Page 112 of Branded
The—
I whipped the door open.
The shocked expression on my father’s face was almost enough to make me laugh.
Almost.
But I was too pissed to actually be amused.
Too pissed for the words to be stoppered up in my throat, to be stuck and not come out, for my father to use my struggle and my silence like a weapon, to wield it like a sword and strike me down. Too pissed to stand by and be quiet.
I’d found my voice.
And I wasn’t going to let my father take it away.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped, stepping forward—and yeah, I wasn’t proud of it, but I stepped forward and shoved my father, hard enough that he slid back a step. “You’re showing up at three in the morning at my boyfriend’s hotel room?—”
“He didn’t come down. He said?—”
The door across the hall opened, same as the ones on either side of Smitty’s room, and Theo emerged, along with Raph and Marcel, concern on their faces, and at my back?
My man.
Warm and strong, his hand dropping to my waist, tugging me back against his chest.
Silent support.
Unwavering support.
And then, barely another moment passed before the guys—my guys because I was part of them, part of the team now—closed ranks, standing between me and my father, me and Smitty and Hank, his bodyguard.
A vein in my father’s forehead pulsed, and he opened his mouth?—
“I don’t give a fuck that he didn’t come down,” I snapped. “This is his hotel, a place you didn’t have permission to come barge in on. He’s tired”—I swept a hand around the hall—"all the guys are tired, and here you are, making a scene again. And for what reason?” I asked. “To interject yourself into my life for your ten minutes a week? To pretend like you actually give a damn about me when you couldn’t have given two shits my entire life?”
He opened his mouth.
But I didn’t let him get anything out.
This was my turn.
Not his.
“But because I took this job and it wasn’t your idea, because I love a man you don’t know and didn’t pick.” I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Because I’m living my life, finally living it without your opinions or interference, you think that you have the right to show up in the middle of the night and verbally assault my boyfriend?” Smitty’s arm tightened around me, and I realized I was almost leaning forward, like I was going to launch myself at my father and scratch his eyes out.
Which, I had to face, wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Especially when my gaze drifted down, and I saw the manila envelope.
“And please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Smitty’s fingers expanded on my rib cage, flexing slightly as I straightened, glaring up at my father.
“What, little bird?” he murmured.
I didn’t take my eyes off my father or the envelope. “Either a proposal to pay you off to leave me alone,” I murmured back, “or a prenup that will make you sign your life away if we ever break up.”
“No amount of money could make me leave you,” he murmured. “And I’d be happy to sign a prenup.”
