Page 161 of His Trick

It wasn’t peace.

Not acceptance either.

Just… stillness.

Like the eye of a storm, it finally reached a certain point, and everything else held its breath.

The familiar guard led me down the same corridor, and then we went left at the security booth. Finally, we walked right past a row of steel doors…those steel doors.

I shook my head, trying to push past the memories and onto the long hallway buzzing under fluorescent lights flickering like they were scared to stay on.

I wasn’t scared like the last time.

I was furious, a cold, precise fury honed to a razor’s edge as I kept walking.

Reginald Harding sat waiting at a bolted-down table on the other side of bulletproof glass. He wore handcuffs, shackles, and a pretty orange jumpsuit.

Even caged, he looked like a man convinced he was untouchable, no different than my father in the same walls.

He didn’t flinch when I walked in.

He just tilted his head, studying me like I was some puzzle he’d already solved and had a ready solution for.

“Who are you?” he said. “Your visit wasn’t on my schedule.”

“Yeah,” I told him, dropping into the metal chair across from him. “That’s because I didn’t ask permission.”

The guard shut the door behind me, leaving us alone.

Reginold leaned forward and smiled. He looked so much like Carrington it fucking hurt. “You look like shit, boy. What is your business with me?”

I didn’t rise to it, hearing Carrington’s words wrap around me.

Don’t bite, Baby Boy.

He wanted a reaction.

He wanted me to crack.

He wanted proof he still had power.

I wasn’t giving him a fucking chance.

He was done for, and I was here to ensure he fucking knew it was his son who did it.

“Let’s talk about Carrington.”

His jaw tightened while my heart squeezed at the name.

“What of my son?” he spat, a small flinch barely noticed.

But I caught it.

Good.

Tiny tells were all I needed to make him hurt.

“Is he still missing? Or did you come here to tell me he’s dead?” he said flatly.