Page 113 of Pretty Little Lies

Emilio.

I can sense his bullshit before even acknowledging his presence through the door and, even though I’ve had them for about three years now, they still hate the old man.

“Torin, I need a word with you.”

Geezus fucking Christ.

I’m already dealing with an emo-driven Reeve over here. The last person I want to deal with is my old man and his daddy problems.

Flicking my eyes over my screen, I find him glaring at my two rottweilers. “Yes?” He doesn’t remove his stare from the two dogs that I haven’t called off yet, dressed in pristinely in a black suit that probably makes him feel still relevant.

The thing is, he’s old.

Gettingolder.

The world is changing, and he doesn’t have an iron grip on Ramsey and I like he once had, and he definitely doesn’t have one on Bay.

The worddesperatecomes to mind, but I’d have to give one shit to care.

His peppered hair is slicked back while his blue eyes dare my dogs to react.

And I don’t have time for this shit.

“Do we just randomly show up now or…”

Emilio tosses his scowl my way and finally takes a seat, which means he’s going to stay longer than two minutes.

Fantastic.

“You know damn well I don’t enjoy stopping at this shithole just to talk to you,” he finally answers, and it takes everything in me not to say the one word that’ll make my dogs move.

A shithole I built from scratch. Thanks, Dad.

He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Reeve still fucking with his phone. “You haven’t killed him yet?”

I perk a brow because I think this man has me fucked up. “And why would I do that?”

“Because he raped your sister.” Though, he doesn’t sound completely off-put and upset about it. It came off like he was telling me there was going to be rain later and to make sure I take an umbrella with me before I leave.

“She’s not my sister,” I retort evenly. “And, I think we need to schedule you a doctor’s appointment. Your memory is starting to go.”

“My memory is just fine,” he clips back. “However, your hearing is still fucked. I told you I didn’t want him anywhere near my daughter.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” I give him a shitty little smirk. “Maybe we should go to the doc together.”

“I’m concerned.”

Oh, no. Call the fucking FBI now, folks.

“Yeah,” I drawl, fully aware that I’m gonna need a drink for this. “Youreallyneed to hit up a doctor.”

“I’m fine, Torin,” he leers. “Like you’d give a shit if I was dying, so cut the crap and shut up.”

“I can’t remember the last time you were concerned about anything,” I continue, pulling at one of my drawers and revealing a glass of bourbon. “The fucking world must’ve flipped while I’ve been in here.”

“This is different.”

“Because?”

---