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Dad waved him away like a fly. “You can talk when I tell you to. For now, this is between myself and the incompetent president of your little club.”
I pointed at him. “A club you founded. A club you started.”
He slammed up from his desk. “And don’t you ever forget it.”
I walked up to my father’s desk and placed my hands on the corner. Matching him movement for movement. He bent down, following my motions, trying to intimidate me like he did everyone else in his employ.
“You were reckless, Max.”
“You withheld information, Ashton.”
John tapped me with his can. “Max, cut it out.”
I shook my head. “Not a fucking chance.”
Dad’s eye twitched. “You should have known something was off the second you got there. The second you saw where you were going.”
“What? You’re telling me you didn’t know where your own client was going? Doesn’t sound like you, Father dear.”
“You mock me one more time, and you won’t be alive to run that little haphazard crew of yours.”
“The haphazard crew you started, Dad. Don’t forget that.”
His eye twitched again. “You should’ve been prepared for things to go south like that. That’s your job.”
I growled. “That’s why we always do the fucking risk assessment.”
“Fuck the risk assessment!”
Dad’s voice boomed over our heads as he shot up, causing me to move with him so he couldn't gain the upper hand if he lunged at me.
“It’s not my fault you don’t have the gear you need! You get paid well over top dollar to do what you guys do. Buy your own fucking gear and stop assuming people will hand it all to you! That’s your job, to have what your guys need to do their own jobs effectively. Welcome to being president, son. You’re doing a shit job.”
I pointed at him. “Own up to your part in this. You didn't do the risk assessment with me because you knew what we were walking into. You knew we’d have to fight for the life of your client, and you knew that if I knew that, I would’ve never taken this damn job!”
“You’re the president of the Red Thorns,” Dad spit out. “Fucking act like it.”
My head cocked. “And what does that mean, Ashton?”
John tapped me with his cane again, trying to get me to calm down. If he tapped me with it one more time, I’d shove the damn thing up his ass.
“What does it mean, Maxwell? Well, it means to stop walking around with your tail tucked between your damn legs. That’s what it means. This life demands blood, Max. This life means sacrifice. John knew that when he became president, and I thought you did, too. If you’re not willing to spill blood, then you’re in the wrong business.”
I rounded the desk and stood toe to toe with my father.
“Say that one more time, old man.”
He grinned. “Maybe you’d be better suited to running errands and making my coffee.”
I growled at him as my fingertips itched for the butt of my gun while Dad chuckled right in my fucking face.
“No matter. You’d find a way to fuck that up too. Like you fucked everything else up during your childhood. During the firefight that made your brother the cripple he is today.”
I snarled. “You leave him out of this.”
Dad kept going, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Luckily, Mr. Dean got away with his life. I’m not sure how, and I can’t say he’s happy with how things were handled that week. But he’s alive, and that’s what matters.”
“He’s alive because of my boys. Mine. Do you hear me? So, why the fuck haven’t we been paid for our time well spent?”
