13

Drink coffee!


Do stupid things faster and with more energy.

—T-SHIRT

After several rounds of why I should and should not take off my sweater, I decided to give it a rest. Literally. I lay down on the bed only to discover it was straight out of an episode of The Flintstones. Rock-hard mattress. Rough, scratchy bedspread. Lumps where dinosaurs apparently slept. But I was tired and Reyes didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere for once in his life.

I watched as he walked around the table to join me, his movements forced, painstakingly cautious as he tried to walk with as little agony as possible. I had never seen him in so much pain. His T-shirt had several large circles of blood and several smaller blotches. I didn’t bother offering to take him to urgent care. He wouldn’t have gone if I’d put Margaret to his head and insisted.

“Don’t even think this means I’m taking off my sweater,” I said.

He chuckled and lay next to me. The bed dipped minutely under his weight, and he exhaled loudly when he finally managed to settle in. I turned toward him. He lay on his back with an arm thrown over his forehead, the position both charming and sexy at the same time. His profile was that of a Greek god. Perfect dimensions. Exquisite lines.

“This bed is really hard,” I said, boxing my pillow and wiggling for a more comfortable position, which was not easy with Margaret hogging the bed.

“You should straddle me. I’m harder.”

My eyes flew open and I almost looked before I caught myself. I would not be baited. And he was injured, for heaven’s sake. “So, next question. Why do you call me Dutch?”

He grinned from under his arm. “I don’t.”

I frowned at him, not that it did any good. “You call me Dutch all the time. You’ve always called me Dutch.”

“You know, for someone who knows every language ever spoken on the planet, you’re not very good at siphoning meaning when you need to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it.”

“Fine.” I thought about it. I rolled the word over in my mind and on my tongue until his meaning became clear. I gazed at him in astonishment. “Seeker. You’re saying ‘seeker’ in ancient Aramaic.” The word only sounded like Dutch because I’d always associated it as so. It actually had more of a ts sound than a ch, and the u was smoother, more drawn out.

“Bravo.”

“You’ve been calling me ‘seeker’ all this time?”

“It is what you are. The seeker of souls.”

“Wow.” For some reason, that knowledge made me happy inside. Like a mocha latte would have if I could’ve afforded one. I was learning so much, I didn’t want it to end. And him being too injured to storm off in his manly way and go on a quest to slay the Englishman was awesome. More time with moi.

“I like that,” I said.

“Your elders chose well from within your race.”

I smiled. Then blinked. Then frowned. “My race? I have a race?”

“Of course.”

“So, wait. For real? Do I have a family like you? One from another plane?”

“Yes.”

My head snapped up. I hardly expected a straight answer, much less an affirmation. “Really? I have another family?”

“Yes.”

This was boggling. I didn’t know what to think.

“I don’t know that much about them, so don’t strain too much.”

“Are they … are they grim reapers?”

“Only the one who is chosen to cross onto this plane is a seeker. You come from a race of very powerful light bearers. They would never have sent you normally. A seeker of your … standing isn’t sent to do such menial tasks. But you were the youn gest and the most powerful among them, and they knew I was here.”

It was one thing to go my entire life not knowing anything about why I had the gifts I had. It was another altogether to get so many answers—answers I’d been begging for my whole life—all in one huge gulp. And for Reyes to talk about it so casually, so nonchalantly, like it didn’t mean the world to me to know about my heritage. I tried to remain calm. I could handle this with grace and dignity. Not as I wanted to, like those women on The Price Is Right.

Then his meaning sank in. “Wait, are you saying I was chosen because of you?”

His lids were closed behind his arm. “If I had to guess, I’d say they felt I was here to start the war. My father created me to help him bring about the end of humanity. So they sent you.” He turned to me, the green and gold flecks in his eyes sparkling brightly against their rich brown background. “We are enemies, Dutch. A princess and a pawn, each from opposing sides.” One corner of his sensual mouth lifted. “They would be quite disappointed knowing how we’ve gotten along.”

I leaned up and looked down at him. “So, what? I’m supposed to kill you or something?”

He ran a fingertip over my mouth. “Yes. It is why you were sent.”

“Well, that sucks.” So, there’s a guy hotter than a Rolex from Sal’s Pawnshop living on Earth, and they send me to kill him? Me? Clearly I came from a race of crazy people.

