42 • Cocked

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I didn't want to believe that my father, who had always preached integrity—even going so far as to make us kids keep accountability logs—was collecting dirty secrets

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I didn't want to believe that my father, who had always preached integrity—even going so far as to make us kids keep accountability logs—was collecting dirty secrets.

Did he think he was being noble?

"What do you mean collecting on secrets?"

My father eyed the ornate bar, then stood. Easing his way behind the counter and searching through low cabinets. A cigar between his teeth. "You know South, the Whisper Network was started by the very first Southron Tenney. It's time you live up to your namesake."

I had no idea I was named after a filthy Newport extortionist. And I didn't like that it somehow validated his belief in me.

My SEAL persona slipped, and the real me appeared. I didn't want to let my weakness show. I wanted to keep the upper hand.

But the truth was I was scared. I was scared of this secret bar. Of him. Of what he was going to make me do.

In my discomfort, I did something stupid. I backed up a pace and turned towards the door.

Never show a hostile your back. Never.

I heard the metallic click of a gun being cocked, and I knew how badly I'd errored. I stopped, feeling suddenly dizzy. A phantom pain tearing through my chest. The ghost of a bullet. The ghost of a hostage dying beside me.

I hadn't saved her.

I turned to find my dad with a gun trained on me. An old-fashioned pistol I had never seen before.

In my panic, I froze. Tasting the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. The taste took me right back to that helicopter, my eyelids fluttering and the sound of Doc's voice trying to keep me awake.

"Let me tell you how this is going to go," my dad said in a cold tone. Easy strides led him around the bar. "You will agree to work for me, because you love that Isley girl, and you don't want her to end up like her whore of a sister."

I was a teenager again. Sitting under the bleachers with a group of girls. Easton and I sharing a flask of blackberry brandy.

"What are you talking about? Lydie Isley was killed by a—"

"Drunk driver?" my dad offered. That same devious grin unfurling.

No. It was impossible.

"You couldn't..."

But in my heart, I knew he had.

My father was walking towards me, the gun still cocked and pointed.

"Everyone has a price. The man who killed Lydie was in debt to the Whisper network. I spared his life, and he got off with nothing more than a charge of negligent homicide. Killing two birds with one car through the hedges, if you will." He laughed, and it sent a cold chill over my skin. Nervous sweat prickled through my undershirt. "Once he's out, he'll crawl back to his family and continue working for me.

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