Page 74 of Greased

My father chuckles at the quirked eye Rick is giving him. He rubs his back before he replies, “Don’t worry, Ricky. I’ve got a Bud in the fridge with your name on it.”

“There better be more than one in there after this shit show.”

He rolls his eyes, “And a bottle of whisky?”

Rick nods, “That’ll do it.”

Both men laugh at each other with such an ease of familiarity. It's clear how well these two work together just by watching this one interaction. My father told me that Rick, Valen (Pike’s dad), and Grant (Dacre’s father), have all been friends for years. Much like how the guys, Rhodes and I were all friends when we were younger, the four of them were incredibly close.

My father loved reminiscing, back in Australia, at the early days of the takeover of The Thunderbirds. Stories of missions they went on while having guns bigger than they were while still being freshed faced men.

Seeing that friendship now, especially as both Valen and Grant walk in the room, it's obvious to me that these four were unstoppable in their day. It makes me want to know more of their story. To dive into their lives even further, like an autobiography of sorts.

We eventually all take our seats as Valen and Grant both take seats at the table. I watch as they notice me, bright smiles on their faces as they take their seats.

The doors to Church swing open and my eyebrows lift as in walks a man who looks like he would fit better as some mafia don. His olive skin peeks out from underneath his fitted suit. Although it's hard to see as the majority of it is covered in coloured tattoos that crawl up his neck. Even though he looks young, it's obvious this man has seen a lot; the age visible behind his eyes. Movement from behind him catches my eye.

Sonny.

My gaze shoots between the two of them.

This man must be Sonny’s father, Rafael.

I watch as both men walk side by side. A stern look seems to sit comfortably on Rafael’s face until Sonny whispers something in his ear. It's like his whole face completely transforms. Lines around his mouth and eyes crease as he turns to his son, nudging him with his elbow as they laugh.

Rafael takes a seat at the table before he looks down at each member, nodding as he makes eye contact. Once he gets to me, his eyes brighten in curiosity, his mouth tugs at the corner. He gives me a nod before continuing down the table.

A hand lands on my shoulder shocking me out of my stupor. I turn to see a smiling Rhodes staring down at me, I return but it fades as I notice a strange look in his eye.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Rhodes just gives me a tight smile, shaking his head, “Nothing,” he says, trying to reassure me. I can see straight through him though, something is bothering him.

I let it drop for now.

As I go to turn my head back around, I notice that Rhodes isn’t the only one standing behind everyone seated at the table. It seems each heir is standing behind their current head.

The doors swing open as the last person walks in.

My eyes widen slightly. This man is the definition of built like a brick shithouse. There is nothing nice about this man. His face is a permanent scowl. His eyes are hard as he glances around the room. He doesn’t bother returning nods but it's obvious no one is expecting them in return.

As he reaches the table, he finally turns his head towards my father, gracing him with a short nod. He doesn’t bother acknowledginganyone else, instead leaning back in his chair, spread out without a care in the world as he inspects each member in front of us.

Eventually my father smacks the table as he stands, commanding every eye in the room turning towards him.

“Welcome.” His voice echoes throughout the room, “Thank you for all for turning up on such short notice.” He pauses for a moment before turning an eye towards me.

I notice how different he is at this moment. Gone is my father. In his place is Ren, the President of The Thunderbirds. His face is stern as he looks down at me but the glimmer in his eye shows me that he is still in there, just hidden behind the man he needs to be.

He turns his head back towards the rest of the room, “As you may have heard through the rumours or if you were at Pinks’ on Sunday night, my daughter Scarlett is, in fact, alive.”

My eyebrow quirks at the deathly silence that fills the room as each eye turns to look at me. Their eyes feel like daggers piercing my skin.

Anxiety starts to rush in at the magnitude of their stares. I jump as a hand lands on my shoulder. I scold myself, knowing I should have prepared myself better for their appraisal of me. But having their eyes on you, assessing you like you are some kind of a meal ticket is daunting to say the least.

I turn my head following my gaze up the tattooed arm, coming face to face with Nicky. He doesn’t say anything but his eyes plead to know everything.

Am I okay? No. Hard no.

---