Chapter 145: Tail In The Rearview

Damon’s POV

My father rarely looked surprised by anything I did.

I could crash a luxury sports car, get suspended from school, or bring home three police citations in a single weekend, and the man wouldn’t even blink over his morning espresso.

Hell, when my little twin brothers had yelled across the breakfast table just moments ago, calling Micah my new boyfriend, Father had barely lifted an eyebrow. He acted like having a pretty boy sitting at his dining table was completely normal.

His reaction to the name Whitfield was entirely different.

The warmth in the room vanished. The air between us went completely rigid. My father was staring directly at me with a look so sharp and lethal that it sent a chill down my spine.

He knew that family. He definitely knew them.

There was no way in hell I could tell him that Noah Miller was the last surviving heir of that bloodline. Not yet. Not until I figured out whether my father and the Whitfields had been bitter enemies or close allies before everything.

THUMP.

Under the table, a foot kicked hard against my shin.

I winced, glancing sideways. Micah was glaring at me with wide, panicked eyes, silently begging me to shut my mouth before I ruined everything.

I knew I was walking on thin ice. Noah had trusted me with his secret... or rather, his butler had slipped up in front of me and letting that name drop in front of my father was reckless. I had my reasons for asking. If Noah was about to declare all-out war on the syndicate soon, I needed to know whose side my family stood on.

"I somehow heard someone mention it at school yesterday," I lied smoothly, leaning back and grabbing my glass of juice. "Why? Do you know who that family belongs to?"

Father stared at me for three agonizing seconds, searching my face for any sign of deceit.

He let out a long, heavy exhale, closing his eyes as the tight lines on his forehead relaxed.

"I thought those syndicate bastards were at it again," Father muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He reached to his side, casually ruffling Levi’s messy hair. "Lord Whitfield used to be one of my primary business partners twenty years ago. A good man. An honorable ally. Until his life and his entire family were claimed in an arson attack."

"Oh," I muttered softly.

My chest loosened.

Hearing that lifted an enormous weight off my shoulders. My father didn’t hate the Whitfields. They were allies.

That also explained why Susan had wept in David’s arms at the hospital without ever mentioning his return to my father. David had probably ordered his sister to stay quiet to protect Noah’s cover. If I opened my mouth right now and announced that Noah Miller was that missing heir, how would my father react? Would he mobilize our private security to back Noah up? Or would it trigger a massive corporate panic?

That reveal wasn’t mine to make. Noah had to do it himself.

DING-DONG.

The loud chime of the front doorbell echoed through the foyer.

Susan wiped her hands on her apron and hurried out of the dining room to answer it. A few seconds later, the front door clicked open.

Micah turned his head toward the hallway archway. The moment his eyes caught the tall figure stepping into the foyer, his face lit up.

"Noah!" Micah gasped, pushing his chair back.

Noah walked into the dining room, moving with his usual calm, menacing authority. He had on a clean black hoodie and dark jeans, but his sharp blue eyes instantly locked onto his younger brother, scanning Micah from head to toe.

Finding no scratches, the cold edge on Noah’s face softened.

"How was your night?" Noah asked quietly.

"It was good," Micah replied with a genuine smile.

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. "How about me, Captain? You didn’t even bother to ask how my night went. I had to babysit your brother all night."

Noah ignored me completely, not even sparing me half a glance. His cold gaze swept past my shoulder, landing on my father at the head of the table.

"Greetings to you, Mr. Silver," Noah spoke formally.

My father didn’t even look up from his tablet. "And to you, Miller."

The exchange was freezing, both men acknowledging each other without a single ounce of warmth.

"Come on," Noah turned back to Micah, gesturing with his chin. "Let’s get you home so you can grab what you need."

I immediately pushed my chair back and stood up.

Noah stopped dead in his tracks, his head snapping toward me with an aggressive glare. "What do you think you’re doing, Silver?"

"Going with you," I said, grinning casually.

"The championship tournament begins in one hour," Noah said, his voice flat and unimpressed. "Our hockey game is at six in the evening. Don’t you think you should be doing something productive with your time instead of trailing behind us?"

He was technically right. We weren’t allowed anywhere near the arena ice today anyway. The league rules strictly prohibited teams from practicing on the game rink before the finals so rival squads like Jenson couldn’t scout our tactical plays or analyze our line weaknesses.

I didn’t have anything else to do until six o’clock, and I sure as hell wasn’t staying here.

"If I don’t have anything productive to do, can’t I hang out with my beloved captain?" I shot back with a wink. "What if I go back to sleep, oversleep, and wake up two hours after the finals have already ended?"

"I doubt you’d even wake up," Noah replied, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. "Because I would come to this house and kill you myself if you missed that puck drop."

At the other end of the table, Lucas and Levi burst into high-pitched giggles.

"Get him, Captain Noah!" Lucas cheered.

"Tiny little betrayers," I muttered, glaring at my brothers.

Micah stepped between us, holding his small overnight bag. "You can come with us, Damon. I need to get to campus early anyway to set up the camera gear and find a good shooting angle, since Noah won’t let me anywhere near the front row."

"See? Micah wants me around," I smirked at Noah. "Let’s leave together. I’ll just run upstairs to grab my gear bag and—"

"I already packed everything for you, you naughty child," Susan’s raspy voice interrupted from the doorway.

She walked over, holding my massive black hockey duffel with trembling hands. "Your pads, skates, sticks, and jerseys are all inside. Now make sure you win that match tonight."

"Thanks, old woman," I laughed, taking the heavy strap from her shoulder.

Within two minutes, the three of us walked out of the mansion and climbed into Noah’s black car parked in the driveway.

Micah immediately took the back seat so he could cradle his bulky camera bag on his lap, leaving me to slide into the front passenger seat next to Noah.

Noah shoved the key into the ignition, slammed the gear into drive, and sped out through the open iron gates into the morning sun.

He drove with focus, weaving through the morning traffic without saying a single word. About twenty minutes into the drive, the fuel gauge on the dashboard lit up orange. Noah pulled off the main highway, cutting into a large commercial gas station near the industrial bypass.

"Stay in the car," Noah ordered, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out to pump the fuel.

In the back seat, Micah was completely distracted, leaning over his phone screen, reading updates on the university sports forum.

I leaned my head against the passenger window, letting out a bored sigh.

My eyes drifted toward the side mirror.

Parked across the concrete lot, near the air pump by the exit, was a dark blue sedan with heavily tinted windows.

My chest tightened.

I had noticed that exact same blue car three intersections ago. It had made the exact same turns, kept the exact same four-car distance, and now it had pulled into this random service station without even approaching a gas pump.

Someone was tailing us.

Before I could point it out to Micah, the driver’s side door was thrown open.

SLAM!

The heavy door slammed shut with enough violent force to shake the entire frame of the car!

Noah was back inside. His jaw was set like stone, his veins bulging against his neck. He didn’t even bother pulling his seatbelt across his chest. He turned the key, floored the gas pedal, and the sedan roared forward, tires squealing violently as we peeled out of the station.

The pure rage rolling off Noah told me everything. He had spotted them too.

"Don’t tell me..." I said, gripping the dashboard handle as the car swerved hard onto the bypass road. "Are we being followed?"

Noah shifted into fifth gear, his eyes glued to the rearview mirror as the blue sedan tore out of the gas station right behind us.

"Fasten your seatbelt," Noah commanded in a low, vicious growl. "This is going to be a long ride... Micah."

I looked back at the aggressive blue car closing the distance behind us, feeling my stomach drop straight through the floorboards.

Ah, fuck.

I really should have stayed at home.