161
Clinton
Anger.
How long had I suffered with its effects, the damning emotion biting into me every chance it had. I’d remained enraged my entire life, forfeiting so much of what others would call happiness because of my hatred. Sadly, I’d used the energy on the wrong people.
The thought of betrayal entered my mind once again. I’d killed men for less without blinking. I’d stood over them as the last seconds of their lives had played out, limbs torn apart, some gutted by my knife.
Yet not one of the kills had provided me with satisfaction or peace.
The sky looked like it was going to open up at any moment, bolts of lightning crisscrossing the sky. The ugly weather was fitting.
Especially for my sour mood.
“I love her.” My sudden exclamation brought pointed eyes. “We can’t lose her.”
“I don’t plan on it,” Weston said. “I never did.”
“I thought that was apparent.” Christian shifted in his seat.
“It had to be said. She belongs to us. Period.”
“The big he-man makes a proclamation.” There was anger in Weston’s voice.
Sighing as my father’s estate came into view, for the first time in my life, I felt remorse. “We will do everything in our power to make her happy.”
“Yes, we will.” Weston’s words were said in reverence.
As Brock pulled in through the gates, a feeling of recoil settled in my stomach. I’d spent the last day preparing myself mentally. I wasn’t entirely certain that was possible.
“Are you certain about this?” Christian asked.
“Yes. It needs to be done.”
“He has loyal soldiers.”
I stared out the window, wondering where they all were. “Then we kill every one of them.”
“Whew,” Weston said from the passenger seat.
“If you don’t want to be a part of this, then stay in the fucking vehicle.”
Weston tipped his head over his shoulder. “Fuck no, asshole. Your father put us through shit as well. Hiring another hitman to track us down. Hell, what did that bastard do, hold the guy’s hand down and stick a hot poker against the top of his hand?”
Christian snorted. “Your father is a sick man.”
“Yeah, well now you see where I get it from,” I threw out.
“Then that wasn’t good enough,” Weston continued. “Then the bastard had to hire a woman to keep tabs on Ava . What the hell did he think he was going to do?”
“Keep her as his own,” I told them. “What better way than to have his cake and eat it to.”
“I’ll repeat it. Your father is a freaking psychopath,” Christian huffed.
Brock pulled the vehicle to the front of house, killing the engine. This wasn’t a planned visit, although I’d had Marty check to ensure that my father was at home. With the man’s car in the driveway, it appeared the information was correct.
“Did you put a hold on the man responsible for working with my father?” I asked him before I climbed out.
“Fuck yeah, boss. He keeps insisting he has no clue what we’re talking about,” Brock said.
“They all say that shit,” Weston reminded him.
“Yeah, I know, but Harry is a good guy. I know him pretty well. Just shocks the fuck out of me. Sorry, boss. I meant no disrespect.”
“Don’t worry, Brock. My father won’t mind sharing the details, including who worked with him.” I moved onto the aggregate driveway, taking a glaring look at the home I’d grown up in. I hadn’t returned since college. Any time that I’d met with my father had been in a separate location. Maybe the fucker continued to hold resentment that I’d forced him to retire at gunpoint. What did it matter? He had my brother murdered in front of me on purpose.
Because my brother had dared try and stop the horror that I’d grown up in.
I yanked my Glock into my hand, glaring at the windows on the third floor. My father had often remained staring out, knowing the second when I came home. That’s when the beatings began.
Why he hated me so much I wasn’t certain, but that also no longer mattered. I was my father’s son. Blood for blood. It was his time to die.
The other soldiers we’d brought with us remained closer. I wasn’t intending on making much of a surprise entrance. That was impossible given his tight security. However, I doubted he’d be expecting that I’d put a bullet between his eyes so soon.
He’d played the game well, a master manipulator. With the clues he’d left, it appeared that one of the Elite members that I’d gone to school with had been behind the charade. Jonas. I hadn’t talked with the guy since he’d been kicked out of school.
