Page 52 of The Forbidden Note

To dad, I’m a joke.

Easily pinned under his thumb.

While he made complicated plans to subdue my twin and didn’t even bother trying to put shackles on Finn, he only did one thing for me.

One massive thing.

And it freaking worked.

“Is it just me you want to talk to?” I ask sarcastically. “I can grab Dutch if you need to plant drugs on him and call the cops again. Or am I the one you want to falsely accuse this time? What will it be, dad? Coke? Pills? Or something more creative?”

Dad doesn’t even blink. The lamppost sprays the side of his face in silver, making him look like a robot.

It suits him.

Unfeeling. Frigidly objective. Programmed to take over the world.

“I want an update,” dad says calmly.

My shoulders stiffen. “On what?”

“The Cooper girl.” His voice is soft but threaded in iron. “Is she pregnant?”

A puff of air escapes my lips. I should be surprised, but I’m not.

“You think I’m just going to tell you that?”

Dad turns slowly. I meet his eyes. They look obsidian, as cold as the night sky devoid of stars. The way he watches me isn’t like a father. It never was. He’s all cold businessman, any familial loyalty washed away by his thirst for power.

After his long, calculating stare, dad lets out a chilly breath. “She isn’t.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re a little too anxious. If she was pregnant, you would have been smug.” Dad takes out his cell phone, reads a message and sighs. “Get out. I have things to do.”

The buzz in my veins makes me feel like I’m sitting on top of a hill of explosives. One little match and everything goes boom.

Dad sees I’m not moving and looks back with an impatient glare. As a child, I would have mourned this twisted, manipulative father-son dynamic. There were many times I cried alone, wondering why it felt like my dad didn’t love me. I never told Finn or Dutch. Neither of them seemed as impacted by dad’s callousness as I was.

Now, at eighteen, I don’t feel sorrow.

I feel lashing, poignantfury.

“I almost want to ask if you’re not ashamed of yourself. But that would be a waste of breath. Because you’re not, are you, dad? You don’t feel shame. You don’t feel anything because you’re dead inside.”

One corner of his lips curls up.

I grit my teeth. “Don’t eventhinkabout coming after Dutch again. I will make it my personal missionto see that you never touch my brothers. I’ll make sure you never win.”

There’s nothing more to say.

I twist around and grab the door handle.

Dad’s voice crawls behind me like black goo. “How?”

My jaw clenches and the handle snaps back into place.

“What will you do to me, Zane? No, a better question is whatcanyou do to me?”