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He'd left Leena in a hotel room. Alone. He’d given her an extra dose of cold medicine so she’d sleep. It was a gamble, leaving her like he had.

Timothy had to get back to her as soon as he could.

Timothy would stop by Brianna's to get the rest of Leena's things. Her clothes, that doll, especially. Leena loved that doll so much. It had been his Angela’s. He had given it to Leena the first time he had left her so long ago. They'd leave the city in the morning. He knew the TSP was looking for him now. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't ready to leave Trey and Brianna behind. To not be in the same city as the rest of his girls.

Eden, Samia, Summer, baby Emilia. His daughters. His girls.He drove by the house on Jude Way every single day to check on them all. Every single day.

And Leena, he didn’t know what to do about her now. He couldn’t take her back to her school—the police would catch him there. Take her away forever. What kind of life was he going to be able to give her now?

Maybe…maybe he should just leave her with Brianna instead? His oldest girl would do the right thing by her sister. That was probably his best option, no matter how much it would hurt. Or he could leave her somewhere, with a letter. Addressed to Eden or the other girls. Beg them to take care of their baby sister too.

But Trey? Trey needed him to help him now. Trey was on a collision course with destruction.

Anger rushed through him.This was all Trey’s fault. All of it.

Trey could deal with destruction, but what about his sisters? Didn't Trey care for them at all? Leena and Emilia were just children, for heaven's sake.And Brianna was so adrift sometimes. She needed her father to help guide her now.

"I told you I don't need you for this. Leave, Dad. Go. Get back to the brat and go." Trey told him. The realtor and her mother, a beautiful dark-haired, brown-eyed woman around fifty-five or sixty, were sitting on the couch in the small parlor off the front entrance. Mason Barratt, a man around Timothy's own age, maybe a little older, sprawled in the doorway. Someone had hit him square on the back of the head. Hell, they could have killed the man.

Timothy leaned down, checked his pulse again.

It was strong and steady. "He's alive. You haven't killed him, at least."

"I killed four men outside already. You think this rich bastard matters to me?" Trey raised the gun like he was going to shoot Barratt now. Timothy just stared at his oldest son. A rush of real disgust filled him.

This was the son he was so proud of? Who he had lost everything for?

The little realtor gasped and shook. Pulled closer to her mother. Timothy could barely look at her. She reminded him so much of his middle daughter. Samia. She wasn't any bigger, he didn't think. He stepped in front of his own son, between him and the helpless man on the floor now. "I did not raise you to be a killer. Or to hit women and hurt them, terrorize them."

"You hit my auntie Heather, Daddy. Remember that?" Trey said with such sarcasm Timothy almost smacked him. "We both did. I learned by example. I enjoyed it too. I just wish I’d had the time to get a bit of what Steve had before she got away. I have wanted to fuck Heather for decades. Put that bitch in her place once and for all, then pop. End it all. Right between those dark eyes of hers. Bang, bang, no more Auntie Heather . Then she would see who was in charge.”

"Do not talk about Heather like that. I truly regret hitting Heather, Trey. She is Angela’s sister, damn it. She...I lost myself for a moment when I remembered." He looked at the older woman. She was holding her daughter close. Protectively. The daughter had one hand over her stomach. Just as protectively. He'd heard she was pregnant. "I am a better man than that. I am sorry, Powell, for my part in what happened to you last week. With you, and with my sister-in-law. Heather and I—well, we never have really gotten along. She was such a precocious girl. Trouble. Always causing trouble.”

"She was a child. You tried to kill her that day," the daughter said, fury in her tone. "I know all about it. She was what, fifteen then? How old were you ?"

She was right. He knew that. He had always known that. "When I lost my wife, I became someone I do not always recognize. Angelina—Heather’s sister Angela—was my heart. She always will be."

The young woman's eyes turned toward her own father. He had probably fought. Barratt had fought—for his wife and daughter. Just like Timothy would have. Timothy would have killed for Angela and the girls, in a heartbeat. For her sisters and nieces too.

Except Heather.

That shamed him. It honestly did. She had been a child then. Just a few years younger than Trey. He had owed her better than that.

"She always angered me. Heather. Sometimes, I am not even sure why. The way she had of just looking at someone, from such a very young age. Like she would see straight to a man’s soul. To the secrets he kept inside. She wasn’t like the others. She just wasn’t. There was always something so powerful, so different, about that one.”

Timothy knew he wasn’t making much sense. But there was no other way to describe the way that girl had always been. He wanted them to understand.

"Well, she'll be here soon. Yeah, she’s coming over to visit. I’m going to use her to get me the fuck out of here. Then kill that bitch, once and for all. Figure a nice hostage like her—what can it hurt? You can ask her what’s so fucking different about Queen Heather. I have always hated her and her bitch twin. Marcia was always beyond hot, though. Right, Daddy? I know you have always thought so too. Marcia looked so much like Precious Angela,” Trey said. “Heather does now, though, doesn’t she, Daddy? Did you notice that?”

He was behind the couch. He wrapped his hand in the younger Barratt woman's hair and yanked her head back far too roughly. He kissed her briefly.Her mother screamed.

He cursed and yanked back. Pulled back to hit the younger woman. "Bitch bit me!"

"Trey! Don’t you dare hit her!" Timothy wasn't going to sit and watch his son hurt a pregnant woman. He just wasn't. "This is getting out of hand."

Two of Trey's associates came into the room. Toby and Pete, he thought their names were. "Pay up, Grundenman. Hi, Daddy Grundenman. Ours and Kurt and Ashton’s too. We're almost finished next door. Then we are out of here for a while. Pleasure doing business with you."

"Keep in touch, boys. We'll be...restructuring the company soon. I’ve always preferred a mountain view personally," Trey said. As if the fool had missed the fact that the cops knew they were involved now. Trey handed over a wad of cash and a string of jewelry. "Pawn Mrs. Barratt's jewelry in another state in a few months. Got me? And enjoy the bonus.”

One of the men looked at Powell Barratt and smirked. "I think you're the one who is going to be having a bonus tonight, Three. Erickson’s bleeding out in the driveway, and you have his whore right here. Enjoy yourself, man. You’ve earned it."

“I plan to. All night long.”

He sickened Timothy. Completely sickened him. This was what he’d risked everything for?