Page 86 of Call It What You Want
By the time I reach her building, I’m already in motion. Her front door splinters under my boot, the frame cracking as it flies open. I’m inside in seconds with Lucas and Roman right behind me.
She’s still here, exactly where the feed showed her. Wrists and ankles tied to the chair, eyes wide with fear. When I see her, in that instant, my world narrows to one thought—Whoever touched her is already dead.
Then my eyes land on who’s standing behind her.
My father.
For a second, I think I’m hallucinating. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t even know where Ava lives.
He turns when he hears me, calm as ever, that smirk carved into a face that looks too much like mine. “Jackson,” he says smoothly, like this is a goddamn family reunion.
My eyes sweep the room and land on the last person I expect—Chase. He’s crammed into the corner of the kitchen, half-hidden behind the counter like that’s gonna make him disappear. His hands are shaking, his eyes are wide. He’s doing absolutely nothing. Not standing between Ava and the danger, not even trying. Just hiding. Fucking useless coward.
Then I focus on the man beside my father. One of our own security guys, someone I handpicked. Yates. My stomach twists.
“What the fuck is this?” I bite out.
“Now, son?—”
I move toward him before he can finish, because, as it turns out, I don’t give a fuck what he has to say. Yates steps forward to block me, but I’m already on him. My fist connects with his jaw, and he’s not expecting it, so he goes down hard. I follow him down, knee in his chest, pounding until his head hits the kitchen tile and stays there. The room echoes with the sound of it—bone, breath, blood.
Roman curses behind me. Lucas pulls Ava free, cutting the zip ties with the knife he always carries.
When I finally stand, my chest is heaving, and my knuckles are split, slick with Yates’s blood. My father doesn’t even flinch. He just stands there, watching like this is all a damn spectator sport.
“You’ve always had a temper,” he says lightly, unbothered.
I take a step toward him, my voice low. “What the fuck are you doing with Ava?”
“Saving you from yourself, like I always do.” The moment my father speaks, something shifts. It’s not the words. Not at first. It’s the way he says them. “She’s a liability, Jackson. Always has been.”
His eyes flick to Ava, then back to me. Something cold crawls up my spine.A liability. Always has been.Pieces start clicking into place. The attack at Rush House. The men who came for her. The precision. The planning. It was professional. It was calculated.
My father’s smile is slow, condescending. And suddenly I know.
“You sent those men to Rush House,” I whisper. “You had them attack Ava.”
It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. And from the way his smile doesn’t waver, from the cold calculation in his eyes, I know with cold certainty, I’m right.
He shakes his head with a laugh. “Just sit back, son, and let the grown-ups take care of business.”
I take one step forward. Just one. But it’s enough to make that fucking smirk falter. Because he knows me. He knows what I’m capable of when pushed. The bodies I’ve left behind. The wars I’ve started. The lines I’ve crossed without a second thought. And right now, I’m not just his son. I’m the monster he helped create.
I can see it in his eyes—he’s afraid.
And he should be.
“Someone at Malibu PD called me,” he says, voice thin. “Ava left a message, said she was ready to talk. And we both know what that means. She was going to tell them what she saw that morning. She was going to turn on you.”
“That’s not true!” she yells from across the room. “I was going to turnmyselfin.”
My father still believes I’m the one who killed the senator. He has no idea it was actually Ava.
He doesn’t even glance her way. His focus is locked on me. “I had to protect our legacy,” he says. “I had to protectyou.”
My voice is raw with rage. “She’s my wife now, which means you can’t touch her. That’s Burning Crown code—violate it and you’re exiled.” My eyes meet his. “Or worse.”
He leans in, something hard glinting in his eyes. “You really think I wouldn’t cover my tracks?” he says, all smug. “Every move went through names and accounts that don’t lead back to me. No fingerprints. Nothing obvious. That’s why I had Yates here—to make him the fall guy if it comes to that.”
