“Mei Zhen Marchand,” he snapped, grabbing my arm almost painfully as I made to storm past him. “You do not speak to family so disrespectfully.” “You’re right,” I agreed, staring up at him with all the defiance I felt bristling across my skin. “I don’t speak to Ma like that. To Old Dragon or Henning and Cleo. Just you.” Dad’s eyes flashed. “Are you going to him now?” I didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. That kind of hatred was reserved for Henning alone.
