“I had to tell your dad about Beckett.” My stomach somersaults, and I down another gulp of sharp whiskey. “Which part?” I lick the liquor off my lips. “That he wants a helicopter to fly him out of here? Or that we forced him on this trip because of his cocaine use?” Akara gives me an apologetic wince. “Both.” Merde. I fist the neck of the bottle. “He didn’t seem surprised about either,” Akara says. “But with your dad…” “It’s hard to tell,” I nod.
Fuck
