No, it wasn’t. Gwen just looked at him. It was the first time that he’d spoken since they’d chosen a table. They’d eaten in silence as customers chattered, oven timers beeped, cutlery clattered, and frothing machines whirred.
The bell repeatedly chimed as more and more people filed in. It was a busy place. Despite the long line to the register, the stainless-steel counter and bistro tables were always clean and clear of crumbs. Kenny had wanted them to meet at a local, upscale restaurant, but Gwen had declined. Instead, she’d chosen this bakery-slash-coffeehouse.
She loved the scents here—bitter coffee, donuts, fresh bread, and the various baked goods kept within the glass case. Any other time, she would have dived on her Danish and enjoyed it with relish, but she’d only managed to eat half—and it sat like lead in her stomach.
It was harder than she’d thought it would be to sit opposite the man in front of her and pretend she had no idea that he was an absolute monster who sponsored extremists. How Geena managed to be around him each and every day, Gwen didn’t know. But then, Geena saw something different when she looked at Kenny. She saw a father, her father. Gwen just saw a twisted asshole.
As he’d carefully eaten his apple pie like it was a rare delicacy, she’d studied him. She’d seen Kenny several times before, of course, though mostly from afar. There’d even been times when he’d come to the trailer to speak with Hanna. The first time he’d come, Hanna had afterward said dispassionately, “That was your dad, by the way.”
Gwen didn’t like that she had his eyes, but she was thankful they didn’t otherwise look alike. Tall and muscular, he seemed in pretty good shape for his age. His narrow face was shaven and carried scars that said he’d led a rough life. His stylishly cropped short dark hair was thin and dusted with gray; it kind of worked for him. Add in the tailored suit, and he looked more like an average businessman than a seedy, conscienceless drug dealer.
Two of his friends sat at the table adjacent to theirs. Zander and the other Mercury wolves were sitting at a corner table, subtly keeping an eye on her. She didn’t think Kenny was aware that they were there, or that he’d recognize them if they earned his attention. Despite the large distance between the wolves and Gwen, she was quite sure that the shifters would overhear her conversation with Kenny easily enough.
“Your mother’s mad that I’m meeting you today.” He crumpled up his napkin and set it on his empty plate. “She thinks we should leave you to have a good life.”
Officially abandoning her Danish, Gwen picked up the porcelain mug and sipped at her milky latte. A little powdered sugar still clung to her fingertips. The tiny napkins were shit. “I came here today because you said you had something important to tell me. You said it was about Geena.” He’d said what he thought would make Gwen meet him—she knew that. Still, she needed to play the game or he’d know that Geena had warned her.
“I may have lied about that.” The cell phone on the table chimed. He tapped the screen with his finger, quieting the device. His phone hadn’t stopped ringing since he’d arrived, but he canceled the call each time—giving her a pointed look that said this meeting was more important to him. Whatever.
“So, what do you want?”
He managed to look offended. “Is there something so terrible about a man wanting to know his daughter? I thought it was about time we finally met officially.” He picked up his mug. He was drinking iced tea, of all things—she hadn’t expected that. “Geena’s been better since making contact with you. Less mercurial. More composed and efficient. I like that. It made me curious about you.”
Not curious enough for him to get in touch until he wanted something, though.
“I recently learned that you and one of my acquaintances have mutual friends. The Moores. They’re not happy bunnies right now.”
Good. “They’re also not my friends.”
“Yes, I heard that you’re not too fond of the boy, Brandt, after stumbling upon him in a rather tricky situation. But you know, there are two sides to every story.”
“Shame Brandt’s a prick in both of them.”
His mouth curved. “If he’s anything like his father, who I’ve heard plenty about, then he is a prick and probably always will be. But he’s also the son of a friend’s friend.” Kenny sipped his iced tea. “You know, I’m confused. According to Geena, you’re an intelligent girl. So why would you stand up for a shifter and, in doing so, vilify your own kind? And don’t give me something about it being the right thing to do. Ethics don’t keep people alive. Smarts keep people alive. And me, well, I’d rather you were alive.”
Pissed that he’d pretend to care about her, she set down her mug and leaned forward. “Let’s just be honest, shall we? You don’t want me in your life. I don’t want you in mine. You’re not a faithful friend to your friend of the Moores or to anyone else. In fact, you probably fuck people over so often that you have to carry lube in your pocket. If you want me to back off, it must benefit you in some way—I don’t care what it is. The point is that you haven’t done a single thing for me in my entire life, so give me one good reason why I should do a damn thing for you.”
His eyes narrowed, but they sparkled with amusement and . . . approval. He gave her a slow smile. “Interesting. You have spine. I expected you to be more like your mother. It’s nice that you and I have something in common, don’t you think?”
No, she didn’t.
“I did do something for you, Gwen. I did what your neighbors didn’t have the balls to do—I called Social Services.”
She almost drew back. “You’re lying.” She’d always wondered who’d called them, but she’d never once considered that it could have been him.
“What went on in that trailer . . . It wasn’t a good environment for you to grow up in.” His voice took on a haughty, judgmental tone. “I warned your mother that I’d take steps to have you taken from her if she didn’t get rid of that useless excuse of a human being. She should have put you first.”
“But you didn’t want me either, so what makes you better than her?”
“It was nothing personal, Gwen. I don’t like kids.”
Well, she didn’t like drug dealers.
“I didn’t want my kid growing up around that shit. You’d have ended up just like Hanna. Weak. Dramatic. Self-pitying.” He shook his head in disgust. “I got you out of there.”
“Which could have been a case of tossing me from the frying pan into the fire—foster care is no walk in the park for most people. Sometimes it’s worse than where they came from.”
“Ah, but you went to a good family. I saw to that.” He smiled at her start of surprise. “Money talks, Gwen. Always has. Always will.”
She wanted him to be lying. She really, really did. Otherwise, she’d have to be at least a little grateful to him for her ending up with the Millers. Gwen didn’t want to be grateful to him for anything.
“There’s nothing glamorous about your life, Gwen, but it was a good one, for the most part. You have a job, a family, friends.” He drained his cup and put it down. “So, you see, you were wrong in saying I’ve never done a single thing for you. I took care of you in my way. Granted, I did it from afar, but I still did it. I’ve never walked into your life, asking anything of you, but now I am. I’m asking you to do this one little thing for me and just alter your statement. Tell some sweet little lies for Brandt. From what I’ve heard about him, he doesn’t need you to ruin his life—he’ll manage that all by himself.”