“You could do it,” he said, his mouth thinning in regret. “You could kill me. Destroy the opposing portal and cut off my father’s doorway to this plane. The last reaper tried.” He averted his gaze. “He failed, so they sent you.”

“Reyes, that’s ridiculous. I couldn’t just kill you. You’re way stronger than I am, and … and you know how to fight and crap.”

Offering me an unconvinced grin, he said, “When the time comes, and it will come, do it quick. Don’t hesitate, Dutch. Not even for a split second.”

I had no idea how much of his story to believe. He was from a race of liars. How reliable could his intel be?

I frowned in suspicion. “Don’t think that you can win me over by being all noble and charming and insisting I’m powerful enough to kill you. You pushed me,” I said, reminding him of the fight the other night. “And you dragged me and shoved me, so don’t think that just because you’re all sweet now and self-sacrificing, I’ll forget that shit.” I plopped back onto my pillow and crossed my arms. “That’s just not shit you forget.”

His eyes shimmered with mischief in the low light. “I never claimed to be a Boy Scout.”

I could feel the heat of his gaze, and all I could think was, My god, he’s beautiful. I took the chance to assess just how badly he was injured. Raising my hands to his waist, I felt the ridges of duct tape along his rib cage and pressed gently. He sucked air in through his teeth and grabbed hold of my wrist. But blood gushed from under the tape and soaked the tips of my fingers through his shirt.

“Reyes, what the hell? What happened?”

He captured my gaze with a determined expression. “If anything happens to me, you need to know they hunt in twos. If you see one, if one comes after you, Dutch, I promise you, there is another one nearby. If you see three, there will be one more waiting in the wings. Never, ever trust them.”

“Can’t I just do what I did last time when I flashed my nuclear light on them?”

“No.” He pulled me toward him until my forehead was on his. “While they’re inside a human, they’re protected from light. Even from yours.”

I hated feeling so vulnerable, so paper thin. “I can’t fight them, Reyes. They’re too strong.”

“You could if you knew how, but you aren’t there yet, so don’t even try. Just call your guardian and run.”

I lay beside him and kept my hand on his ribs. “I’m pretty good at running. I mean, I’m not fast or anything, and I wind easily … never mind.”

He could’ve been the poster boy for seriousness when he said, “There’s something really motivating about having a bunch of demons on your ass.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“Just run and don’t stop. Promise me.”

“I promise I’ll try to run without stopping, but I really do wind easily.”

I’d managed to wrench a soft laugh out of him. He leaned in to nibble on my ear. Sharp ripples of desire shot through me at lightning-quick speed and pooled low in my abdomen. I couldn’t believe it. I finally had Reyes Farrow in the flesh, alone in a hotel room, and he was bleeding profusely. I was the one who would’ve taken advantage of him given the chance, but now was hardly the time. And it killed me to admit that.

As his mouth moved down my neck, I wrapped my arm around his head and whispered, “Tell me a story about my ancestors. About another grim reaper.”

He was quiet for so long, I thought he wouldn’t oblige. Then he lay back in thought. “There was a boy named Cynric whose father took him to his village elders. The man claimed the boy was possessed. That he saw spirits and knew things no one could know. After an inquisition that lasted for days, the boy still wouldn’t talk. He was stoned to death.”

I cringed. “So this isn’t a happy story?”

“Not many of them are. Afterwards, the village suffered a rash of sicknesses and deaths. They thought the boy had cursed them before he died.”

“Did he?”

“No, another did. He’d only been repeating what his little sister had told him. She was the reaper, not the boy. But she had suffered an illness as a baby and couldn’t talk. Only he could understand her.” He pointed to his head. “They spoke with their minds and their hearts. In her grief, she became crazed and unleashed her powers without realizing what she was doing. A reaper does not always know what he or she is capable of until great emotional trauma.”

“Did the girl live very long?”

He nodded. “Compared to most reapers, yes. Into her seventies, if I remember right. But she had to live with what she’d done. She became a recluse, and eventually insanity took hold.”

“That’s awful. If she was a celestial being, how could she kill so many? How could she get away with that?”

“Reapers are given agency at birth. They are the seekers of souls, but they may—” He thought a moment. “—they may, on occasion, hunt them down, for lack of a better phrase. It is their right.”

“Well, that’s a right I’m certainly never taking advantage of.”

