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Sequel to Riding South
Trapped inside Tenney House and at the mercy of his father, Camilla and South are forced to face their greatest fears in order to bring down the Gentleman's Network--an organizat...
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Everything ached.
My head. Apparently, I'd sustained a concussion. Go figure.
My right shoulder, which the emergency room docs said had separated. That was their cute way of saying I'd need surgery, a sling, and physical therapy.
Three hours later, I'd been rolled into a surgical suite—once they'd fished the slug out of my father's gut—and fixed. I wished the surgeon could have operated on all the pain inside me. But, that wasn't the case.
I'd be lying if I said my pride hadn't also taken a beating. I'd jumped out of planes in the rain, the fog, under gunfire. Yet somehow, when the most important person in the whole world was strapped to me, I did something stupid like hit my head hard enough to knock me out and nearly kill us both.
I didn't think I'd ever forgive myself for that. Speaking of things I'd never forgive myself for, my heart was aching in a way that I couldn't wrap my brain around.
I was inclined to blame the concussion.
I craned my neck to look at the time, felt like I was gonna pass out from dizziness, then let my head fall back against the pillow they'd given me at the fancy hospital on Martha's Vineyard.
Staring up at the ceiling and wishing it was the stars.
I should feel better about shooting my father in the gut. I really should. It's not like I regretted doing it—far from it—but it hurt knowing that squeezing the trigger had been my only option. That I had to shoot my father to save my girl.
I'd heard from the detective who took my statement that my dad was currently handcuffed to his bed. NCIS was waiting until he was stable enough to transport to the Naval Hospital in Bethesda, Maryland.
An annoyed breath left my lips. Normal people in normal families didn't have to deal with this shit.
More than anything, I wanted to be normal. A regular guy with a regular family. Like Bellamy or Rico. Bellamy's father had immigrated from Trinidad. Rico's from Cuba. And even though we all grew up with blended cultures, we had totally different experiences.
I'd heard their stories out on missions. Their families were messy and complicated but full of love and respect.
I know I didn't have much to fucking whine about. I'd grown up rich, not wanting for a thing.
Except for acceptance. And love.
But, I doubted I'd ever find that kind of warmth at Tenney House.
It didn't matter. I didn't want to be a Tenney anymore.
The concussion had to be fucking with my brain because my eyes watered, and when I blinked, two tears fell down my cheeks.
Weak, my father would've said. But his voice was only an echo inside my head, hollow and empty. His words couldn't hurt or influence me anymore.
I was angry with myself for thinking I could fix my family if I could only wrap my arms around my brothers and sister and pull us together. I couldn't make us into a family again. We were all grown, and we all made decisions for ourselves.
