Page 10 of The Heart of Smoke

The guy can’t be taller than five-nine or ten and probably weighs as much as one of my thighs. That’s not saying he’s a waif, considering I’m built like your typical linebacker—coincidentally the position I played in high school—thick, tall, and rock-hard. Still, compared to me, he’s a little boy.

I smirk at the thought of a little boy coming into the Parks’ lair and presuming he can turn us all inside out. The Parks are wolves. Every single one of us men is. Even perfect Hugo—Mr. Attorney General—stares at his stepdaughter, Aubrey, like she’s Little Red Riding Hood and he’s going to devour her any second. He’s a fucking wolf too.

If I didn’t have my mask on, I’d take great pleasure in baring my teeth at the threat who sits directly across from me. His soft, pillowy lips and slightly pinked cheeks that give him an air of innocence don’t fool me.

He’s here to pick us apart.

Worse yet, Dad’s paying him to.

Not for long. Soon, I’ll pickhimapart, prove to Dad we’re just fine without help, and send this little boy far away with his tail tucked between his legs.

As if suddenly becoming distinctly aware of my presence, Tate’s entire body tenses. The easy smile on his lips aimed at Willa melts away into a worried pout. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and then slowly, he turns his head my way. Big brown eyes latch onto mine, hope briefly flickering in them. As soon as he feels the intensity roiling off me, aimed directly at him, he flinches as though I’ve slapped him.

Good.

I’ll do a helluva lot more than slap if I must.

My family—even when they’re being annoying as fuck—are the only thing I’ve got left in this world. They’re everything to me, meaning I’d do anything to protect them.

Unlike I could protect her…

I force away thoughts of my beloved mother and grit my teeth as I bore my gaze into Tate. I need him to understand I see him. He may be paid to try and get inside us, but that shit’s not happening.

“Easy there, killer,” Spencer says, dropping into the chair next to me. “We haven’t introduced murder into Rex’s diet yet.”

Tearing my stare from Tate, I turn to look down at my great-nephew, who’s drinking from a bottle Spencer is feeding him. Spencer fucked his stepmom, Aubrey’s mother, knocking her up, and little Rex is the byproduct of that crazy-ass shit. And, my brother, Hugo, for a while there thought the kid was his. I imagine he was in for quite the shock when he learned it was his grandson/stepson or something equally screwed up.

Perhaps some of the people in this family do need therapy…

I’m certainly not one of them.

And the need for therapy is less than the need to keep our family’s secrets. Because what Hugo and Spencer don’t know is that I know they’re both sleeping with Aubrey, further complicating things. Those kinds of secrets could destroy all of us, especially my brother and his political career.

“Why does everyone think I’m plotting his death?” I growl, glowering at Spencer.

“Probably because you look like even more of an unhinged psycho than usual.” He flashes me a wicked grin. “You should go all in and wear a clown mask, really terrify everyone who has the lovely pleasure of your company.”

My skin prickles with awareness. Snapping my attention from my annoying nephew to the outsider in this room, I discover him watching me with interest. Like I’m some puzzle that needs putting together. I’m too broken for that shit. There’s no putting me back together. Ever.

Dad clears his throat, interrupting my plan for more intimidating glares, calling everyone’s attention to where he sits at the head of the table. I can remember, long ago, having these same dinners with my grandfather. Except instead of being here, it was in the home I share with him now. Grandpa rarely leaves the house since he’s wheelchair-bound, but most importantly stubborn as fuck and refuses to indulge Dad.

“I know you’ve all gotten an opportunity to meet Tate this weekend.” Dad’s eyes dart my way. “I expect you all to treat him with the utmost respect. He’s here to help, not hurt.”

I bristle at the attention of everyone pinging off me. It’s annoying that they’re all looking at me like I’m the problem.

“I want you all to text me your available times this week. Starting Monday,” Dad continues, “you’ll all get on the schedule to meet with Tate. Everyone, Jamie and myself included, could use a session or two.” He chuckles, though it sounds forced. “We’re all a little screwed up.”

Callum snorts and mutters something under his breath that has Willa frowning over at him. He loves Willa more than anything in this world, but his hurt from Dad’s betrayal when he was a teenager is a wound that will forever bleed. It doesn’t help that he’s spent the better part of two decades watching Dad and Jamie flaunt their love when Jamie was Callum’s to begin with.

Therapist Tate can’t staunch the bleeding of that cut.

No one can.

“Don’t make this an issue,” Dad says, attention back on me. “I expect you to make an effort.”

I want to sneer at him and tell him to back the fuck off. To remind him I’m a grown-ass man with my own money and means. That I don’t have to obey my father if I don’t fucking feel like it. Cutting my stare over to Tate, I take in the way he chews on his bottom lip, tense with nerves. He’s afraid of me. That much is certain.

What I want is to shrug, put off my father’s guilt trip, and move on with this dinner until I can get back home to uncover everything I can about Tate Prince.

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