“And you’ve done nothing to earn that multi-million dollar fortune Bethany left you.”
Indignation bleeds into his tone, along with the rage; he’s always had a thin skin and a disproportional ego. Easily slighted, easily enraged. I bet just thethoughtof Gran having the last laugh from beyond the grave is enough to make his blood boil over.
I bare my teeth in a smile. “Gran would’ve sooner given every cent to charity than seen that money go to you.”
“Guess it works in my favor that the bitch is dead, then.” His voice lowers. “And my darling daughter is in control of all that cash.”
“Bite me,” I hiss, panting with exertion. My feet slide against the tile floor as he gains another inch.
“You always were a mouthy little runt.” He laughs, as though my resistance is amusing. “You know you can’t keep me out forever, Felicity. Open up so we can talk about an…arrangement… that works for both of us.”
I don’t bother to respond.
“If you give up now, maybe I’ll go easy on you.”
We both know it’s a lie. He doesn’t know the definition ofeasy. Any doctor who’s seen my X-rays can attest to that.
He pauses. “What do you say?”
“Bite. Me.”
The door rattles with his rage. His fingers are wrapped fully around the door, now — in another thirty seconds, he’ll be inside. My eyes swing around, but there’s nothing in here I could possibly use as a weapon. If he gets through…
I’m as good as dead.
My muscles are aching with effort, my pulse is erratic as I heave against the door. Eyeing his clutching fingers, the fragments of a plan form. Not even a plan, really — an act of pure desperation.
Without letting myself think about the consequences if this goes wrong, I lessen my hold on the door, yielding another inch to him as though my energy is giving out. The door inches wider and I see his head jut through the crack, his eyes locking on mine. There’s victory in their depths.
He thinks he’s won.
Before he can pull back, I slam my body full-force against the door with all the strength I possess. It jerks back closed, slamming hard against his temple, sending his skull ricocheting against the frame with a sickening thud. There’s a crunch of bone as he reels away, howling with pain as he reaches up to clutch his rattled head.
“Bitch!”
His eyes stream as he pulls himself upright, stumbling off-balance. He lunges for me, but I’m already in motion — clearing the bathroom threshold, flying into the hallway, running the length of the bus on wings of fear and hope. I bound past the bunks, race past the galley kitchen, bypass the driver’s seat, and clear the stairs in a single vault. My feet hit the parking lot with a jarring thud.
I whirl around, searching for Diaz, and see him slumped by the wheel well, unconscious. With no more than a flicker of remorse, I leave him in the dust — running full-tilt toward the elevator. My lungs are screaming for air, my heart slamming against my ribs. I hear boots pounding after me, gaining ground with every passing second.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
I’m nearly to the elevator when it slides open. Relief floods through me when I see York, Linden, and Stevens stepping through, their expressions graver than death. Lincoln, Carly, and Aiden are close on their heels.
The body guards bypass me, their eyes locked on the man breathing down my neck. I hear a startled gasp as my father changes course, the sound of his boots as he starts fleeing the opposite direction, but it’s far too late. The three guards are on him in an instant.
I pull up short just outside the elevator, slamming straight into my friends like a ball into pins. Linc and Aiden’s arms steady me as I spin around, just in time to see my father cornered against the side of the bus. The guards close in like predatory wolves.
And then, in less than a second, it’s over.
York has him incapacitated so fast, I’m not even sure exactly how it happens. I just know that my father is suddenly pinned against the pavement with a knee planted firmly on the small of his back. Stevens tosses a pair of handcuffs at his partner and by the time they haul him back to his feet, he’s cuffed like a common criminal.
“Felicity, maybe you shouldn’t—” Carly calls after me, but I’m already walking to the bus. My steps echo like gunshots in the concrete echo-chamber. I feel Linc, Aiden, and Carly following me, but I don’t wait for them. I hear Linden a few paces away, calling an ambulance as he checks on Diaz, but I don’t spare him so much as a glance.
My eyes never waver from the face of the man who raised me as I approach the bus, where Stevens and Linden are holding him between them in an iron grip. He’s bleeding from the lip, his dark brown eyes enraged as they lock on my face.
“Come to gloat, bitch?” He spits at my feet.
I stare at him for a long time, searching for the right words.