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Now I see it as nothing more than a show.
A facade to hide his deficiencies.
Two men flank him, providing protection, their faces unfamiliar.
All three of them approach, inspiring a wave of whispers to break out among the mourners. The respect my father wordlessly demands is enough to make the officiant stop his fabricated remake of Richard’s life and stand at attention.
Game on.
It’s time for me and my sisters to fake our loyalty.
“Dad.” Layla’s the first to greet him, the two of them sharing an awkward embrace that is interrupted by Stella squeezing between them.
“Grandpa? I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“I couldn’t stay at home when I knew you needed me.” He runs a hand through her hair, the action taunting my restraint. “Nothing could stop me from coming to take care of my little button.”
My niece beams up at him, her grief seeming momentarily forgotten.
“Father.” I hold the disgust from my tone and reach out a hand. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Thank you for taking care of everything. Even though you didn’t bother to wait for me.” He clasps me in a grip with unyielding strength. “We’ve got a lot to discuss once this is over.”
His tone almost holds a threat as he steps back to settle between me and Layla, his men moving in behind him. He encourages Stella to stand at his feet with the wave of a hand, and holds the little girl’s shoulders as the crowd stares.
Vengeance rushes through my veins. Anguish pounds in my chest.
“Where’s Keira?” His question is low. Almost indecipherable.
“To your left.” I jerk my chin in her direction and find her huddled into Decker, her suffering seeming to outweigh everyone in attendance despite her lack of grief.
What everyone doesn’t realize is her tears are for the man beside me. The one she wants to see six feet under.
“She’s temperamental at the moment.” I don’t know what else to tell him. Obviously, the truth isn’t an option. “She hasn’t been doing well.”
He nods. “I should’ve come back sooner. Girls always need their father at a time like this.”
I could laugh. I probably should. That way, the building resentment might have an outlet. Instead, I grit my teeth and try to ignore the men behind me, despite their proximity raising the hair on the back of my neck.
I don’t trust them. I don’t even trust my own flesh and blood after a lifetime trusting nothing but.
“Are you okay if we continue?” the officiant asks.
“Yes.” I incline my head and the man proceeds with his elaborate fiction about Richard while I focus on pushing myself toward a resolution my sister will appreciate.
Hunter is already on standby. All I need to do is say the word and this train wreck will start rolling forward.
I’ll get my father alone, confront him about the mess he’s made, then look him in the fucking eye when I tell him his fate.
It’s the only way. With respect and honor.
I refuse to make a sneak attack. I can’t stab him in the back even though he’s stabbed me in mine.
The officiant’s words trail off, and I fight to understand the sudden quiet. Then the coffin lowers, the foot of space it descends enough to make Stella wail. Her grandfather comforts her by rubbing his hands down her arms. The same hands that have molested many and scarred more.
He shouldn’t be touching her—shouldn’t be anywhere near her i
“I’d now like to call upon anyone who would like to place petals or sand in the grave as a personal goodbye.” The officiant meets my gaze, offering my family the first opportunity to take from his small wicker basket.
Luther sidesteps Stella to move forward, away from his guards. He grabs a handful of petals as he passes, every person in attendance watching his movements. He scatters the offering, the gentle show of mourning leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, before he kisses his clenched fist and thumps it down on the coffin.
The bang reverberates through the crowd, stealing gasps and making the people before me jump in unison. None more so than Keira.
But it’s not her shock stealing my attention. It’s the man behind her who jostles his way to the front of the crowd, bumping Decker’s shoulder in the process.
He’s either drunk or suicidal. Maybe both.
“Luther Torian?” He calls the name loudly, without remorse.
My father bristles, every inch of him tightening in what I learned at an early age to be vehemence. He scowls, not hiding his hostility.
The man doesn’t quit his approach. He strides forward, holding his hand out for my father to take.
That’s when it hits me.
The reality.
The trap.
Right before the man says, “I’m Special Agent Anthony Easton, and you’re under arrest for human trafficking.” The fucker clasps my father’s palm with his right hand and retrieves a pair of cuffs with his left. “And solicitation involving minors under the age of sixteen.”
A mutiny of whispered retaliation rises from the crowd, the noise building into chatter. The only quiet souls are my siblings and the people who know the severity of this situation. Not just the criminal charges, but the complication of a prison sentence.
“You have the right to remain silent.”
“No.” I storm forward. “Stop.”
This asshole isn’t going to steal vengeance away from me. My father’s punishment is my decision to make. If Luther is taken into custody, there’s no doubt he’ll escape, then disappear.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I hold my anger in check, my voice coming out in a lethal calm.
The agent doesn’t pause. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
My father’s men move forward, only to stop dead at the sudden shift in the crowd. A mass of strangers nudge their way through the familiar faces, holding their FBI badges high.
Jesus. Fuck.
I chance a glance at Keira, finding her in panic mode, her body facing Decker, her hands wrapped in his white button-down as if begging for help.
Hunter and Sarah look at me for guidance. Luca and Benji, too.
They’re all waiting for instructions. All my men are.
But what do I tell them? What the fuck do I do?
This can’t end in a blood bath. Not with women and children in attendance. We can’t fight our way out of this.
The agent continues reciting the Miranda rights as he hikes my father’s hands behind his back. Not one word leaves the mighty Luther Torian’s lips. There’s no spite. Not even a glimpse of the rage I’m feeling.
Everything is locked down. Shut off.
I meet his stare and jerk my chin the slightest inch, letting him know I’m strong. Fucking defensive. He needs to think I’m on his side. That’s the only play I have. The only strategy available.
“Everyone, move,” a woman shouts. “Make way.”
The female agent steals my attention as she spreads her arms wide and keeps my extended family at bay.
I stalk to her, my fists clenched at my sides. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I keep my tone level. “This is a fucking funeral.”
She raises a brow. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for the inconvenient timing.” She flicks her attention toward my father and proceeds to ignore my existence.
Who the fuck does she think she is?
We’re not a family to be messed with. Not even by the Feds.
“We’ve done this dance a dozen times before,” I seethe. “You make an arrest. Then the charges are dropped. But this is going too fucking far. You can’t come here and tear apart a place of mourning. Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?”