“If you want me to actually take this seriously, then Jett has to stop doing this bullshit,” I grit out, my chest heaving as I stare at my father. The fucker drinks his disgusting instant coffee that smells strangely like piss without a care in the world.
I banged on the front door for what felt like forever until my dad lazily opened it. It doesn’t escape me that when Jett banged on my door like he was a one manned SWAT team, I opened the door instantly.
I guess it’s a perfect representation of my standing in this family.
He just raises a thick brow at me and shrugs as he takes a seat at the wooden dining table.
“Well, he’s proven he’s good at the shit he does. You wanted this extra responsibility, so you’ve gotta prove you’re ready to handle it. No one’s gonna fucking coddle you, ‘specially not your brother.”
Of course, Jett only does things that serve him. And I have something he wants: Mirabelle. So that motherfucker sure as hell is going to do everything he can to fuck with both of us.
“Fine then,” I say, swallowing hard. “But if I prove myself, if Ican train this new fighter, then Jett has to leave me the fuck alone.”
My dad’s jaw ticks as he stares at me with such a hard, loveless expression.
“You know, if you were anyone else, I’d tell you to fight your own battles, but since you’re abeta, I’ll see what I can do with your brother.Ifyou’re able to train the new dog.”
His words are as clear as day. He already thinks I’m a fucking failure because of my designation. He doesn’t think I can do it. He doesn’t think I can train the new fighting dog.
“Fine.” My hands clench into fists at my sides, and I desperately wish I could give myself another dose to make me feel less pathetic. My dad has a way of making me feel less than the dirt under his shoe when he talks to me.
My dad doesn’t say anything else as I leave. When I cast a single, last glance at him over my shoulder, he’s no longer paying me any attention as he stares down at his phone.
Fuck him. Fuck this family.
I need some level of respect here. Not because I’ve always desperately wanted it, but because it’s the only thing I can use to keep Mirabelle safe in this hellhole.
So, I’m going to train that fighting dog. And I’m going to do it well or I’m going to die trying.
I may not have participated in the family business before, but I know the protocols. I jog all the way to the west side of the farm, where all the buildings for the dogs are kept, and storm into the office trailer.
My Uncle Jerry, Dad’s younger brother, jerks his head up when he sees me.
He shoves his chair away from his desk as I approach, pushing past the two newer trainers whose names I don’t bother remembering.
“Rowan,” he says, his brows drawing down in confusion. “The hell are you doing here?”
“I’m training the new dog,” I say, my voice hard as I grab a set of ATV keys from the hooks on the wall.
All three of them stiffen, their eyes going wide.
“Seriously? Does Norman know about this?”
“Yes, my dad knows about it,” I grit out, my gaze cutting back to the three of them.
“Damn, I knew your old man wasn’t fond of you, but does he want you killed?” One of the new guys asks.
Jerry practically slaps the new guy upside the head.
“Shut up,” he snaps, before his wary gaze cuts back to me. “You sure ‘bout this, son? Three of us have been tryin’ to break him all goddamn night, and he only kneeled when Jett got involved.”
My shoulder stiffens at my brother’s name. Looks like he already paid this new fighting dog a visit. Probably with Mirabelle in tow.
“I’ll be fine.”
My uncle steps around the others to stand in front of me, his hand clapping down hard over my tense shoulder. I just stare back at him with steely determination.
After a long pause and a deep sigh, my uncle just shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