To lead us no longer into temptation, I tossed my pillow at his ankles, plopped my head at his booted feet, and lay perpendicular to him across the bed. He had given me so much information, I wanted some time to absorb it all, but I didn’t want to leave him. Not like this. Not ever, as long as I lived. Or until I had to get back on the case. Whichever came first.

I had another family. An otherworldly family. How cool was that? And I could kill people with my mind. Okay, that part I wasn’t actually buying, but I had an otherworldly family. I wondered what their names were. Maybe I had an aunt Myrtle. Or an uncle named Boaz. I’d tried to convince Uncle Bob to change his name to Boaz once, but he refused. Not sure why.

As I lay there, contemplating all the advantages of having an otherworldly family, I felt my lids grow heavy. Reyes’s heat was making me sleepy. Having him close by was comforting, and I’d almost fallen asleep when he said, “You could move farther up. You’d be more comfortable if you were farther up.”

I chuckled. “No, you’d be more comfortable if I were farther up. Perv.”

And before I knew it, I was dreaming of Reyes and beaches and Cookie-a-ritas with little umbrellas brushing across my palm. That’s when I felt Reyes’s fingers brush across my palm. I wondered if he’d done it on purpose. When he rolled on top of me with a growl, pinning me down with his immense weight, I was pretty sure he had. But before I could protest, his mouth was at my ear.

“Shhh,” he said, his breath warm. At first I thought he was just frisky, but he seemed rigid, tense, ready to strike. Or beat the crap out of me. What the hell?

I started to struggle, but then felt his fingers at my palm again. Only this time the heat of his touch was instantly replaced by the cool metal of a gun. I stiffened as he unholstered Margaret and tucked her into my hand.

“What—?”

I didn’t get far before his mouth was on mine. But while his mouth performed a magic spell, his tongue pushing past my lips, rendering me useless, his hands were doing something else. Then I felt the long cool metal of a knife as he pulled it out of the back of his waistband. He returned his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Call the dog.”

My pulse skyrocketed. “Why?” I asked, my voice nothing but a breathless whisper.

He lifted just enough to look into my eyes, his own full of an unspoken apology. “Because this isn’t my room.”

He kissed me again, his mouth hot on mine, and yet every muscle in his body was stretched taut with eagerness. His heart raced on top of mine, his pulse roaring in my ears. I put my hand over the side of the bed and snapped my fingers.

Artemis lifted into my palm, materializing out of the ground, and nuzzled my hand for a split second before pricking her ears. A low growl rumbled from her chest as the door eased open. She lowered onto her haunches and waited.

The door pivoted slowly, then stopped at a forty-five-degree angle. Not enough for me to make out the intruders. All I could see past Reyes’s shoulder was a hand on the doorknob. The intruder started forward a heartbeat before Artemis attacked. With a bark that vibrated against the walls, she bound forward through the half-open door and onto a possessed woman, if the feminine scream was any indication.

Reyes’s weight vanished, and in the next heartbeat, another assailant crashed into the room after having been thrown there. The door banged against the wall, and I could see the woman struggling with Artemis on the sidewalk, fighting something she clearly couldn’t see in its entirety. Even I had a problem staying focused on Artemis’s huge body as she ripped the offending soul out of her.

But before I could see exactly what happened to the demon, the one Reyes was fighting spotted me. He let out a shriek of rage and fought Reyes’s hold to get to me. It was the strangest sensation, to be wanted so desperately by a man who took no heed of the fact that his spine was bent so far out of position, it started to crack under the pressure. I could hear the sharp snaps of bones breaking, of tendons ripping and vertebrae dislodging, yet the man couldn’t take his eyes off me. He wanted me so passionately, his free arm stretched out, his eyes begging me to come closer.

And they were blue. The man’s eyes. I could just make out the demon behind them, the smoky black essence wafting off him, but the host the creature had possessed had blue eyes. So clear, they looked like a swimming pool sparkling on a hot summer day. And they watered as the pressure Reyes was placing on his throat cut off his air supply. But still he didn’t care. He clawed his way toward me with one arm, the other having been broken. It lay limp on the ground beside him, useless.

As he lunged for me in one last valiant effort, his reach appeared to lengthen. Black, razor-sharp claws appeared out of the man’s hand. The darkness of night did nothing to deter the demon from unmasking himself, from reaching out. I could see only his hand, but I knew at least that part of him was unprotected.

