Page 128 of The Bronze Garza

Murder in his eyes, Henderson’s hands form to fists at his sides.

He should be thanking me for this. A second ago, he was depressed and broken, sagged and sunken like a sap. Now, he’s livid. Rage trumps depression any day. This ought to give him the fuel he needs to go home and ride out the wave before shit hits the fan.

I smile.You’re welcome, Henderson.

He growls.

And then, he attacks.

ChapterThirty-One

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

Lyra

The Pomodoro alarm goes off onmy phone. I hit the stop button and lean back against the wall, taking a break.

Seated on the floor of Dad’s office, laptop on my thighs, I gaze across the room at the man scowling at his computer behind his desk.

“Daddy.”

His lack of response doesn’t surprise me. He’s been giving me the silent treatment since we came home a week ago. He’d driven me home from Red Cage fuming. I’d attributed his fury to whatever it was that Red Cage discovered.

But when he braked outside our house, looked over at me, and asked, “Did youwantto, Lyly?”, I understood. Torin had outed our affair. And although he’d told me that he would, somehow, it still caught me off guard.

“Yes,” I’d answered.

Not what he wanted to hear. He’d slammed out of the car and has been giving me the cold-shoulder ever since. So now I don’t even know what Red Cage found out or what’s to happen going forward, because he won’t talk to me.

That hasn’t stopped me from camping out on his office floor everyday working on my book, though. And since he’s yet to chase me out, I’m guessing he doesn’t hate me all that much.

“So, what, are you just never going to talk to me again?”

He glares harder at the screen.

“This is ridiculous, Daddy. I turn twenty-four in a few weeks. I’m more than old enough to have a fling with a hot guy if I feel like it. After everything, you don’t think I deserve a bit of fun?”

A crease forms between his brows, and he shifts his glare from the computer to me. “He’s a—”

A knock comes at the door before it swings open and Eloise sweeps in. “Honey, are you still not ready for lunch yet? All you have had all day is a cup of coffee. Are you sure you are feeling well?”

Actually, he’s been nibbling at granola bars all day and stuffing the wrappers in his desk drawer, but I’m guessing he doesn’t want her to know that.

“I’m fine, love. I’m just under a lot of pressure with the new deal,” Dad says, rubbing his temple. “Why don’t you go ahead and book a reservation at your favorite restaurant for dinner later?”

Eloise pouts. “Sounds nice, but we have eaten out every night this week. I was hoping we could get back to eating dinner atourtable again.”

“I know, love. But Lyra’s therapist advised that we start doing little things like eating out, as a family, to help her adjust to being outdoors again.”

My therapist? I haven’t seen my therapist in almost three months.

Eloise looks down at me with slightly narrowed eyes, as if searching for verification.

With a shrug, I lie, “It’s really been helping.”

She emits a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, fine. But you must eat something before then. All of this working without fuel is not healthy. I am going to fix you a sandwich and you are going to eat it.”

“Thank you, love. I appreciate it.”