Z’s whole body goes rigid. Again, we’re so in tunewith each other, Ifeelit—the way he stops breathing and his muscles lock up like he’s bracing for impact.
I move in front of Z without thinking about it, sitting up and blocking him from Frank.
Which immediately pulls Frank’s gaze to me. His gaze crawls over me like something with legs, and goosebumps erupt all over my skin.
IhateFrank with a fire that burns through my belly. He’s the reason for Z’s bruises, the reason Z sleeps out in the woods sometimes, even though he gets eaten alive by mosquitoes, and the reason Z’s so scrawny, because Frank barely feeds him and gets angry if Z eats any of the food Frank literally labels with his own name.
“What the fuck is this?” Frank jerks his chin at me, but he’s talking to Z over my shoulder like I’m not even human enough to be addressed directly.
“Harper,” Z says, voice flat. Carefully neutral. “You know Harper.”
Most of all, I hate the way Z immediately goes into zombie mode around Frank.
“I know you ain’t supposed to have bitches in your room.” Frank takes a step closer, and the smell of stale beer and sweat rolls off him in waves. “Especially not little sluts like this one.”
The familiar insult stings, but I don’t flinch. I learned a long time ago that flinching just makes men like Frank meaner. And anyway, the longer he stays focused on me, the less he’s fucking with Z.
“She’s leaving,” Z says quickly. Too quickly. I turn and shake my head at him. The last time Frank caughtme in here, he went after Z with his belt after I left. But Z ignores me. “She was just?—”
“She was justwhat?” Frank’s voice climbs. “Fucking you? That it? You think you’re man enough to?—”
“Hey, Frank.”
The voice comes from outside Z’s bedroom, cutting through Frank’s tirade.
It’s Silas’s voice. I knew he was heading in this direction.
No. No, no, no.If there’s one way to make an already bad situation worse, it’s to have my father show up in the middle of it.
Frank’s head snaps toward the door. “Who the fuck?—”
Silas Tucker steps into view, filling the doorway with that same easy confidence he’s always had. Like he owns every room he walks into. Like the world owes him something and he’s just here to collect.
He looks different. Cleaner than I’m used to seeing him. His hair’s trimmed, not the shaggy mess I remember. His jeans actually fit, his button-down isn’t stained, and his boots look like they cost more than Mom’s car, when she had one.
He looks like someone who has his shit together. He’s still a goddamn giant, though.
It makes me want to scream.
“Silas fucking Tucker,” Frank says, and it’s not a greeting. It’s an accusation. “Thought you were still locked up.”
“Got out a couple years ago.” Silas’s eyes flick past Frank, landing on me. Something flashes across his face—relief or anger—before it smooths back into that cool, unreadable mask. “Heard you were still making life hell for everyone around you.”
“What the fuck are you doing inmyhouse?”
“Came to get my daughter.”
Frank’s eyes cut to me, then back to Silas. “I forgot this trash was yours.”
Silas’s jaw tightens. It’s the only tell. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” Frank takes a step forward, chest puffed out like a rooster spoiling for a fight. “You gonna do something about it, Tucker? ’Cause last I checked, you’re still the same two-bit con man who got his ass locked up for running a shitty insurance scam.”
“Last I checked,” Silas says, voice dropping to something dangerous, “you’re still the same piece of shit who beats on kids half your size.”
The air in the trailer crackles.
Z grabs my hand, squeezing so hard my fingers go numb.