I leaned over the side of the bed, ignoring Reyes as he yelled at me to get back, the claw so close, centimeters away. One more ounce of effort, and he’d shred my face. I held out my hand, palm up, leaned in, and blew. As though blowing magic fairy dust, particles of light from inside me floated toward the demon, landed on his claw, and in one great burst of energy, he screamed and stumbled out of his human host.

Writhing in agony, the demon thrashed along the ground, his high-pitched cries like a thousand jet engines taking off.

Artemis pounced in the next instant, sank her teeth, locked her jaw, and ripped the life out of the beast. Killing it was almost an act of compassion at that point, it was in so much pain. I watched as its thick gaseous blood spilled onto the floor, then evaporated.

Before I realized he was angry, Reyes jerked me to my feet and looked me over from head to toe. Then he focused on my face, his own picture of astonishment. “What the fuck was that?” he asked, anger sharpening his voice.

But adrenaline rushed down my spine and through my body. I looked past him toward Artemis. She was busy sniffing the room with the enthusiasm of a hunting dog on the trail of a fox, certain she’d found the scent of another demon. She jumped through the wall into the next room before I could call her back.

Afraid I was going to be sick again, as that seemed to be my MO lately, I stumbled past him toward the miniscule bathroom near the door. He picked me up when I tripped, but I fought his hold and hurtled myself toward the toilet. The fact that I was spelunking in a porcelain bowl used for years by men with bad aim didn’t deter me from my mission. I gulped stale air and swallowed back bile as my stomach heaved unsteadily.

Reyes knelt beside me, and I felt a cool cloth at the back of my neck.

“That’s what’s driving them crazy.” He leaned forward and buried his face against my neck. “The scent of fear—your fear—is like the scent of heroin to a bona fide addict.”

“Well, I can’t help it,” I said.

“I know. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry.”

I looked up and realized for the first time that the demon had struck him. He had three bloody gashes across his face, the uppermost a mere centimeter from his lower lashes. I took the washcloth from him and dabbed at the cuts.

“Did you kill him?” I asked.

“No. He won’t be running marathons anytime soon, but we need to get out of here.”


Reyes accompanied me home in silence, probably unsure what to think of me. I wasn’t sure what to think of me either, so we didn’t really have a lot to think about. He saw me up the stairs and to my door, but I didn’t let him help me in. I was tired of suddenly being an invalid, unable to walk and chew gum at the same time.

I opened my door and stepped inside. “Can I put something on that?” I asked, indicating the cuts on his left cheek. He dabbed them with the hem of his T-shirt, sopping up the small rivulets of blood that had escaped. They were already healing, but antibiotic ointment wouldn’t hurt.

He ignored me and looked around my apartment. “Call your boy,” he said, his tone coarse.

“What boy?” I asked, suddenly very tired. “I don’t have a boy.” At least I didn’t think I had a boy. I couldn’t remember ever being in labor, and I was fairly certain that wasn’t something a girl could easily forget.

“That kid that always hangs around. Call him.”

“Angel?” I asked, and as soon as I thought it, in he popped.

He looked around in surprise, spotted me, then glared from underneath his bandanna. “Are you for real going to keep doing that?”

“Hey, it wasn’t even me this time.” I pointed to Reyes, and Angel’s bravado dwindled.

He took a step back as Reyes took a step forward.

“Stay here,” Reyes said to him in a tone that brooked no argument.

But he was talking to Angel Garza. The kid had never met an argument he didn’t like. He bit down and squared his shoulders. “You stay here, pendejo.”

Reyes was on him before I saw him move. He had Angel by the collar of his dirty T-shirt, his face inches from his own. “Do you have any idea what I can do to you?”

Angel’s eyes widened before he caught himself. “I know you can go back to hell.”

I struggled to get in between them, pushing at Reyes’s hold.

After a moment, Reyes released him and offered him an apologetic gaze. “Stay here for her,” he said, softening his tone.

With a shrug, Angel straightened his shirt and said, “For her.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He snapped his fingers like calling a dog, and Artemis appeared. She jumped on him, her huge paws leveraging her weight against his chest as her stubby tail wagged in delight. He rubbed behind her ears and nuzzled her neck.

“You stay here,” he said into her ear, “and don’t let her get into any trouble. Got it?”

