Chapter 128

~ Clinton ~

After the doctor at Brooklyn General patched me up and handed over a bottle of prescription painkillers, he warned me sternly to go straight home and get some real rest—no screens, no stress, just sleep. The kind of advice that sounded simple on paper but felt impossible the moment I stepped back into my apartment. The door clicked shut behind me like a prison gate, and instead of collapsing into bed, I paced the living room like a caged animal, every shadow in the corners making my pulse spike. Sleep? There was no chance of that. Not after yesterday. The events replayed in my head on an endless, brutal loop—the parking lot ambush, the cold press of the gun against my skull, the gravelly voice promising death if I didn’t back off. By the time dawn crept through the blinds the next morning, I still hadn’t closed my eyes for more than a few fitful minutes. The painkillers dulled the throbbing in my head but did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside it.

All I could think about was who the hell was behind it. The speed of everything—the way they’d grabbed me, dumped me back in my car like a discarded warning—felt too calculated, too professional. It wasn’t random. Someone wanted me terrified and silent. When I’d called Octavia yesterday to cancel my visit, it wasn’t because of "work." The lie tasted bitter even as I’d spoken it. I couldn’t face her looking the way I did: bruises blooming across my temple, eyes hollow from shock. She was already fragile, her mind a battlefield of missing pieces. Adding my problems to hers would only make things worse. I refused to be the reason her recovery cracked any further.

My suspect list had narrowed to two names that kept circling like vultures. Bella Washington sat at the top—first and most obvious. I’d confronted her hard, warning her to stay away from Octavia, and her reaction had been pure venom. She had the motive and the connections to pull something like this off. But second on the list, gnawing at me with a colder kind of dread, was my own father. He was still hell-bent on dismantling the Flemington empire, and targeting Octavia was the perfect strike—get to the wife, weaken the husband, watch the whole family crumble. The question that kept me awake, though, was darker: was my father ruthless enough to hire goons to attack his own son? To threaten me with a gun and a beating just to scare me straight? At this point, I wasn’t sure what he was capable of anymore. The man who had disowned me years ago felt more like a stranger than family, and the uncertainty sent goosebumps racing across my skin.

I needed answers. Real ones. Before the paranoia ate me alive.

I grabbed my phone from the coffee table, fingers hovering over the contacts. There was one person who might know something—someone I hadn’t spoken to in years but who had been embedded in my father’s world longer than I could remember: Kieran Townsend. He’d been my father’s loyal henchman since I was a kid, the silent shadow who handled the dirty work with mechanical precision. Five years ago, he’d been arrested for possession of hard drugs and sentenced to three years. By now, he should be out, free to slip back into the shadows. Trudy had mentioned he was out of town on some assignment for my father—probably the same one that uncovered the truth about Octavia and Franklin’s marriage, the contract that made my father believe it was all a sham, a marriage of convenience ripe for exploitation.

I prayed he was back in town. My thumb scrolled through the contact list, heart thudding with relief when his number appeared, unchanged after all this time. I dialed. Once. Twice. By the sixth ring, I was ready to give up—until the line clicked.

"Kieran?" I said cautiously, keeping my voice low.

"It’s a miracle you remember I exist," he replied in that flat, monotone drawl I knew too well, dry as desert sand.

"Hey, man," I greeted, trying to sound casual even though my grip on the phone tightened.

"Hey back. What do you want?" No warmth. No surprise. Just the same robotic efficiency he’d always carried.

"I need us to meet. I’m sure you know what’s been going on—especially since you’re still my father’s loyal henchman."

"And you think I’d want to be seen with you?" he shot back, the words clipped.

"I have questions. Important ones."

"Then ask them here. Over the phone."

"I can’t. It’s not safe," I insisted, glancing at my apartment windows as if eyes were already watching.

"Safer than me being spotted with you. Didn’t that cross your mind?"

"Fine," I snapped, frustration boiling over. "I was kidnapped yesterday and—"

"That’s not my doing," he cut in instantly, voice still mechanical, emotionless. "Anything else?"

"This is outrageous," I growled, starting to pace the living room, bare feet slapping against the hardwood. "I need to know if my father sent you—or anyone—to kidnap me just to scare me off. If he had anything to do with Franklin Flemington’s wife’s accident. You heard about that news, right? I’m going crazy here. I’ve got no leads, and my life is fucking endangered. I need answers right now!"

"I told you—it’s not my doing," Kieran replied, unflinching. "I follow your father’s orders. Kidnapping and threatening his son isn’t one of them. He may be ruthless with you, but he’s not in the business of endangering his own blood. Even after disowning you."

"I hope you’re not lying, Kieran."

"Whether I am or not, I don’t care. Are we done?"

As a kid, I used to joke that Kieran was a real-life T-800—the Terminator cyborg from those old Arnold Schwarzenegger movies. No emotions, no hesitation, just programmed loyalty. He followed rules like code. Hearing that same cold detachment now didn’t surprise me; it was the only version of him I’d ever known. Still, it stung.

"Yeah," I muttered. "We’re done."

The line went dead.

The call led nowhere, just another dead end in a maze that felt like it was closing in. I stormed into the kitchen, fists clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms. Anger surged hot and sudden. With a sharp cry, I swept my arm across the counter, sending vases, the cutting board, and the coffee maker crashing to the floor in a shattering explosion of glass and ceramic. The noise echoed through the empty apartment like gunfire. I ran both hands through my hair, breathing hard, chest heaving.

My phone buzzed on the counter. For a split second, hope flared—maybe Kieran texting something he couldn’t say aloud. But it was Trudy. I opened the message, eyes scanning the words. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

I’M ON MY WAY TO THE AIRPORT. JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW... I GOT A SURPRISE FOR YOU, BY THE WAY. I KNOW YOU’D WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT IS, BUT I WON’T TELL YOU. JUST WAIT TILL YOU SEE IT.

A surprise? In the middle of all this chaos? I typed back quickly: OKAY. SAFE JOURNEY THEN.

I set the phone down and muttered a tired "Fuck" under my breath, staring at the mess on the floor. I was stuck—trapped between threats I couldn’t ignore and a mystery I couldn’t solve. The irritation burned like acid in my veins. Octavia’s life was on the line, my own was hanging by a thread, and now Trudy’s cryptic text felt like one more weight on an already crushing load. Whatever the surprise was, it would have to wait. Right now, survival was the only thing that mattered. And I was running out of moves.