“I’m not leaving,” Sinclair said.
“You aren’t wanted here. Dante isn’t here to plead your case. You remember Dante? The kid you raised? The son you had and treated like shit? The man whose husband you threatened when you walked into my clubhouse uninvited. You really think I’m gonna let you anywhere near my fucking brother?”
“You will regret keeping me from my son, King.”
“I’m not keeping you from anything, Sinclair. You see, that’s where you and I are different. I’m respecting my brother’s wishes. I’m protecting him in the way he asked me to. If I were a selfish bastard like you, I wouldn’t have swallowed my pride and asked you to come here and save his fucking life. Because make no fucking mistake, Sinclair, you were the last person I wanted to call.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said and then turned and walked down the hall.
“Don’t waste your time,” I called out behind him. But I knew it was futile. I understood fathers who were selfish bastards. I had one of my own who, not long ago, tried to push his way into my own life uninvited.
Earlier in the year,
“Hello, son.”
He walked into my house as if he fucking belonged there. Him and his men. He’d called me son since the day he found out who I was. He wasn’t wrong. I was his son, but he wasn’t my father. I had a father. A damn good one.
Between Sal and Duncan, they believed Maureen’s daughter Colleen was in danger because her father, Maureen’s previous husband, had told her he’d found my mother. He didn’t tell her where, only that he’d found her.
I moved us into church, my officers following behind me, and they laid it all out.
“We think Tyran killed Duane after he got the information about Darcy’s location. He went to California shortly after Duane was killed,” Sal explained.
He focused on the table for a moment before looking up at me. I saw the hurt and anguish on his face as he said the words, “I’m sorry, son. Tyran said she died seven years ago.”
I stared at my father. My mother was gone. I would never get a chance to meet her. Emotions I wasn’t prepared for washed over me, and I stood, turning away from everyone.
“You okay, Prez?” Jack asked solemnly.
“Everyone out,” I ordered.
Chairs scraped against the floor as my men stood. Jack stopped beside me. His words were quiet, so only I heard him say, “I’m here for you, brother. I know what you’re feeling. It’s okay to grieve.” I nodded, unable to speak. Jack slapped me on the back before leaving the room.
“Give me a minute with my son,” Sal whispered.
“He needs to know the rest.”
Fuck, what else is there?
“I’ll tell him,” Sal rasped, his voice filled with the same emotion I was feeling. I heard the door close behind me. My eyes filled with tears I wasn’t prepared for.
She was gone.
Forever.
“Son.”
“I’m not your fucking son.” I turned my head when I spoke, not ready to face him.
My hands clenched. I wanted to punch him in the mouth. He wasn’t my father. Curran O’Rourke was my father. Declan was my father. The man standing behind me was no one to me.
“Whether you like it or not, it doesn’t change biology. You are my son. You were her son. She loved you.”
I spun around and snarled, “Loved me? She wanted to fucking kill me! The only reason she didn’t was because my grandmother, my real mother, talked her out of it.”
“Why do you hate me? I had no choice. I didn’t even know you existed until three months ago.”
“Fuck you, Sal! You knew I existed. I wasn’t good enough to meet as your little brother. But son? Well, that’s different, right? A fucking heir! You’re an asshole.”
