Her throat worked as she swallowed. She seemed to shrink in size and something in Clay’s chest twisted. He shifted to block Duncan’s view of her. “Be angry with me, Duncan. Not Florence.”

“Oh, I am indeed very, very angry with you, Madden. You had no right to touch my daughter!” His voice increased in volume until he ended on a roar, his face nearly purple.

Clay remained calm, his shoulders relaxed. He had faced down enough furious men to know he needed to keep a level head. “Whatever you think this is, I promise you, it’s not. I care for her.”

“Liar. This is another way for you to exact revenge on me, by using my daughter. By ruining her.”

“No, Daddy.” Florence moved to Clay’s side. “I’ve been going to Clay for lessons. He’s been teaching me how to run a casino.”

Her father flinched. “You sought out this criminal for lessons? Have you lost your mind?”

Clay’s muscles locked and he took a step closer to Duncan. “If you yell at her one more time I will punch you in the mouth, father or not.”

Duncan focused on his daughter. “Think, Florence. Don’t you realize who is trying to tear down your grandmother’s house so he can build another casino? Have you not put it together yet?”

“Another casino? I don’t understand.”

“He’s using you as revenge against me.”

“You think that Clay is trying to tear down Granny’s house?” She started chuckling and looked over at Clay. “That is ridiculous.”

Clay didn’t join in the laughter. Instead, he merely stood there, his body braced, ready to absorb the hit. The accusations were true. Duncan hadn’t lied. And everyone in the room, save Florence, knew it.

She’d soon realize he’d withheld this from her, that he was a monster. A selfish bastard. She’d learn that revenge mattered more to him than anything else. Even her.

It didn’t have to be this way.

Wrong. There had never been any other outcome. So he waited, his throat burning with explanations he wouldn’t give. It was too late to turn back.

And he could tell by the dawning realization on her face that he was about to lose her for good.

The room was silent. Too silent. The kind of silence where everyone else knew the end of the story and one poor fool was struggling to keep up.

Florence was the fool.

The truth was there in her father’s disappointment and disgust. In the policeman’s smug expression. In Clay’s vacant eyes.

He hadn’t even tried to defend himself.

Because he knows he can’t.