Page 155 of Crave
A growl built in my chest, burning hot and violent. I turned toward the desk. The same desk he’d sat behind when he ordered men to live and die. The same desk where he’d…lied to me.
Rage took over before I could stop it.
I slammed my hands down on the wood hard. The force rattled through me, but it wasn’t enough. Not fucking near enough.
With a snarl I grabbed the edge of the desk, lifting the heavy wood until my muscles strained with the effort. The more I lifted the more my rage took over until the tipping point hit, and the desk flew backwards with a crash.
The heavy mahogany beast crashed onto its side, papers exploded into the air, cascading down like pieces of a shattered past. My breathing was harsh, uneven, my pulse roaring in my ears.
And then—something caught my eye.
Beneath the wreckage, near the splintered wood where the desk had been, something small and torn peeked out.
A single fragment of paper. My gut twisted. I crouched down, ignoring the sting in my side, and reached for it.
The edges were rough, jagged—ripped violently from something bigger. A ledger.
My father’s ledger.
I pulled the torn remnant closer. The rest of the room blurring as I focused on what was in my hand. The ink was faded, smudged with time, but the words weren’t completely lost.
And when I read them, my entire fucking world tilted.
It was never meant for him.
The air felt too thick. The walls too close.
I clenched the paper in my fist.
Who?
What?
It wasn’t a full sentence. It wasn’t enough to mean anything. But it meant something.
Something my father had hidden.
Something I wasn’t supposed to find.
My fingers tightened around the scrap, the paper crumpling in my grip. I should’ve shown Theo. Should’ve told Gabe or Jude.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I slid it into my pocket.
No one had to know.
Not yet.
Not until I figured out what the fuck this meant.
And why the hell Angelica knew something I didn’t…
The torn fragment of paper burned in my pocket, but I didn’t look at it again. I clenched my jaw, pushing down the pain twisting in my ribs. My body fucking hurt, worse now after slamming the desk, after tearing through my father’s study like a feral animal. But none of it mattered. Not the goddamn wound in my chest, or the deep ache in my head that made my vision flicker.
What mattered was the knock at the door.
Three sharp raps.
