9:10 PM
Dane Drake sat on the edge of the bed. He was so fucked up he couldn’t stand if he wanted to.
Not a problem. He wasn’t going anywhere.
He would stay right here until the heat died down.
Otherwise he’d probably end up dead.
Zac’s dad was dead. Dane shuddered. Had to close his mouth to hold back the vomit.
According to the news he’d offed himself. The stupid report insisted it was because he couldn’t get over his son’s death. But Dane knew better. The old man had been stirring trouble and he’d gotten shut up once and for all.
Just like Dane would if he wasn’t careful.
Annette had told him to lay low.
The connection she’d given him had taken care of his needs just like she said.
But he couldn’t stay here forever.
He looked around the shabby room.
He couldn’t go home.
He was fucked.
Flopping back onto the bed, he stared at the dingy ceiling. His life was shit. Nobody cared about him anymore. He was alone.
He closed his eyes and blocked images of the blood. Blocked the sound of the gun discharging … fuck. He’d
been scared to death. Hadn’t known what to do. So he’d called her, the one person he could count on.
Why the hell couldn’t this just be over?
Why’d he have to fuck up again?
This was all his fault.
But he could stop it.
Dane sat up. Scrubbed a hand over his face.
He knew how to fix this. All he had to do was make the call and make some long-overdue demands.
Dane fished in the pocket of his jeans for his cell phone. Hell yeah. He should have done this already. There was no reason for this bullshit to drag out. His father was a goddamned US senator. He should stop dicking around and get this taken care of. One call ought to do it.
When his father answered, Dane could hear the noise in the background. A party. His father was always at some fancy function or the other. That was all he cared about.
“I need your help, Dad.”
The laughter and chatter on the other end of the line sounded farther and farther away. The senator was moving away from the crowd. Didn’t want to talk to his dopehead son in front of people. Anger burned in Dane’s belly. He’d always been a disappointment to his father. Always.
“This is not a good time to talk, son.”
Of course not. Why the hell did he even bother calling him son?
“It’s never a good time!” Fury throttled in his chest. “You never have time for me. I’m not good enough, right?” Dane shot to his feet, paced the dinky room. Let the bastard be up front with him for once in his big-deal life.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Randolph Drake insisted.
“No! We’ll talk now!” Dane was sick of this shit. The truth was, if it weren’t for his big-shot daddy he wouldn’t be in this trouble now. His whole fucking life was a direct result of his goddamned father.
“Are you high?”
No fucking way. “You know what,” Dane snarled, “damned straight I’m high. It’s the only way I can live with
myself.” Emotion knotted in his gut. “It’s the only way I can live with what you’ve made me.”
The connection ended.
“Bastard!” Dane threw the phone across the room. His father didn’t give one shit about him.
The rage he’d held at bay for most of life rocketed through him, shook him hard. Randolph Drake had it all. Everyone bowed to him. While his son paid the price.
Well, Dane had had enough.
He wasn’t living with this anymore.
He was putting a stop to it tonight.