Joy's father waddled over, his beer belly leading the way, his face twisted with contempt. He tossed a stack of cash at my face without so much as a glance.
"Damien already bought me a new car. You think I give a damn about this pocket change? Take it—buy those two little bastards a sturdier urn this time."
The moment I laid eyes on my children's killer, every shred of restraint inside me snapped.
The blade slid from my sleeve into my palm.
"Amber. What do you think you're doing? Apologize to Mr. Quinn. Now."
"Damien—that man murdered our sons!"
"You're not listening again."
Damien's voice carried a quiet threat. On his phone screen, Blackwell bodyguards barged into a hospital room and ripped the oxygen tube from my mother's face.
"No—!"
"Kneel. Apologize."
"Fine... I'll kneel."
