Apologies are a weakness, Father once told me, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d believed his lessons until now. Saying sorry and meaning it wasn’t something I did. It was easier to manipulate someone into believing they’d overreacted, but that was Father’s tactic. He was a lawyer, one who took care of the public and threw criminals in prison, but he was conniving and selfish. He took what he wanted and left the scraps for everyone else.
My other siblings besides Luke—my older sister and brother—were cut from the same cloth as our father. They thrived under his care and craved his approval. I resented him. Pushed back against his authority. And he’d pissed me off by claiming I was exactly like Luke.
Was he right?
On the road to my revenge, I’d hurt innocent people, the way Luke had hurt Andrea. The difference was that, apparently, he hadn’t known what he’d done, whereas I did.
Maybe I was also like Father.
I shook the thoughts from my head as the door snapped open, and I stared at the man on the other side. I’d seen enough pictures from Moyle to know the sight of Quain Beaumont, KC’s pa, and he didn’t look happy to see me. His lips pressed in a thin line, eyebrows sitting low on his forehead. He wasn’t a tall man, at least, not compared to me. He was pretty, though, with short dark hair, a narrow nose, and pouty lips. Not my type, but I could see how he was Luke’s.
“You’re Renshaw,” Quain said, a tightness in his tone as he stepped back to let me inside. As soon as I crossed the threshold, he slammed the door shut.
“I am. I’m—” I turned to look at him, ready to excuse my behavior and ask where KC was, when a fist landed across my nose, knocking me backward.
I crashed down a step into the sunken living room and over the lilac U-shaped couch, then sprawled on the floor on my stomach. Pain exploded from my nose, whiting out my vision for a few seconds. I groaned, pressing my fingers under my nostrils to catch the blood that poured from them, shock echoing through me as my mind raced to catch up with what was happening.
“Fuck.” My fingers came back bloody, the red bright against my skin. I glanced up at Quain as I shoved to my feet, knees shaking, but was surprised to watch him vault over the couch as if it was nothing and land with grace in front of me.
This was a seriously pissed off father. I wasn’t sure if facing him at this moment was the right thing, but I also had no escape. “Sir?—”
He moved so quickly I barely saw him. His agility was nothing like I’d seen, and the spin in the air he did was something out of a martial arts movie. The next thing I knew, he was kicking me across the jaw.
I went flying again, this time into a glass coffee table in front of the couch. Tiny shards of glass scattered across the floor and dug into my skin.
I groaned, every piece of me on fire. My arms were bloody where I’d braced for landing, the glass shredding my flesh. My connection with consciousness frayed and my vision blurred, but I somehow managed to get to my knees as the agony spread through my body with the ferocity of a violent, illegal check from a hockey defenseman almost twice my size—something Ihadexperienced. It was far from pleasant.
But the man in front of me was no defenseman. He was slim and came up to my nose. How did he know how to fight and why was he so good at it?
“You hurt my son,” Quain hissed, approaching me with the dexterity of a fighter, one ready to kick my ass if I didn’t defend myself.
Every one of my instincts kicked in.Protect. My focus narrowed in on the man coming toward me. It didn’t matter who he was or why he was attacking, adrenaline fired up inside me. I hauled myself to my feet, hands curling into fists. When he jabbed again, I dodged his punch and aimed a kick at his feet, but he jumped with ease, successfully avoiding my assault.
The lessons in karate I’d received as a child paid off, my body gliding from years of experience with fights and the moves I’d learned. I only managed to land one effective strike, and Quain’s face snapped to the side after my knuckles met his cheek. My chest heaved, panting, as I tracked his steps away from me.
He touched the corner of his lip where blood welled. He smirked. “I am going to make youscream.” He sounded way too happy about that prospect.
My body begged me to stop, but adrenaline coursed through my veins. Fight or flight. I’d always fought. I wasn’t one to back down. Ever. I raised my fists and made a “bring it” gesture. In this moment, it didn’t matter that he was KC’s dad. I was here to get my men back, and if I had to get through Quain to do it, I would.
Quain’s smile was downright evil, an expression I hadn’t expected from someone who seemed sweet and wholesome. From a man who adopted a tween and put him through school. As uptight as he was, Quain was kind to those he loved and strangers as well. People generally liked him.
So where did this version of him come from?
I hesitated, wondering if this was what I really deserved. “I love your son and Oli.”
Quaintsked,snatching a blade out of his pants pocket and flipping it open with ease. “If you did, Mr. Booth, you wouldn’t have hurt them. But it wasn’t onlytheirhearts you broke, you also broke Luke’s, and he’s an idiot, but he’s also my partner.”
Luke. I hadn’t thought about him. The only people who’d filled my brain were KC and Oli.
“You don’t get to walk away and have a peaceful life. I will drag this out, make you cry for help. I usually like to get the job over and done with. I’ll make an exception for you.” Quain stepped forward, blade glinting.
I opened my mouth, but a voice behind Quain sliced through the air first.
“Pa, stop!”
Footsteps thumped against hardwood as KC and Oli came into view over Quain’s shoulder, dressed in T-shirts and sweats like they’d been ready to lounge around the house. They appeared absolutely horrified by what they were seeing. KC’s wide eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but Oli’s tracked down his face without recourse. Oli’s cheeks flushed and his jaw tensed, as though he was caught between feeling happy to see me and enraged I was here.
KC held up his hand. “Let him go.Now.” His red eyebrows drew low on his forehead. “You don’t get to choose what to do with him. We do. You and I talked about this.”
