This is a nightmare, I think as I move through the foyer and open the second set of doors into the lobby. A serious fucking nightmare. Not only has the realization of being with Royal finally set in, but there's the FBI and a Mexican fucking drug cartel. Seriously? I'm the deputy mayor for a town tucked behind the Redwood curtain, hidden on the Lost Coast. How is this kind of thing making its way all the way up here?
I take a deep breath as I start up the stairs, finding Philip waiting patiently in his office.
“Dad,” I start, but he cuts me off like he always does, gesturing for me to sit in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. The blinds on all his windows are closed, but his face is just as calm and composed as always. I watch his blue eyes track me as I shut and lock the door, perching on the edge of the chair and waiting for him to start this conversation.
My mind though … I'm not entirely sure it's all there in that room. I know Royal can handle himself with Agent Shelley and Agent Garza, but I can't stop fantasizing about what they might be asking him, what he might be saying. For once, I'm glad that Sully didn't listen to me. Maybe, just maybe, if the FBI is looking to pin all of this crap—Brent's death, Landon's death—on the Saldaña Cartel, Royal could get off scot-free.
Although that wouldn't change the source of the argument between us because he's right: I can't have both him and a career in politics. And there's nothing he can do to change that. It's up to me to make this decision alone.
“Lyric,” my father starts, standing up from his expensive leather chair to tower over me. It's a power move, I know that. I can't help but narrow my eyes at him, rising up to my full five foot two height (okay, five five with the heels) to stare him down. “Your brother—”
“You knew?” I interrupt, using his own tactic against him. “About what Sully and Brent were doing? And yet you did nothing to stop it?”
“It's more complicated than that, Lyric.”
“How so?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. I feel powerful in my jumpsuit. It's a little bit sexier than normal work attire, a little less biker than a body covered in leather. I know it's nothing but black cotton, that in all reality, what I'm wearing has little to do with who I am as a woman, but … it feels good. Like me. “Your son was using his connections to pull strings for a criminal organization, so they could continue to traffic drugs, weapons, God only knows what else. What part of that is complicated?”
“Your brother had nothing to do with Brent's death,” Philip says, his voice a tad edgier than normal, but still in control, even, low. “The man committed suicide. That is all that we know. He has nothing more to say to the FBI.”
“Your son made a serious mistake when he betrayed one criminal group for another. He tried to blackmail the Alpha Wolves, too. Now there's not one but two motorcycle clubs that he's managed to piss off. Did he tell you what else happened last night? How he could've been killed?”
“Your brother told me a lot of things,” Philip continues, his face crinkling up in disgust as he looks at me. Crap. I know where this is going. “If your idea of rebellion is to seek out this … biker, then you'd best put a lid on it.”
My mouth gapes open as my father steps forward, his face going dark.
“Our family has enough problems without you complicating them any further. I thought you knew what you wanted, Lyric. Do you think you'll ever get elected with a stain like Royal McBride on your record? You might think you're being careful, but these kinds of things have a way of coming to light.”
“Actually,” I say, my voice like venom. “I was talking about the nurse-turned-assassin that tried to blow my brother's head off with a semi-automatic.” I make sure my spine is straight before I smile at Philip's slowly crumbling mask. “And how dare you speak to me like that, act like what I do in the privacy of my bedroom is worse than your son helping to traffic drugs over the Mexican border. You should be ashamed of yourself.” I pull in a deep breath, wondering why the hell I rushed over here in the first place. I have more important things to do, like track down the nurse's ID, figure out who he is and where he lives. And then I need to grab a coffee and a scone and head down to the beach for some serious self-reflection. “I'm leaving. I'll be back for the shoot.”
“If you walk out of this room, Lyric Lenore Rentz,” my father begins, but screw him. I'm twenty-eight years old and I can make my own damn decisions.
“What? You'll fire me? Good luck trying to find somebody that can put up with your shit like I do.” I pause for a moment with my hand on the doorjamb. “You know, I thought it was Royal that made Toni Gladstone quit, but you know what? I think it was actually you. You're an awful person to be around, you know that?”