Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“It’s the only way to talk to you,” I ground out through clenched teeth. What the hell was he doing here in Charleston?
“Hi there. I’m guessing you must be Cannon’s wife?” He cocked his head to the side.
“You don’t speak to her. Ever.” I’d never put her in his path. Hell, I wasn’t even putting my back to him for the length of time it would take to get her into the car.
His grin fell. “Cannon. I was hoping we could talk.”
“So, you ambushed me outside my car?”
“It’s not like you take my calls.” He stopped a few feet away from me, and I noted the changes since I’d last seen him. He was still a handful of inches shorter than I was, but he’d put on some weight. His belly hung over his jeans and stretched his Red Wings T-shirt to capacity, and while he still wore his hair slicked back, the dark color no longer mirrored mine, but was streaked with silver.
“Nor will I ever. My agent, my publicist, my coach, and my team’s owner all know you’re not allowed to have my phone number.”
“See? And you wonder why I have to resort to stalking my own son.” Rage filled his eyes before he blinked it back. I knew that rage well. It was the same, all-consuming anger that put out cigarettes on my skin when I was too young to run and welts the same size as his belt when I was old enough to protect Lillian. It was the same rage that lived inside me—an insidious, infectious disease I could never completely cure.
“Is that how you found me?” I felt Persephone lean against my elbow, where I still had her locked against my back, no doubt peeking around my arm to get a look at the man who’d sired me.
“It’s not hard when the internet knows what car you drive. I just had to wait outside the Reaper Village gates long enough to spot you.”
Ice dripped down my spine.
“What the hell do you want? Because whatever it is, you may as well get back in your car and go. I’m not giving you shit.”
“Cannon.” His eyes softened, and his face fell. It was the same expression he’d used on Mom every time he’d apologized for beating her, swearing it would never happen again, that this time it would be different. “I’ve gotten myself into a little trouble.”
I snorted. “Of course you did. Why exactly should I care?”
“Because I need your help, son.”
“Don’t call me son, and the answer is no.” My empty hand clenched at the familiar term, but I kept the other splayed over Persephone’s back. She was the reason I would hold my shit together instead of crushing this piece of shit like he deserved.
“Please? Cannon, it’s not that much. It’s just a hundred for this loan shark—”
A scoff burst from my mouth. “A hundred grand? You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Cannon.” His shoulders dropped dejectedly, and I felt Persephone soften behind me.
She was definitely peeking. I glanced her way. Yep, she was. Was she falling for his same line of bullshit that Mom had? Were his pity-inducing puppy eyes playing her?
“No. Walk away.” I bit out the words.
Anger flashed in his eyes, but he locked it down. Impressive. “It’s nothing to you! Just a drop in your massive bank account. But it’s the difference between life and death for me!”
The rage drained from my body, leaving me iced out and numb. My sister called it the killing calm. “Death? You want to talk about death? Then how about this. You’ve been dead to me for years. The day you killed my mother was the day I wrote you off.”
Persephone sucked in a breath, and I felt her hands clasp my sides. Even at my worst, the woman did her best to comfort me.
Dad transformed from the kicked puppy to the monster he hid just beneath the surface. His mouth twisted, his fists clenched, and his eyes narrowed. “I served my time for that! You think it’s easy with a vehicular manslaughter conviction on my record? I can’t get a good job, and I sure as hell don’t have an NHL contract. Now, I’m giving you one more chance to do the right thing and help me.”
“Or what? You’ll hit me? I’m not some scrawny little kid cowering in the corner of the kitchen anymore. I’ve got four inches and fifty pounds of muscle on you now, asshole.” Those very muscles were on alert, ready for whatever he’d try.
He tilted his head again, and his gaze dropped to my wife. Fuck, no.
“Pretty little wife you have there. I heard she’s rich as Midas, too. A real southern belle. You’d better be careful with her, Cannon. We Price men have tempers. Can’t help what’s in the blood, son, and she looks a hell of a lot more fragile than your mother was.” He slowly dragged his gaze back to mine. “I’d hate for something to happen to her because you let that temper get the best of you.”