When he raised his brows in question, she barked in affirmation, and I suddenly felt very outnumbered.

I frowned at her. “Traitor.”

She barked again, completely unmoved by my accusation, and jumped to play with Angel, easily tackling him to the ground. Angel laughed and tried to get her in a chokehold. It was odd how her jaw could open to accommodate the girth of his throat. His gurgling screams of agony seemed to make her happy, and that was good enough for me.

“I just need to make sure they didn’t follow us here,” he said.

“You should really let me take a look at your wounds.”

“The last time you looked at my wounds, you almost passed out.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Two months. Give or take.”

“Fine,” I said, sending him off with a wave. “Go do your cool manly things while I stay home under the ever-watchful eye of a gurgling thirteen-year-old gangbanger.”

There was something so wrong with that picture.


I awoke to the cool sensation of a hundred-pound departed Rottweiler sprawled over me as though I were a human mattress. I wasn’t really alarmed by the fact that her right paw covered my face almost completely, cutting off my flow of oxygen, or the fact that my legs had gone numb as her shoulder was wedged into my hip bone, but more by the fact that as her head hung over my ribs, she was snoring. Really? Even in death? Snoring just seemed superfluous for some reason.

I had so much to think about—demons, my heritage, my apparent long-term commitment as the grim reaper, a contract I did not remember signing—but nothing beyond the thought of coffee penetrated my cranium. And oxygen. And the fact that I had to pee like a champion racehorse. There was an odd pressure on my bladder that went by the name of Artemis.

I moved a gigantic paw off my face and wiggled out from under the Rottweiler with herculean effort. When I landed on the floor, her head hung off the side of the bed, but she had yet to wake up. I couldn’t help it. I leaned in to nuzzle her whis kers. Her lip twitched and formed a snarl every time I kissed her nose. She would have made a great Elvis impersonator.

I managed to get to my feet and make it to the bathroom. After a quick pit stop and a rendezvous with Mr. Coffee, I sneaked to the living room window, careful not to disturb Angel or Aunt Lil as they lay crashed on varying articles of furniture. It still amazed me that the departed slept. Especially with all the hammering going on next door.

Even through the noise of construction, I’d heard a truck pull up. It was too early for a delivery truck to be at Dad’s bar, so my curiosity got the better of me. Maybe it was my new neighbors, though that would be silly, as their apartment was still being renovated. My digs could use some renovating. I’d have to talk to Mr. Z later. Convince him new countertops would add to the value of the whole building.

Surprisingly, there was a moving van outside, but it was pulled up to the back of the bar. With curiosity piqued, I hurried to my bedroom window for a better view. Yep, someone was moving in. I looked at the second-floor windows and gasped. Aloud. A man was opening the blinds and dusting off the sills as though readying the place for a new tenant.

In my offices.

My father was renting out my offices right out from under me. I was appalled. Offended. And more than a little ticked. After a quick wardrobe check—surely plaid boxers, a T-shirt that proclaimed that I was cooler than refrigerated air, and pink bunny slippers would do for a quick trip across the alley—I put my coffee cup down and headed to my dad’s bar. The more I thought about it, the faster I walked. And the faster I walked, the angrier I became.

A crisp wind whipped around me when I exited my building, but I ignored it. My father was renting out my offices. Of all the gall.

I strode past two men struggling to offload a desk and ducked into the bar through the back door.

“Dad!” I yelled, stalking past my startled stepmother, who’d just come in from the front. She’d apparently brought the traitor breakfast. I could only hope he’d choke on it. And past Sienna, the gorgeous new bartender who’d hit on Pari. She wore an appreciative grin when she noticed my boxers.

Gemma stepped out of Dad’s office just as I got there, her face a picture of surprise. “Charley, you’re not dressed.”

“Where is he?” I asked, stepping past her.

“Dad? He’s upstairs, I think.”

If I’d been in my right mind, I might have paid heed when the tiniest hint of a smirk flitted across her face, I might have caught on to the fact that all was not as it seemed, but I was on a mission. I turned and took the stairs two at a time. Not the easiest thing to do in bunny slippers. And the long leaps caused my boxers to wedge into unmentionable places, but a quick readjustment once I reached the landing set things right.

