TWISTED FATE (Twisted Path Book 1)

Chapter 41

Becca

I'm sitting across from Nick, grateful for the table—a deliberate divide between us. My chair is angled ever-so-slightly away from him, an unspoken shield. Not enough to be rude, but enough to make it clear I'm not ready to engage.

Shane sits beside me, his steady presence granting me the space to do whatever makes me most comfortable, even as my proximity is damn near crowding him. Our sides press against one another, his hand holding mine tightly under the table—a quiet tether that fills me with his strength. Having him so close doesn't erase the tension in my chest, but it keeps it from consuming me.

The fingers of my free hand twist the cloth napkin in my lap. It's a mindless action, a desperate attempt to focus on something, anything, to keep the anxiety at bay. I don't look at Nick. Not directly. Just quick glances. Gauging his intention, waiting while anticipating the worst.

Like me, he hasn't touched his food either.

The air between us is heavy. Not with anger, not with hostility, but something more suffocating. Uncertainty. Fear. A quiet tension, like we're all holding our breath, afraid that any wrong move might set off a chain reaction we can't stop.

Shane clears his throat softly. "You were careful getting here?"

Nick nods. "Yeah. Parker drove me." He leans back in his chair a little, casual but not flippant. He doesn't sound like Charles, not exactly. But the cadence is there. The confidence of someone who's used to being heard. It sends a shiver crawling across my skin. "He knows not to say anything to anyone."

I don't acknowledge what he's said. But something inside me loosens just the tiniest fraction. Of course, Shane told him to be discreet. He thinks about things like that, things most people wouldn't. It's one of the things I love most about him, how careful he is with me. It's why it was so easy to let myself trust him.

Still, I keep my focus on the table, pretending to adjust my fork as Shane nods once, sharp and satisfied. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, his touch a quiet comfort. His way of reminding me he's here. That he's got me.

"Good," Shane says. "Last thing we need is your dad finding out you're here. Or, god forbid, involved in any of this."

Nick scoffs, a dark smirk pulling at his lips. "Who gives a shit what Charles thinks?" His voice is flat, dripping with disdain. "Plus, let's be honest—these days, he doesn't give a fuck what I do."

"Of course, he cares. You're a loose cannon. The only person to ever stand up to him—and worst of all, his only male heir. Trust me," Shane says evenly. "He would definitely care if he knew you were here. With Becca and me, protecting her from him."

Nick pauses, considering that. The smirk fades, replaced by something colder, sharper. "Fuck him. Let him try and come at me this time. He might not live to regret it."

The words hit like a blade, cutting through the fragile peace between us.

My breath catches. Every muscle in my body tenses. My fingers freeze in my lap, the napkin clenched in my fist so tightly I can feel the fabric biting into my skin. A fine tremble rolls through me.

That voice. That tone.

It's not exactly Charles's, but it's close enough. Too close. There's no mistaking the ice in it. The promise of violence. That quiet, lethal certainty that the target of his ire isn't safe.

My throat tightens, my chest hollows.

I knew this was a mistake. I knew it. Nicholas Kline is his father's son. Maybe not in the same overt, twisted ways, but here, in private, behind closed doors, it's clear he's the same brand of dangerous.