POV: Sloan
Deacon strode to me in an instant, encircling me in his massive arms. "I'm so sorry you had to find out this way, sweetness." I barely registered anything happening around me as he kissed the top of my head.
"Someone answer me right now!" I thought I might've yelled it, but I couldn't be sure. I felt as though I were floating above my body, like this nightmare was happening to some other hapless fool.
"She's in shock," Reed observed from the other side of the kitchen island.
Avery and Sumner were still sitting on their barstools at the vast counter, watching me with cautious expressions.
"We're all in shock," Sumner added.
"Fuck," Avery swore, raking a hand through his onyx waves. His comely face bordered on distraught. "This isn't how I wanted you to hear the news, angel."
"Where is he?" I demanded. "Tell me where my father is."
"Sloan..." Avery began, walking toward us.
I wrenched myself out of Deacon's embrace, backing away from the group. "Answer me!" I repeated.
Misha came bounding in from the living room. He wasted no time putting himself between me and the four men, releasing a soft, warning growl. Deacon took a healthy step away from me, eyes widening on the pit bull. I could've kissed Misha then.
Avery stopped dead in his tracks and lifted his hands in surrender. "I don't know where he is, Sloan. That's the god's honest truth. I just found out last night. I would've told you when I got back to the house, but you were working late. The guys found out when you did, so please don't blame them."
An ugly sob escaped my lips as my vision blurred. "Stand down, Misha," I ordered, the command sounding weak and garbled.
He sat dutifully at my feet, but his smile was noticeably absent as he continued studying our collective body language. His ears perked up as though listening for tones of distress or anger.
"Not a guard dog, my ass," Deacon muttered under his breath. He looked meaningfully at Misha then. "Really, dude? You're gonna do me like that after I let you hog all the covers?"
Misha whined, walking over to Deacon and licking his fingers.
"That's more like it."
The interaction lightened the mood a bit as Avery continued, "All I know is that this photo of your father was taken at a Swiss bank three months ago. Some people are looking into it as we speak, but that's all I know. I swear."
"I believe you." I dragged a deep breath into my lungs before taking the empty seat at the bar next to Sumner. "Sorry for freaking out like that. I didn't mean to take it out on you guys. I just wasn't expecting to hear that today." Or ever.
Clearly, I had some deep seeded trust issues to work out. I was still too shell-shocked to feel truly embarrassed by my behavior though.
"Your reaction is perfectly normal, princess," Reed cooed, leaning over the island to grasp my hands. He kissed the back of one, and I noticed then that I was trembling.
Sumner placed a warm palm on my upper thigh and squeezed, but I simply stared through him, thoughts roaring and spinning like a cyclone.
My father had been dead to me for the last ten-and-a-half years. When he walked out on me and my mom, he'd metaphorically died. Then, when I discovered the death certificate three years ago, he'd died all over again, only literally that time.
Finding out that he'd been alive this whole time was far worse than all of those moments combined though. At least if The Collectors had killed him, it meant he hadn't purposefully left us at their mercy. It meant that maybe he'd loved us enough to steer them away from us, even if it hadn't worked in the end.
Every remaining shred of hope I'd held out for his decency, along with every excuse I'd made in his defense over the years, withered into something cold and ugly.
He had to have learned about the attack and my mother's murder, yet he'd done nothing, even knowing that I was completely alone in the world. Because of him, my mother was gone. She hadn't even had the decency of a proper funeral afterward. No one to honor or memorialize her the way she truly deserved.
That last thought ate me alive most nights as I tried to fall asleep. But I was tired of blaming myself for the burden my father had forced me to carry since I was a teenager.
I wanted to kill him. At the very least, I needed to confront him, to say my piece and get answers, to get closure. I didn't care what it might cost me.
I felt numb as Deacon shoved a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me. "Eat, Sloan."
I didn't want to eat. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. I wanted to book a flight to Switzerland and find the selfish, remorseless bastard who'd ruined my life for a quick buck.
"Avery said you want to train with us today," D continued.
That honestly sounded like the most preferable outlet for my volatile mood right now. Everything felt so raw and muddled that I knew I needed to disassociate from my feelings in order to process what I'd discovered this morning and to figure out my next move with a clear head. Plus, I still wanted to learn how to defend myself during an attack sans gun.
What appealed to me most about training with the guys, though, was the knowledge that they wouldn't be focusing on my emotional fragility or trying to make me talk it out before I was ready. That was all the motivation I needed to spend the rest of the afternoon getting my ass handed to me.
"Eating is a condition of training. No exceptions, sweetness. Otherwise, you'll puke or pass out, and then Reed will have to work on his day off."
I said nothing as I took the fork from his large outstretched hand and began shoveling the cheesy goodness into my mouth, a reckoning brewing in my heart.