Page 32 of Carry Your Debt

Shit.

That means he has no idea, then.

I slump back down, causing my waistline to pinch.

“What?” He frowns at my defeated look. “Why do you look disappointed about that?”

“Why do I look disappointed you don’t believe your father has Underworld connections?” I repeat, not at all sardonically. My fingers lift to my temple, rubbing along the scar there.

“Yes, exactly.” Apollo’s now looking down his nose at me like I’m a petri dish devoid of all intelligent life.

Time to rip off the Band-Aid, I guess.

“Because I thought for a moment there you already knew what I’m about to tell you.” I sigh. “Martin Sinclair isn’t actually your father, my guy.”

The small room is deadly still for only the span of a heartbeat before it explodes with angry Rox Boys. I wince, checking the veiled entrance for signs of my guard dogs, but it seems my own Crew decided to trust me, after all.

I almost feel like a bit of a voyeur then; getting lost for a moment as I watch each of them converge on Apollo. The fierce bonds of their shared brotherhood are palpable, the four of them orbiting each other with the kind of bone-deep familiarity that only found family can.

When I look back up, Ares is right in my space. I gaze up at him from my seat on the armrest.

Andup.

Fuck, he’s big.

I’d pay good money to see him and Dio go head-to-head sometime.

“What would you even get out of saying some shit like that, Winters?” he demands. A muscle right below his gold mask jumps. The tattoos kissing his jawline pull with the movement.

“Nothing, actually,” I say, awkwardly pushing up to stand up so he can’t loom over me like a giant wall of muscled formalwear. He still has a couple of inches on me, though, even in these shoes. “And it’s true. I can bring you proof as soon as we’re back in Rox City.”

Unsurprisingly, all four of their expressions remain decidedly skeptical.

“I know you don’t owe me your trust. In fact, you don’t owe meanything,” I quickly amend when Apollo looks like he’s about to argue with me. “But to be perfectly honest, I don’t owe you anything, either.” My eyes move between them, trying to ignore the powerful effect their combined presence has on me. “I’m only at your Academy to do a job. And no, I wasn’t given a choice in the matter.”

I’m never even given theillusionof choice. Not since the Gray Man sat down across from me on that winter’s day five years ago.

What would that kind of freedom even look like? What would I choose?Whowould I choose?

If only one of the choices was not having to choose at all.

“What job?” Ares barks.

“We’ll have to put a pin in that until we get back, but for right now, I need you to listen.”

Apollo steps right up beside Ares, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him and blocking my view of the final two Boys. His eyes are hard as they dart between mine. Probably trying to inspect my face for tells.

Good luck with that.

“Fine,” he eventually agrees, tone laced with frustration. “Then who the fuckismy father?”

My stomach tightens, wishing I knew how much time I had left. I’ll just have to stick with theCliffsNotesversion for now.

“Sebastian Grayson.”

“Are you talking about the Mayor of Lexington?ThatSebastian Grayson?” Ares sneers, following it up with an uncharacteristic roll of his eyes.

“What else aren’t you telling us?” Apollo prompts when all I do is nod.

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