Page 71 of Reclaim (Deadly Hearts 3)

ChapterThirty-Six

Ruby

“Dad,” I whine as I see Rex’s pissed off face peering at me out of the car.

“Get the fuck in,” he growls at me and not even I dare to disobey when he’s clearly as fucked off as he is.

Sliding my ass into the sedan, he chucks a big brown envelope at me and sets off towards the center of the city.

“Hello, to you,” I growl, getting irritated by his simmering silence.

He turns his head and gives me a half smile before he scowls at me again and looks back at the road. We stop at a red light, so I open the envelope and a phone slips out.

“What is it?”

“Watch it.”

He has gone into over-protective mode. His eyes scanning the streets for danger like some sort of laser.

The light turns green, and he sets off. I slide my finger over the black screen and a video pops up. My mouth goes dry as I watch myself killing Jake. Did I really look like I enjoyed it so much?

Yeah, apparently.

“Hmm.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Where did you get it from?” I shut the video off and replace the phone in the envelope.

“If I knew that, I would be with them killing them, not here asking you.” He runs his hand through his short, black hair, which is an oddly nervous gesture for the beyond confident, almost arrogant, self-assured man I know.

I lick my lips. “Has Mom seen it?”

His incredulous expression at my, apparently absurd, question answers that.

“She called earlier…just wondered.”

“Did you speak to her?”

“No, we were…busy…” Killing Scott.

“You have been dodging her calls for weeks now, Ruby. She is getting worried and suspicious, and I’ve had to lie to her again to come here. This has to end, baby girl. I cannot keep doing this.”

“Then don’t,” I spit out. “It’s handled.”

“Is it? Someone sent that to me. So if they’ve done that, who else has seen it? Who took it? What do they want? Ransom? To send you to prison? What?”

Uhm. Okay. So it’s not handled. Like, at all. I deflect by asking a hard question. One that has been plaguing me for weeks.

“Dad. Do you know someone called Boomer?”

He slams on the brakes, the car behind us swerving and honking their horn.

Swearing under his breath, he maneuvers the car up the curb and flicks the hazard lights on.

“Do you know someone called Boomer?” he asks, turning to face me again and leaning on the steering wheel.

Glaring at him in exasperation, I say, “Obviously, if I just said his name and asked if you knew him.”

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