Page 58 of Chaos Kills

None.

“Bay, calm down. Torin’s a mut. When his mother divorced his dad and he died, she married Emilio and?—”

“I don’t give a fuck what she did. He’s an Astor. He’s my dad. He’s supposed to bemydad.”

Levi inches closer but barely. He knows I’m close to exploding, so he doesn’t push. “Bay, you’re a fucking Astor. Roger made you one.”

“I’m not, though. I’m a Wildes. I have evil blood running through me. No wonder Torin thinks I murdered Judah. He can probably see it in my eyes every time?—”

“Stop. You’re having a goddamn nervous breakdown. Roger?—”

“Dad. His name is Dad,” I carp out as a broken sob gets away from me. “He’smine. He told me he was. He was there. He loved me. He said I was his little girl. He told me that?—”

“Bay.”

My brain locks down but only registers that Ozzy spoke. He called my name. He stopped me from shooting out everything else.

Slowly, I turn in his direction, still in the same spot I left him but in an edged blur of heavy tears.

“You’re an Astor.”

My face skews at the fact he’s convinced his opinion of what I am or who I am would have any impact on me, but it does.

Somehow, my rising panic attack or—I’m not sure what it was—begins to dematerialize. Dad’s not here to confirm it, but Ozzy’s three words practically sever whatever was working up in my brain.

Wiping gracelessly at my eyes, I pivot toward the fridge and grab a juice box. I require the damn truth from this man, and there’s only one way I know how to get it.

Placing the Juicy Juice on his side of the kitchen counter, I gesture toward it before taking a seat on the stool.

He doesn’t pry those exemplary blues from me, peering down into my face like he just wants to crack my head open and learn what’s inside.

Kinda morbid but kinda cool, too.

His black tattoos along his neck are mixed together, and I want to learn their story. But we’re at a crossroads.

Things are moving, secrets are coming out, and I have to know his angle.

Reaching for the beer Levi brought over to me, I sit on my stool and wait for him. I won’t say another word or ask another question until he agrees to play.

If not, I’m done with him.

After what seems like forever, Ozzy moves forward, pulling out his own stool, and takes a seat directly in front of me. His long, tatted fingers seize the juice box and rip the straw off the top. Gently, he stabs it into the top of the counter to free the thing before gingerly piercing the hole.

Then he waits.

“Sometimes, I’m going to need words,” I tell him. “Other times, you can answer with sips. One sip is for no. Two sips is for yes. Okay?”

Ozzy doesn’t react in the way anyone else would. It’s stupid. However, I can’t conjure up another way to get him to talk to me.

Finally, he gives me a curt nod, and I inhale deeply.

“What do you want with this family?”

Ozzy folds his hands in his lap. “Nothing.”

“Ellie is your sister,” I ground out. Each word is a piercing little jab to my gut. “Are you here for her?”

He shakes his head.

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