Finding out he’d landed in prison after his father had squandered the family’s wealth was unexpected. Sadly, additional fodder for my father’s vicious intentions.
The front door was unlocked, and I stormed inside, instantly noticing the quiet inside the house. As the soldiers piled in, I took a deep breath. What I found was nothing but bad memories.
And silence.
Then I knew something was terribly wrong.
“Brock. Go check the grounds. I need to know how many soldiers are on the premises. And make contact with Marty. Make certain the house is locked down tight.”
“Of course, boss.”
We moved through the lower level. There was no sign of my father. I took the stairs two at a time, bounding into one room after the other.
Then the third floor, heading into the master suite that I swore I’d never enter again.
What the fuck?
“What the hell is going on?” Christian barked as he found me coming down the stairs.
“He’s not here.”
Weston rushed toward us, holding out his phone. “The fucker knew we were coming.”
The single word would forever remain etched in my mind.
Help
* * *
Pop! Pop!
I dropped and rolled, firing off another two shots towards the guard who’d taken position on one of the balconies. As if in slow motion, his body pitched forward, tumbling over the wooden railing. Christian had taken out a second man at the entrance.
The wind was whipping through the trees, the storm turning violent. There’d been tornado warnings, the lake churning to the point flooding had begun from the torrential downpour. And the fucking lightning refused to give up, the air full of electricity.
“This is getting bad,” Weston said as he crouched beside me.
“The storm or the round of sabotage?”
“Both. Like that night.”
He didn’t need to remind me of the storm in Kentucky.
Hissing, I glared at one of my fallen soldiers, the close shot nearly ripping off his face. Goddamn it. How had I allowed this to happen?
The one lesson that my father had tried to teach me was that when emotion was involved, mistakes were made. He’d known my entire life how emotional I was. No matter how many times he’d tried to beat it out of me, it had always returned.
He’d counted on the fact, knowing my lust for vengeance would cloud my judgment. Now, I risked losing the only thing that mattered to me.
Not business. Not money. No building could ever matter.
Only the single woman I’d been in love with my entire adult life.
“Are we going in?” he asked.
“Is there any other choice? Whatever happens, Ava comes out of this alive.”
Weston yanked out another magazine, replacing the one in his Beretta. “I’ll protect her with my life.”
I heard another round of gunfire, but I continued heading to the front door. My father didn’t want me killed. He wanted me to suffer first. The three of us wanted it over.
Still, I held the weapon in both hands, knowing what I’d find in the living room.
Christian and Weston moved beside me as we entered the room, both men pointing their weapons at my father.
As anticipated, he sat in one of the leather chairs with Ava in his lap, the barrel of his weapon pointed at her throat.
I casually glanced around the room, noticing Marty was leaning against the set of French doors, a smug look on his face. He’d incriminated his fellow soldier. I would enjoy keeping him on ice for a lengthy period of time, cutting off one extremity at a time until he bled out.
There was nothing worse than traitors in your own midst.
When I returned my full attention to my father, the same angst that I’d always felt crowded my system.
“You had Donavan killed.” I said the words in a matter-of-fact way, devoid of all emotion. I could tell I’d surprised him.
“He was a bad seed, although not nearly as much as you are. White trash.”
He was only trying to rile me. “I guess that doesn’t matter any longer. Does it?”
As he stroked Ava ’s hair, she kept her eyes locked on mine. “You know. I was curious as to why you found this little bitch so tempting, enough to derail your life, but now I understand.”
She jerked her head away and he wrapped his other hand around her throat, squeezing just like he used to do with my mother. He’d almost strangled the life out of her several times.
I tensed, then felt Christian’s hand on my shoulder. If I didn’t control my emotions and my anger now, Ava would be the first victim in the room.
“This is between you and me,” I told him, although I knew that would only make him laugh.
He grinned, acting as if my house and everything inside belonged to him. “Did your mother ever tell you the truth?”
“That you were a pig?”
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