Page 51 of Turmoil's Target

A far cry from his polished appearance.

“Yeah,” I reply coolly, taking my seat. “I’m here. So talk.”

He sighs as the waiter pours us each a glass of rich Cabernet. “I just want what’s best for you, son. I built an empire so you and your sisters would never want for anything. And yet youchoose to throw it all away for what—playing biker with a bunch of lowlifes?”

My jaw clenches. “The Reapers Rejects are my brothers and sisters. They’re family to me in a way you never were, always jetting off to your next project. You don’t get to judge my life.”

“I’m trying to give you the world!” he hisses. “Opportunities most people only dream of. With your looks and my connections, you could be the next great action star. But instead, you’d rather waste your potential in some nowhere desert clubhouse.”

Anger flares in my gut.

He still doesn’t get it, and probably never will.

To him, my life is some rebellion, a phase to outgrow.

He can’t fathom that this is my choice, my calling.

I lean forward, meeting his gaze. “I’m building something real with the club. Bonds of loyalty and brotherhood you couldn’t begin to understand. It’s not something I’m going to walk away from. Not for you, not for anyone.”

“You’re ruining your life over some misguided sense of machismo,” he scoffs. “I thought I raised you to be smarter than this.”

“You barely raised me at all,” I snap. “But I learned to make my own way, to find the people who have my back no matter what. That’s what the MC is to me.”

He shakes his head in frustration. “Wasting your life on the streets, risking prison or an early grave. For what? You could have so much more, Abram. The world at your fingertips.”

I laugh bitterly. “Your world, you mean. One where appearance is everything and family is just for show. I’ve found something real, something that matters. I won’t give that up.”

He shakes his head, “You have no idea how foolish you’re being. One day, you will regret the choices you’ve made.”

I push back from the table abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. “Fuck you,” I spit out, the words tasting like venom on my tongue. “I’m done trying to justify my life to you. You’ll never understand.”

Without waiting for his response, I turn and stride out of the restaurant, ignoring the stares of the other diners.

The cool night air hits my face as I exit, but it does little to calm the rage simmering beneath my skin.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts, my thumb hovering over Seraphina’s name.

I need a distraction, something to take my mind off the disaster of a dinner.

Before I can second-guess myself, I hit the call button.

She picks up on the second ring. “Abe,” she purrs, her accented voice sending a shiver down my spine. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to see you,” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “Can I come over?”

“Of course, darling. My door is always open for you.”

I end the call and stride toward the Mustang, my keys already in hand.

The roar of the engine as I rev it to life is a comforting sound, the vibration beneath me a familiar sensation.

The ride to Seraphina’s penthouse is a blur, the city lights streaking past me as I weave through traffic.

My mind is still reeling from the confrontation with my father, his words echoing in my head.

I pull up to the gate of her building, punching in the code she gave me.

The gate swings open and I ride through, pulling into an empty spot near the entrance.

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