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My Cyprus would have given me a kiss when she came out of the station, she would have embraced me with a warm hug and bright smile. She would have told me every single word they used and how they said it.

That's not what she did. She had shut down, she refused to even indulge my questions about what happened.

Gripping the keys in my palm, I squeezed. The metal cut into my skin, but it didn't feel it. Warm blood trickled down my wrist, and all I could feel was the anger ravaging my insides. Someone had gotten into her head, someone had methodically placed information in her brain about us, about who we were.

That was the feeling I got from how she was acting. She was cold and removed, withdrawn from the people she had loved before the police got their hands on her.

Could they know? No, it's not that, it can't be that.

They probably filled her head with loads of shit, making her think we're evil. And that wasn't entirely wrong, but it was misplaced. We were bad, we did things that the law didn't agree with.

But we did it because that's how this shit worked. We all had a set of rules to follow, and those that went against the grain, they got what was coming to them. It's not like they didn't know the risk, it's not like the pricks we dealt with were oblivious to the end result of screwing us over.

I'm going to change her mind, I'm going to make her remember who we are—who she is. I'm going to bring her back to me.

Storming into the house, my father was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of whiskey. His back was to me, head hanging down as he eyed his glass.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“What?” he asked, looking at me over his shoulder.

“Cyprus, what the hell is her problem?” Checking over my shoulder and around the stairs, I made sure she was out of earshot. “Can't you see it? Isn't she acting different?”

“Birch, she just went through her first interrogation, she's a bit worked up. Remember the first time they took you in? You weren't exactly king shit in there.”

“Dad, this isn't the same. Something isn't right—”

Cutting me off, he swirled his glass in the air. “Don't worry, she'll be fine. Come, have a drink with me, it'll calm your nerves.”

Stalking to his side, I whispered through clenched teeth. “How can you know that? What if it's something else, what if they—”

“They didn't. If they did, where the hell do you think we'd be? Do you think I'd be standing here pouring this shot? Do you think you'd be talking to me right now?” Slugging his drink, he exhaled a hard breath. “It's fine, just give her a little time to get her shit together.”

Scrubbing my jaw, I glared into his eyes. “Let's hope her getting her shit together doesn't mean her fucking mind opening up and giving her the answers.”

“Fuck, Birch, I'm not doing this right now.” Slamming the glass down on the counter, he snarled. “I'm not doing this shit anymore with you.” Stepping into my chest, he threw up a finger and poked me in the temple. “Get it in your goddamn head, no one is looking for her anymore. But if you keep talking about it, if you can't keep your fucking mouth shut, that's when the problems will come in.” Flaring his nostrils, his lids hooded, mouth taut.

We stood toe to toe, chest to chest. A father and his son, each demanding to hold the power. He was trying to get me to back down, to bow my head and agree like a good son should. But I couldn't.

“The problem won't be me. Itneverwas me.” Stepping in a hair, I brought my lips to his ear and whispered. “The problem was you. It was always you. Everything that happened was because you lost control.”

Shaking my head, I watched his eyes glaze over. I waited. I waited for him to react, to fill my ear with threats of a bullet in the head if I didn't keep my mouth shut. My father might be calm with the men he dealt with, but when it came to me, he had no problem letting it free.

In one quick motion, my father socked me in the jaw. I knew what I said would get to him, calling him out with the truth and not the fucking lies he had tried to mold into the reality we lived with for years.

All of this was because of him. Period.

“You ungrateful piece of shit.” The veins in his forehead throbbed, angrily pressing against the skin in an act of threat. “Fuck you.” Grinding his teeth together, his hands hung in tight fists by his side.

But he didn't hit me again. Taking a long step around my body, he stalked out of the kitchen.

I was tired of pretending. I was done playing his game. If the sky came crashing down on us, I wasn't going to be there to catch him.

There was a woman I loved, a woman I would do anything for.

I knew from the sound of her voice and the look in her eyes; she needed me.

And I was going to have to work to get her back.