhaps a hint of respect.

Or maybe it’s just the dim bar lights playing tricks on me.

“I’m undercover for the club right now. I can’t have you fucking shit up for me.”

My father shakes his head, “I will never understand your loyalty to that damn biker club.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Seraphina

I sip my martini, watching intently as Abe argues with some distinguished-looking older man across the bar.

Their voices grow louder, more heated, though I can’t make out the words over the din of music and chatter.

Abe’s jaw clenches, his aqua eyes flashing dangerously.

I’ve never seen him like this before—angry, on edge, like he’s ready to explode.

Part of me wants to rush over there, to try to calm him down, defuse the situation.

But I hesitate. Obviously this is something personal.

I turn to Jack across from me in the booth. “Should I go over there? Try to break it up?”

He furrows his brow, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.

After a long moment, he shakes his head. “Let Abe handle it. It’s his business, Seraphina.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

I fidget with my cocktail napkin, uneasy energy coiling in my gut as I watch the confrontation escalate from afar.

What could possibly have Abe so riled up? So ready for a fight?

I want to trust Jack, to let it play out.

And I try, but seeing Abe like this awakens a fierce protectiveness in me, an unshakable need to have his back, to shield him, even if he doesn’t need it.

Even if it’s not my place.

My fingers tap restlessly against my thigh as I war with myself, fighting the urge to intervene.

Abe is more than capable of taking care of himself.

Yet, I can’t just sit here and do nothing.

Ignoring Jack’s warning, I slide out of the booth and strut over to where Abe and the man are arguing, my red-soled heels clicking forcefully against the floor.

As I approach, snippets of their heated exchange reach my ears.

The stranger’s eyes flick dismissively over me as I come to a stop beside Abe, one hand on my cocked hip. “This doesn’t concern you, princess. Run along now.”

Indignation flares hot in my veins.

How dare he speak to me that way.

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