I stormed into the first office, the one that had been mine for over two years, and found Dad looking out the window with the raised blinds. His tall lean form had been draped in a plaid button-down and wrinkled khakis that looked two sizes too big, and his normally tan, healthy skin had the pale matte texture of blanched flour that just matched his dark blond hair.

No one else was inside. Everything I’d left was exactly where I’d left it. Not a file cabinet or bookshelf out of place.

I stopped behind him and jammed my hands on my hips. “Really?” I asked.

He bowed his head, and I blocked his emotions the minute the sorrow that had consumed him hit me. I breathed deep and shook it off. He’d had me arrested as I lay in a hospital bed. He didn’t deserve my sympathy. But he did deserve the brunt of my anger.

“You’re renting out my offices? Just like that?” I snapped my fingers to emphasize the hastiness of his actions. I’d been out of them two months, but for some reason, that didn’t seem to be the point.

He turned to me at last, looking more haggard than usual. His Popsicle-stick frame seemed bent with fatigue. His clothes sat askew.

I didn’t care. I did. Not. Care.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not.”

I pointed a finger toward the window. “Then what is that?”

“A ploy,” he said, his voice so matter-of-fact, it took a moment for his words to sink in. “A ruse,” he continued.

I looked out the window and realized the moving van was completely empty except for the desk. The men below gave my dad an official salute before reloading the desk and sliding the door closed.

Turning back to him, I asked, “What are you talking about? A ploy for what?”

“For you,” he said, stepping closer.

I stepped back, suddenly wary.

He took another step but stopped when I offered him my infamous death stare. “You won’t take my calls,” he said, raising his palms in surrender. “You won’t answer your door when I go over.”

“Gosh, I wonder why.” I turned to leave, but his next statement stopped me dead in my tracks.

“I didn’t know how much time I had.”

“What?” I asked, suspicion evident in the sharp tone of my voice.

“When I had you arrested, I didn’t know how much time I had. I just wanted you out, and I had to do it quick.”

With annoyance and zero patience guiding me, I opened my arms in helplessness then dropped them again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I just wanted to do right by you. I just wanted to make up for what I’d done. I got you into this life. I wanted to get you out of it before it was too late.”

“So you had me arrested? That was your solution?”

“You can’t be a private investigator with a record. Your license would have been revoked.” He shrugged. “Mission accomplished.”

The smile that slid across my face held anything but humor. “Thanks for having my back, Dad. Appreciate it.”

“You left me no choice.”

“What?” My voice rose to just below screaming level. “I left you no choice? Are you psychotic?”

“I tried to get you to open up to me, but you don’t trust me. You never have. And I didn’t know what else to do. I was trying to right a wrong. It’s my fault you do what you do. I got you into this, and I just wanted you out of it. Out of danger. When bad guys come after you because of me … I’d been pretending up to that point. But I couldn’t pretend any longer.”

“Well, you picked a fine time to grow a conscience, Dad. As I lay in a hospital bed after being tortured almost to death, you have me arrested.” I gave him two thumbs up. “Good call.”

He dropped his gaze. “I had no other choice.”

“You know what?” I said, stepping toward him. I poked a finger into his chest. “I’ve thought a lot about how I’ve always seen you. You were my rock. The only one who believed in me, in my abilities. I always thought you were on my side. But then it hit me. All those years you put up with Denise, with the way she treated me, and instead of defending me, you looked the other way. You never stood up for me. You just reaped the benefits of my ability, but you stood by and let that witch run me into the ground every chance she got.”

He looked past me, and I turned to see said witch standing in the doorway, her mouth open in surprise.

I pointed to her and nodded at him. “Yes, that one.” When he refrained from comment, I asked, “Did you ever really care about me?”

He snapped to attention in surprise. “Of course, I did. I always have. I just thought—” His voice broke, and he covered his mouth with a fist.

“Make it good,” I said, my tone more warning than suggestion.

“You girls needed a mother.”

“And you gave us that?” I stepped closer—so close, my image shimmered in the tears pooling between his lashes. “You didn’t have my back. You had yours. Go ahead. Rent out my office. I don’t care.”

Since Denise stood blocking my escape route, I decided to go through the next office and out the front door.

But just as I turned the knob, he said, “I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone.”

In one last valiant effort, I turned back to him, a very clever and timely comeback sitting on the tip of my razor-sharp tongue, but it stayed there, because in the next instant, Dad raised a gun and shot me.

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