CHAPTER FOUR #3
“Work for you?” I barked an incredulous laugh. “You mean like all the other times I’ve worked for you? Where I pull your weight, do your dirty work, and you run away with all the cash? No, I don’t think so.”
But he was shaking his head, holding my gaze.
“Real work. Real money.” He offered a little shrug then and added, “Dirty, sure, but nothing you can’t handle.”
I stood my ground, not speaking, and continued to hold the knife to his throat as I considered what he was saying.
My father was one of the least trustworthy people I’d ever had the displeasure of knowing.
He took advantage until there was nothing left to take, and then he disappeared to become a ghost until you had something to give again.
I understood that was the reason he never wanted to take Isaac and me in after our mother had died.
What the hell could we offer him then, as a baby and a toddler, other than a couple of extra mouths to feed when he could barely manage to find food for himself?
But the moment we’d been old enough to boss around, there he was, and he hadn’t stopped.
Every bit of logic in my head told me to kick his ass to the curb, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But, like him, the promise of money was as tempting to me as a quick hit was to an addict.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? It’s a good opportunity, the situation I’ve found myself in. It’ll take a little time, but—"
I held up a hand and demanded through a tight jaw, "Shut up."
I needed to think about this. I needed to—
No … no! It was a terrible idea. Getting tangled in any of his business was a terrible idea. Yet …
The door flew open behind me.
"Bram, are you in—" Shawn entered the room, his words dying in his throat at the sight of me. My father. He swallowed audibly. "Leonard is looking for you," he said, his tone flat and unfeeling.
Without lowering the knife from my father's throat, without looking over my shoulder at my best friend, I nodded. "Tell him I'm finishing up in here.”
"He's pretty pissed."
My eyes met my father's as I said, "I bet he is."
Then I directed the blade toward the door and, without taking my hardened glare off the weaselly man in front of me, ordered, "Get out."
"You never answered my proposal."
"That's all the answer you're getting," I said, deciding to stand my ground despite the temptation of trouble dangling right in front of me. "Now, leave."
“Are you sure?” he asked, seeking my eyes and holding my gaze. “I don’t think you fully understand what I’m offering here. If you’ll just let me—”
“Go!”
He feigned disappointment and forced a sigh as he shrugged. "Oh well. Your loss." He smoothed his hands over his front as his gaze landed on Shawn, still standing behind me in the doorway. "How about you, Shawny boy? You want to make a lot of money?”
"Wha—" Shawn began to speak before I cut him off and barked, "Out!"
There had been a point in my life when I would’ve cowered under the eyes of my slimy, strung-out father.
I would’ve felt the threat within those eyes, the sting of his backhanded swing.
But I was bigger now, and though I lacked the weight of muscle, I still knew I would beat him in a fight.
And so did he, apparently, as he held both hands up in condescending surrender and headed toward the door with a cool swagger.
“If you change your mind, Abraham—"
“I won’t,” I cut him off, watching his back.
“If you do, I’ll make sure you can find me.”
“All I have to do is lift the nearest rock.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Believe what you want, my boy. But the sooner you understand how dirty your hands have to get to win in this world, the better off you’ll be.”
He passed through the office threshold and nearly bumped into Leonard’s short, round frame.
Gerald Crowley stopped to glare at the older man who had done more good for us than our own father ever had.
I took a step toward his back, ready to close in on him and drive my blade straight through his spine if he dared to utter a single word to Leonard.
But lucky for him, he paused for only a moment before sauntering down the hallway.
“Who was that?” Leonard demanded to know, turning his furrowed brows on me.
“Nobody,” I said, folding my knife shut and stuffing it into my pocket.
“He was in my office. He’d better not have been nobody.”
I didn’t have it in me to explain in that moment. There was still a wake to work, I’d been away for too long, and surely, there’d be pitchers to fill.
“I have to get back in there,” I muttered, smoothing my suit jacket over my chest as I brushed past Shawn and Leonard and down the hall.
“Bram!” Leonard called after me, his tone harsh and angry.
But that was fine. He could be angry. I was still going to ignore him though, and if he wanted to be angry about that, too, so be it.
He might not understand—he didn’t have to—but it was for his own protection.
That was all I’d ever wanted to do.
Protect.
I just never accounted for the fact that all I’d ever been good at was getting my hands dirty and getting into trouble.