Page 78 of Beneath the Surface

The Suburban pulls up to the curb, the back door opening. I watch, my chest squeezing tight, as shiny black shoes clack onto the pavement. When I see his face, the reality of my situation bears down on me like the weight of a thousand missed decisions.

My father’s brother.

My uncle Frank.

He’s always been my father’s lapdog, realizing early on he didn’t have what it takes to make it to the top. So instead, he’s dedicated his life to riding coattails. Doing the dirty work. Being the muscle behind the scenes.

My stomach twists, but I make sure to keep a passive look on my face. He closes the door, leaning against the car, his right leg crossing in front of his left.

The silence is tense, but I don’t give a fuck. I’m not breaking first. Words fromThe Art of Warrun through my head. The entire reason I’ve memorized that damn book staring back at me from the face of family.

“Move swift as the Wind and closely formed as the Wood. Attack like the Fire and be still as the Mountain.”

So I stay still and silent, the burning sizzle of paper from my cigarette harsh in the air as I bring it to my lips and inhale.

“Get in,” Frank finally says.

I smirk, taking another drag. “Get fucked.”

His lips thin. “It’s not arequest, Alexander. Your father wants to speak to you. In private.”

My heart stutters, nausea roiling deep in my gut. “That’s a shame because there’s nothing I have to say to him.”

He sighs. “You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

My brows rise and I flick the butt to the ground, stomping on it with the bottom of my boot. “I’mnot doing anything. I’m simply saying no. How did you find me here?” I ask the question, but I already know the answer. And I’m sofucking. Stupid.

The moment we left the gas station, I’m sure we were followed. It’s what I would have done. It’s what Ihavedone a hundred times, when I tracked my marks. You canalwaysfind someone, and that’s why I’ve been diligent in covering my tracks for years.

Until Lily.

Frank tilts his head down, huffing out a laugh. “Mason.”

The name slams into me, but other than the slight rising of my chin, I don’t show the upheaval spinning inside.

He smirks. “Your father is President of the United States. You really think we wouldn’t find you?”

“Not yet, he isn’t.”

His grin widens. “Semantics.” He straightens off the car. “Olivia is losing her fucking mind. We don’t want to make things... difficult.”

“That sounds like ayouproblem, Frank.”

“Maybe it is.” He nods, running a hand over his mouth, his flashy watch glinting off the yellow lighting from the street. “But a lot ofproblemscan be caused by other people, Alexander.”

My spine straightens. “What’s that mean?”

He shrugs. “It means whatever you think it means.”

My jaw clenches, bile rising through my esophagus and burning the back of my throat. This is the exact type of shit I ran away from. Once you sip from the fountain of power, it’s easy to become greedy for the taste, and my father and his goons are desperate to quench their thirst.

Thomas Wellsmakesthe laws, but that doesn’t mean they apply to him.

My chest pulls.

Frank walks over to me, and my muscles tense, forcing myself to stay in place—to not jerk away. The closer he gets, the easier I can see the deep frown lines that mar his face, more defined than they were a decade ago when I saw him last. When I was little, he used to pull me to the side, place his hand on my shoulder and squeeze tight, leaning in close to whisper advice in my ear. Like the snake to Eve; manipulation in its highest form.

He does the same move now, and it takes everything in me not to rip his arm from the socket. But I stand stoic, letting him say whatever it is he wants to say. I’ve learned from my mistakes, I won’t ever show emotion around any of them again.

---