Chapter 32 #2
He’s quite demanding, but I think we’ve had a much smoother transition than if he were a few years older. At this age, he seems to be better at rolling with the punches, but I guess only time will tell.
The four of us spend our first night together in the pack bedroom, but we’re all exhausted.
No one instigates anything sexual, and it ends up being a night of cuddling up to our omega.
With three of us, one would have to be on the outside if not for Malachy suggesting Charlotte sleep right on top of his chest.
Not that it lasts all night—she eventually moves to lie between him and Patrick, but I don’t realize until morning. It was nice to fall asleep with my hand on her back and her sweet cherry limeade scent so close.
I avoided visiting my guest in my workshop on Christmas, which might be cruel, but I wanted him to spend a bit of time worrying what would happen to him if I never came back.
If he’s not willing to communicate helpful information, then I might as well just kill him.
Also, I’m bonded now.
Charlotte is officially mine.
That means it’s my responsibility to do what has to be done. He won’t like it once I stop asking politely and pull out my tools, but I don’t make idle threats. If he doesn’t speak during this session, I’ll inform him what’s coming this evening.
Placing down McCarthy’s food and water, I cross the room and take a seat in my chair.
He refuses to make eye contact, but he does peek at me more than he has in the past.
“I gave you an extra day to think about your loyalty.” I push my glasses up, quirking an eyebrow. “You have a choice to make between preserving your own life and trying to protect those who don’t even know you’re still alive.”
McCarthy says nothing.
I count out three minutes of silence before saying, “I’d like you to tell me about Candice.”
“Why the hell would you want to hear about that dumb bitch?” He scoffs, crawling forward to collect the bottle of water.
If he makes it to tomorrow morning, he’ll find a different kind of surprise in his fluids.
If he’d like to be cruel, then I can match his energy perfectly. The only thing worse than being chained in a cell is experiencing it while being given high doses of laxatives.
If that doesn’t do the trick, I might take his eye. Then a few fingers. After that, each one of his toes. I’m officially bored of playing the cordial host. He hasn’t been a very good guest, so I see no point in continuing to be civil.
My teeth grind together, and I take several calming breaths. “Humor me.”
“She fucked my president back in the day.” He cracks the bottle of water, taking a long sip. “Then she fucked him up real good.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, pretending to be clueless.
“She stabbed his ass—something like fourteen times.” McCarthy grabs the pack of peanut butter crackers, ripping into it. “Damn near killed him. He won’t ever be the same.”
My eyes flutter behind my glasses, but I ensure he gets no further reaction. “And he wants revenge.”
“He wants to rip her apart piece by piece. To watch her bleed and listen to her beg for death.” McCarthy shoves a cracker into his mouth. “And that was before we knew she ran off with his kid. Candy better pray he never gets his hands on her.”
That won’t be a problem.
My brothers and I would never allow that to happen.
Poor Charlotte.
She believes she was successful in killing him, and she still carries guilt about that. I can only imagine how frightened she would be if she understood that he’s still alive.
There are times when I hate learning secrets.
Now is one of those times. I’m going to have to decide when and how to tell her.
If I knew we could take Blade out without her ever needing to find out that he’s still alive, I believe that would be the more merciful option.
Unfortunately, I don’t have confidence that Charlotte would feel the same way.
I don’t like the idea of being sneaky, but goddammit, I also don’t want to hurt her by telling her.
I hate this.
“How did you find her after all these years?” I ask.
“Someone fucked up somewhere.” He shrugs.
My eyes narrow. “I need a bit more clarification than that.”
“It took an entire year until Blade was healed enough to start looking,” McCarthy says.
“He hired a private investigator and put out the word to have all the other chapters look out for her. Nobody found shit for a while. Not until he hired a new PI. Someone fucked up somewhere, and instead of using her new information, the hospital ran her old social security number. Blade was mighty fucking surprised when some more digging determined that hospital stay was for a woman giving birth.”
“I see,” I say as my mind races.
Little does he know he’s talking about my bonded mate.
Blade may have donated a small amount of DNA to aid in Lukas’s conception, but the boy belongs to us.
As soon as we convince Charlotte to marry us, we’ll legally adopt Lucky.
That, or we could have his birth certificate falsified to say he belongs to Patrick.
I would volunteer, but Lucky naturally looks the most like Charlotte and Patrick.
There’s also the fact that no one would find it shocking to learn Pat fathered a child while we were technically still under contract with the Chapmans.
At least to my knowledge, he stopped dating and hooking up three years ago, which was around the time we really started to notice the changes in Malachy.
Still, I’m not sure if any of the other families know that.
The contract even covers what would occur if Malachy came to the wedding day with a child from another relationship. It would allow the Chapmans to back out, but rather than owing us the full amount, we would lose twenty percent repayment as a penalty.
If Malachy had a child, and the Chapmans chose to go through with the marriage arrangement, we would owe them twenty percent of the original payout, and that child born out of wedlock would lose all inheritance rights.
I don’t believe for a second that Vanessa’s father added that to protect his daughter. More than likely, he included it as a way to save twenty percent.
Though, technically, the penalty wouldn’t apply to me or Patrick, because we weren’t specifically named in the contract. At the same time, if either of us had a child, I know we would honor the agreement in the same way as if Malachy had a kid.
The old-timers truly thought of every grim possibility, except for the one where none of their children wished to go through with that fucking arrangement.
Jesus.
It’s just another reminder of everything we have hanging over our heads.
There are more variables in play than I’d like, and I’m truly fucking miserable knowing the secret McCarthy just spilled.