Creighton grunts in assent. “That he talked once was bad enough, but he did it again and again and again. With anyone else, the first time would have been their end. I gave him every chance I could.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t just me or the money or the business I’ve spent my entire life building and expanding. He was going to cost my men their lives.” His eyes grow cold. “He’d already cost me some.”
“We should go,” I tell Lachlan, willing him to see that this is some kind of elaborate trap. It could be he’s grown soaccustomed to his father that he no longer sees through him. I want to shake him, tell him to wake up.
“I spent twenty-two years married to the wrong woman. It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I can’t tell you how awful it is to lie beside someone, night after night, knowing you can’t trust them.” His voice grows hoarse and his lips curls. “Knowing they’d rather you were dead.”
Even with the ghost of the man’s arm around my neck, I feel sorry for him. To have had a wife plotting against him, a son whose loose lips might bring about his downfall.
“This life is hard enough travelling through it with someone you love, someone you’d die to protect. Without that, there’s no joy in life.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t stay away from you all those years because I didn’t want you. It was because I wanted you and your mother so much, my enemies would have seen you dead.”
Lachlan softens, swaying towards him. It’s not my place to intervene but I’m appalled. Even with the new dose of pity, the man’s a monster. Hand me a ring gag and I could explain why.
But Creighton is forging a new connection to his son. He’s drilling into it when he says, “It’s not turning eighteen that makes you a man, it’s finding the woman you love.”
His cold eyes fix on Lachlan, hypnotic. I shift within his arms, hoping to break whatever spell it is he’s casting when Creighton’s lips curl into a wintry smile.
“Hopefully, your girl still feels the same way about you once she gets out of prison.”
“She’s not going to—” Lachlan breaks off, exasperated. “Can’t you”—he waves his hand—“I don’t know, sort things out with the school board? It’s a few pills. There’s no need to press charges.”
“I wish I could. Prison’s a terrible place. It’ll take a lot ofresources to make sure she’s protected in there. I can arrange that, but I’ll need your reassurance you’re committed to the work before I cash in those favours.”
And I understand. From the way Lachlan stiffens, he does, too.
Creighton isn’t offering his son an olive branch. They’re not bonding over falling in love with the wrong women.
No. He’s found a new lever to control his son when nothing else was working.
Me.
I close my eyes, wanting to beam out of the room and go anywhere, anywhere at all. A man clears his throat and I know without looking who it is even though I don’t understand why he’s here.
I open my eyes again as Patrick says, “She’s already protected.”
He slouches in the doorway, dressed in a suit that doesn’t look like it’s made it home from last night yet. Whereas Creighton’s relaxed stance looks staged, Patrick seems to be made of cat, so liquid he easily conforms to any space.
“Prison also seems like overkill,” he says, sending me a wink. “I’m sure Lock can find a far more appropriate punishment for her if he puts his mind to it.”
“What are you…?” Lachlan’s voice tangles, a feeling I know all too well. “How did you even get in here?”
“Chatted up the lovely security guard hanging about by the door.” Patrick’s smile grows even wider. “He’s become such a close friend; he’s paying me a visit tonight.”
“You fucked your way in?”
“Well, not yet.” Patrick runs his long fingers through the loose waves of his hair, pushing off the doorframe to walk inside. “But that’s the hope.”
Creighton’s gaze tracks him into the room. I can’t tell anything from his expression, it stays the same. “Who’s protection?”
“I should say something clever and threatening here, like try pushing your luck and you’ll find out.”
“Right. You think you should say that do you?”
“Mm. But on second thoughts, perhaps not.”
Creighton shakes his head. “Just give me the damn name.”
“Billy Torrens.”
My head snaps back to Patrick, frowning. Billy is the boat builder who is almost always playing cards in the back rooms. The man who’s always been incredibly chatty with me, enjoying his conversations instead of paying attention to his game.
