When we got back to the house, I’d awoken my father from his sleep and he’d looked startled at the sight of the man behind me. Almost as startled as Zechariah looked at seeing my father. “You,” they both hissed, diving toward each other and I’d managed to get between them, physically knocking them backwards. Dad landed on the couch and Zech just barely missed the television when he was thrown the opposite direction. Just barely.
“What the f**k?” dad said, giving me a confused look. “What was that?”
*That rat bastard is your father?!* A hiss from a seething assassin behind me.
“I, um . . . daddy, we need to talk,” I stumbled with my words, struggling.
Grimacing, dad leveled Zech with a deathly glare. “Out.” He pointed to the door.
“Gladly,” he snarled, movin
