My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the glass of water the bartender had slid in front of me.
He leaned back in the booth, swirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler.
“Relax, little bird,” he said, voice smooth as oil. “Your father is safe for now.”
The recording started again without warning. That broken, hoarse voice I hadn’t heard in eight years.
“Naomi… baby girl… I’m so sorry… please forgive me…” Then the wet, choking sobs, the sound of fists hitting flesh, a pained grunt cut short. My stomach lurched. I pressed both hands over my mouth to keep from screaming.
“Stop it,” I whispered. “Please stop.”
Darius tapped his phone and the sound died, leaving only the bar’s tinny music and my ragged breathing.
“He’s been running a long time,” Darius said conversat
