Page 75 of Turmoil's Target

I pick up my fork, prodding at the flaky crust.

Usually, I’d be halfway through my first bite by now, but my appetite seems to have deserted me.

All I can think about is Abe—his smile, his touch, his lies.

God, how could I have been so blind?

The signs were all there, little things that didn’t quite add up.

But I ignored them, too caught up in the rush of infatuation to see what was right in front of me.

Rookie mistake.

One I won’t be making again.

Grandad’s voice breaks into my brooding, his tone gentle. “Penny for your thoughts?”

I set my fork down with a sigh. “Just wishing I had a time machine so I could go back and shake some sense into myself.”

He chuckles, but there’s an undercurrent of understanding in his eyes. “Ahh, I know that feeling well. Hindsight is a right bitch sometimes, isn’t she?”

“Language, Grandad.” The scolding is automatic, born from years of habit.

He just grins unrepentantly.

“I’m old, poppet. I’ll say what I damn well please.” He takes a sip of wine, studying me over the rim. “Do you want to talk about it? This Abe fellow?”

I tense, fingers clenching around my glass.

Even hearing his name sends a lance of pain through my chest. “Not particularly,” I mutter, glaring down at my untouched food. “There’s not much to say anyways. I thought he was someone he wasn’t, end of story.”

Grandad hums thoughtfully. “Maybe so. But it seems to me there’s more weighing on you than just a case of mistaken identity.”

I hesitate, warring with myself.

Part of me wants to keep it all locked away, to nurse my wounds in private.

But another part, the little girl who always found comfort in her grandfather’s steady presence, aches to unburden herself.

“It’s just... I feel so stupid,” I admit finally, my voice small. “I let him get close, let myself believe that maybe..” I swallow hard.“Maybe I could have something real. Something beyond all this revenge business.”

“Ah, poppet.” Grandad reaches across the table to cover my hand with his own weathered palm. “There’s no shame in wanting more for yourself. You’ve been carrying this weight for a long time.”

“I know, but the biker club,” My throat tightens. “They killed my father.. I can’t just let that go.”

He sighs heavily, looking suddenly older. “Poppet, god. About that... your mother would have my head if she knew I was telling you this, but...” He meets my gaze, his own solemn. “Your father, Sera... he wasn’t a good man. Your mum loved him, but he was no good for her.”

Ice slides down my spine. “What do you mean?”

Grandad licks his lips, choosing his words with care. “Your father... he was like his brother, in some ways. He had a darkness in him, a cruelty. He could be... volatile. Violent, even.” His grip tightens on my hand. “Especially with your mum.”

The world tilts sideways.

I stare at him, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as I try to process his words. “He hurt Mum?”

“He did,” Grandad confirms gravely. “She loved him, fiercely. But that love... it wasn’t always returned in kind.”

Nausea churns in my gut.

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