Page 173 of The Silent Note

I fold my arms over my chest.

Dutch stubbornly remains in place.

Finn leans against the wall, putting himself far away from dad.

“Fine. Stand if you want.” Dad gestures to a whiskey bottle. “Care for a drink?”

“Cut the crap, dad,” I speak up. “The only reason I showed up tonight is because I need to clarify something.”

Dad arches a brow.

My voice is a quiet threat. “You can play your mind games. You can use us like pawns. You can even parade us around for your stupid campaign.” I stab a finger at Finn. “But don’t youevercome after Finn again.”

Dad blinks slowly.

“And since we’re all here, let me make one thing freaking clear. Finn is more of a brother to me than you are a father to us. Don’t bank on us making a choice between you or him. Because it won’t be you.”

Dad’s lips curl up in amusement. “Still so reckless. When will you learn to observe what’s going on before you open that mouth? Did I teach you nothing?” He tilts his head, leveling me a look. “Although, I will commend you for proving me wrong. Not once did I think you could convince Grace to marry you.” He rises slowly and looks me over, his gaze stopping pointedly at my pants. “Perhaps I underestimated your particular skill set.”

My wedding ring is on the hand beneath my sling, and I stroke the finger it adorns.

For a long second, I stay quiet.

Dad surveys me curiously. He expected me to lash out. Why wouldn’t he? I wasn’t good for much else outside of screwing around, drinking and playing drums. My life was aimless before Grey. It didn’t matter to me if I died. Hell, I chased death because I had nothing to live for.

Now, I die a million times in my head.

But in each of those visions, I die so Grey can live.

“You’re right,” I say calmly.

Dad twitches in surprise.

“My wife is waiting for me, so let’s hurry this along.”

Dad fixes his expression into the look of disdain I know so well. “Idiot.”

The word bounces off my shoulder.

“You never should have gotten involved with Grace Jamieson. She’s a ticking time bomb. She’ll destroy all of you.”

“And yet we’re still here,” I answer.

“You think you’re smart. You think youwon?” Dad chuckles darkly and turns to the whiskey on the table. He pours himself a glass. “I warned you. I warned youall. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“We’ve heard this before.” I stick my finger in my ear, dusting it out.

Dutch growls. “If that’s all you want to say, we’re leaving.”

“Before you go,” dad’s voice is oily, creeping along to our ears like a demon from hell, “come say ‘hi’ to Slavno’s grandmother.”

We all whirl around at the same time.

Dad spins his laptop and reveals a video. It looks like a live recording of the woman from the nursing home. She’s sitting in a rocking chair on a front porch in the country side.

The tension in the air is a raw live-wire.

Dad takes a sip of his drink. “Slavno, that sneaky little bastard. When it came to his grandmother, he was a soft touch.”

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