Page 3 of Queen Of WildCards

"Fuck,"Imuttered, pulling to a stop at the nearby light.Theconcrete felt a bit further away than usual whenImoved my foot out to support me, and the lights of oncoming vehicles were blinding, the shimmering glare wiggling around and blurring dangerously as black spots edged in on my vision.

Iswore and kicked off the ground with less push thanIhad hoped for, and the bike moved across the intersection before my hands slipped from the bars andIbailed, hitting the ground with a groan.Thebike kept sliding; thankfully, it hadn't pinned me.Ilamented the loss of the beautiful beast for a split second, and then my worst nightmares came to life as a police officer pulled up and began to hustle in my direction.

Getup, get up, you idiot, you're about to get busted!

Icouldn't make my body move, and everything was swimming now in front of me.Withall the energyIhad left in my body,Ireached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, dialing the last numberIhad called.

Pickup, fucker.

JustasAceanswered on the other end of the line, my vision went black, andIdrifted off unwillingly with the sound of sirens in the distance.

CHAPTERTWO

MALLORY

"Seriously,Mal,Idon't think you should be living on your own on that side of town," my father grumbled through the phone asIcircled the kitchen, on the hunt for the spatulaI'dsat down earlier. "It'snot safe for a woman on her own."

"Youdidn't seem to have the same opinion when you left mom andIhere alone while you ran your rackets, daddy dearest."Hisend of the phone went silent asIpadded around my kitchen, looking for the cutting board. "Butthat's neither here nor there."Thereit was.Hangingbeside the sinkwhereIleft it, of course."Haveyou been going to your court-mandated therapy?"

Hegroaned like he did every timeIasked him that. "Idon't understand why you recommended that shit.Ihate talking to people about my business."

Ishrugged, not caring that he couldn't see me. "Well, it was the only way they would let you see the light of day again."Myhand closed around the smooth handle of my blade, andIset to work chopping the garlic for my sauce with my phone cradled against the shell of my ear. "Andbesides, your counsel should have never pulled me in as a witness, anyhow.Youput me in a precarious position.Icould have lost my license for you!"

Inearly had.Whenthe officeIworked for as a therapist caught wind of my father's defense attorney's shenanigans, they told me in no uncertain terms thatIwas not a good fit for their practice anymore.Myprofessionalism and unbiased stature were in question, and they didn't want any such association tied to them.

Icould understand it.Afterall, even as a therapist, as someone who went to college to study how the human mind works and how to fix them,Istill couldn't fix myself.Iknew whyIhad issues with codependency with a man who'd been nothing but a piece of shit and passing fancy in my life.Ilacked a dad in my formative years, so now, when he was ready to reconnect with his grown daughter,Iwas powerless to refuse him.Theinner child in me wantedDaddyDearest'sapproval.

SoI'dstupidly forgotten to mention that the criminalI'dbeen called to testify on behalf of was my own father.

It'snot like we shared a last name.It'snot like he was on the birth certificate—he wasn't.Andsince he'd given my mother a fake name, and their marriage paperwork was forged, she hadn't been able to track him down for child support.

Hell,Ionly found out when he showed up at her funeral.Asmuch asIwanted to deny being related to the arrogant, smug bastard, he had the paperwork to prove it.ADNAtest confirmed the rest.

Notthat any of that was on the books.Butif one looked hard enough, one could find the faint blood trail that led to this shark-in-the-water criminal that was my dad.

"Youmight hate sharing your business with a therapist, but it's not like they're gonna go and out you to the world.Thereis such a thing as patient/doctor privilege.It'slike a marriage—can't testify against your spouse."Chop, chop, chop.Thegarlic turned easily to diced chunks asIbrought the blade down, over and over, perhaps with more force than necessary.

Myfather's crackly sigh permeated the air as my cheek slipped and switched him to speakerphone.Icringed, but setting down the phone made more sense than tilting my head uncomfortably, soIswitched things up.

"Sowhen are you going to visit your dear ole dad, huh?"

Irolled my eyes. "Whenhell freezes over, you pig.I'monly holding this key for you becauseIneed the money to pay the bills.There'sno love lost between us, and there never will be."

"Ihad hoped for an actual relationship with ya, but if you're gonna be that way . . . "

Ididn't bother to answer; instead,Ilet the steadythunkof the knife as it hit the cutting board fill the air around me.Inthe distance, my ancient stereo echoed out the faint stirrings of a nocturne byChopin, the melancholy piano chords making an already dreary evening even worse.Ifthe moroseness of my mood and the rainy, overcast atmosphere outside didn't drag down the entire vibe, the piano definitely brought it right into emo mode.

Itfelt dangerously reminiscent of the vibeI'ddrowned in beforeIwent to school for psychiatry and psychology, soIcould not only help myself, but others in need.

RightbeforeItried to off myself in the most cliché way possible.

Fuckingstupid.Iwas the walking poster board of someone rising above and coming back stronger, but allIwanted to do right now was write myself a script for some anti-depressants and crawl over to the couch to veg out for a week or more.

"Iamgoing to be that way, dad,"Ihuffed asIturned to dump the diced garlic in the sauce, forcing myself to finish cooking my meal. "Itold you from the beginning thatI'daccept the blood money for rent and hold this key to your safe deposit box under mom's name, but not to expect some reconciliation from me.Youshortsighted me and cost me my job."Itook a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to remain calm and failing miserably. "AjobIloved."

Hisanswer was to scoff at my plight and probably roll his eyes on the other side of the call.IknewIgot my attitude from him; mom had always been so cool, andIwas . . .not.

"Surething, sweetie," he placated, pretending to be the doting, jilted daddy once again. "Yougo on and live your life, take that check every month thatIsend you, and pretend that you haven't sold your loyalty to me."

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