But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? I don’t belong here. At the same time, I belong here a fuck-ton more than they do. I’m sure I’ve shed more blood from it, as long as we’re not counting slaughtered livestock. I reach deep down inside myself and pull on the true Savage mask, letting it slide back into place with a softclickthat settles so much of the anxiety that was churning inside me.
I don’t say anything. I’m sure my demeanor changes all on its own. I don’t have to move or do anything, just let the atmosphere shift until is drips with unspoken threat. These are women who’ve spent their lives handling violent men, but I still have to be able to scare someone, goddammit.
It’s satisfying. Micah would hate me for it, but I don’t care right now. I can’t be so fucking worthless that even my sins have abandoned me.
The ugliest side of myself is also the most effective at getting things done. That’s always been my problem.
Without any more conversation, I head into the house. Cheryl does call out after me, though.
“Tell Micah to call me, Tadhg.”
I don’t know if she thinks calling me by my real name is more motherly or something, but it doesn’t work. Fine. I’ll tell him. He won’t, though.
Inside the house, there are a few guys scattered around. Mostly eating or lounging. Some of them I know, some of them I don’t, but I absolutely don’t care about a single one of them. I ask to be pointed in the direction of my father, and it isn’t long before I end up in some room he obviously uses as a kind of office.
It’s spacious, with natural light streaming in from a big bay window and a large teak desk taking up one wall. The desk is scarred up and has clearly seen better days, but it’s almost regal. Like something a ship captain might have used in an old-timey boat where the furniture is all way too big for its purpose.
I’m not sure why I’m fixating on the desk instead of the man sitting behind it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen my father sit at a desk like that before. He’s normally more of a pacing and yelling kind of boss, not a sit and do paperwork one. He must have inherited all this from the MC President he took the house from, and that guy must have had real intense fucking illusions of grandeur.
His wife does not match the decor, but I’m sure he didn’t either.
“Hey, Sav,” Colm says, prompting me to notice him standing in the corner of the room for the first time, because apparently I’m completely oblivious today. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Father is still where he sits behind the desk, but he watches me with a predatory glint in his eye that I haven’t seen in a long time.
“Close the door,” is all he says.
I obey but can’t avoid the clench of fear that hits my gut. I strode in here feeling so much like my old self. Not just myself from six months ago, but myold-old self. Before I allowed myself to accept how wrong this all felt. And with three wordsin that familiar clipped tone, all that confidence unravels within me.
“I’m assuming you’re here with good news? You took care of the problem I talked to you about.”
Ah. Yeah. That.
I really should have had a game plan before I marched in here, and now I feel the whole situation withering under the light.
Someone needs to help Tobias. Someone needs to keep Eamon from causing anymore destruction. I think maybe I was subconsciously planning to tell Father I would do it as long as he told me the truth about the Brotherhood and whether they really put a contract out on me or not.
Now that I’m looking at him, though, all I can picture is Micah’s face when he begged me not to kill Eamon.
He wants me to keep my hands clean. He genuinely believes I’m a good enough person—or capable of becoming a good enough person—that I don’t have to keep doing my father’s dirty work to earn my keep.
A desperate, hopeful part of me wants to at least try to be that person for him. Even if I don’t really believe it’s possible.
“I’m not doing it.”
It feels like someone else says the words, and I’m watching it all happen from the other side of a piece of glass. But no—that’s me. Standing there like a dumbass with no follow up while Father and Colm both stare at me.
“What?” Father snaps.
“I’m not… I’m not,” I say, starting to stutter as the nerves belatedly sink in. I fight hard not to let the feeling show and keep standing tall, but I’m not sure how successful I am. This is the one person who always seems to be able to turn me into a whimpering, frightened animal if he wants to. “I’m not doing it.”I shake my head. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I’m done. I’m just… I’m done. I won’t.”
Jesus Christ, Sav, stop fucking talking.
Father doesn’t say anything, and the heat and energy of my anxiety quickly morphs into cold, slick fear dripping down my spine.
Instead, he stands, leaning over his desk with a broad stance. Colm hasn’t moved. I don’t even know if he’s breathing. But he’s watching us both intently, waiting to see how this will play out.
I think we both already know, unfortunately.
