Page 54 of Unmasked Legacy

“He’s with Esme,” Talon repeats, staring at me as if he’s wondering about my mental status.

“I heard you,” I mutter. “I’m just ... oh, never mind.”

“Came in here carryin’ on this mornin’ about needin’ to talk to him urgently. That’s all I know.”

He starts his bike without another word, backing it up.

“Good chat,” I mumble to myself, before turning and going back to my room.

Fucking Esme.

What could she possibly want now? One thing is for certain, I need to make things crystal clear with Wolfe. I’m not going to be his sex toy at the same time he’s rolling around with Esme. I might have enjoyed every single second with him, but I’m not here to be shared like a fucking cigarette.

If he’s with her, then he’s not with me.

I shower and get changed, then decide today is the day I’m going to face my father. If I put it off any longer, I simply won’t do it. I have a fire inside me that gives me the kind of courage I need to confront him, to see his face, to hear his truth. I guess it’s a little mix of anger and jealousy, or the fact that I spent the night with a man I think way too much about.

Either way, it needs to be done.

I don’t bother telling anybody where I’m going, I just call a cab and get the hell out of there.

The entire half an hour drive to the prison, I feel sick to my stomach.

My father never wrote a letter, never called, never tried to see where I ended up. It’s as if he forgot all about me. To face him again is going to burn like a knife to the heart. I know it’s important for me to do, so I can move forward with my life. I just hope I’m not making a huge mistake coming here.

Arriving at the prison, I pay the cab driver and get out, staring at the large building before me. It’s massive. Its stark, gray walls stretching high into the sky. Barbed wire coils along the top of the perimeter fence, a reminder to anyone looking that it houses some of the most dangerous criminals.

The entrance is guarded by a heavy, reinforced gate, flanked by watchtowers where guards are positioned, constantly watching the goings on inside. The building itself is a maze ofconcrete and steel, with narrow windows that offer little more than slits of light. Everything about it is cold and unwelcoming, and a shiver runs down my spine.

Approaching the entrance, I take a deep breath and step forward. The first thing I encounter is a security checkpoint. A guard, stern and unsmiling, asks for my identification. I hand over my ID, and he stares at it for a long, long moment before nodding and gesturing for me to go through.

Swallowing my nerves, I go through the metal detector, removing my shoes, my handbag, and anything else I am carrying so it can be scanned through. Nobody acknowledges me or even offers a smile. It’s a cold, empty feeling. After that, I’m directed to a waiting area. The room is stark, with rows of plastic chairs and a few vending machines in the corner offering a low hum as the only sound in the area.

I sit, my heart pounding, as I wait for my name to be called.

Finally, a guard approaches and leads me down a long, narrow corridor. The sound of my footsteps echoes off the concrete walls, only adding to my already building anxiety. We reach a heavy door, and the guard swipes a key card to unlock it. Inside, the visiting area is divided by a thick glass partition. Small booths line the room, each with a phone for communication. I’m directed to one and told to wait.

My father will be brought in shortly.

Sitting down, I swallow down my nerves and rub my stomach, trying to ease the building nausea. I stare at the empty seat on the other side of the glass. My mind races with questions and emotions, knowing that soon I’ll be face-to-face with the man who holds all the answers and yet, he might choose to give me none.

I’m scared.

Utterly terrified.

THE DOOR OPENING HASmy head turning, almost in slow motion, to see the guard walking a man in. A man that I used to be so familiar with, and yet now he feels like a complete stranger. I swallow over and over, fighting back the urge to vomit. Swiping my hand across my forehead, I feel it coat with sweat. I’ve never been so anxious in my life, and knowing that I’m about to speak to him is almost enough for me to get up and run out.

The moment our eyes meet, I see shock cross his features.

He didn’t think it would be me, that much is clear.

The guard behind me orders me to pick up the phone and I do with shaking hands. My father sits across from me, his eyes unblinking as he stares. It takes a few minutes for him to stretch his hand out, lifting the phone. I’ve never felt anything like the painful, twisting sensation tugging at my stomach. I’m afraid I might actually be sick.

“Mera?”

His voice comes across the line, and it sounds nothing like I remember. It was always soft, kind, and warm, but now it’s scratchy and uncertain. My mouth waters as I fight to keep the contents of my stomach down. Icando this; Ihaveto do this. It’s the only way. I know it, and yet I find the words stuck in my throat.

“Mera, I ... I never thought I’d see you again.”

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