Page 49 of Weston’s Treasure

“So, that’s it. You’re sleeping with my daughter—”

“Christ,” Weston bit out. “Listen to yourself. Out of everything I just told you that’s what you want to latch on to? You have two minutes to walk out that door on your own, before I put you out. Go sort your shit and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“If you think you threatening me with physical violence makes me want to leave my daughter with you, you’re wrong. Obviously, you’re a dangerous man.”

Weston was trying to draw from every reserve he had. But he was fresh out of patience. Couldn’t find an ounce of care. And couldn’t muster any consideration for the man. He had nothing. Dale was selfish, inconsiderate, and a dick.

It was a miracle Silver had survived her mother’s verbal attacks, but if Dale’s current behavior was how he’d treated his daughter when she was growing up, Silver wasn’t a miracle—she was a goddamned phenomenon.

Treasure.

“You’re right, I am dangerous. And you should be thrilled I’m the man standing by your daughter. You should go home and rest easy, safe in the knowledge I will protect her—even from you. I don’t threaten physical violence, I’ll enact it. And the only reason why I gave you two minutes to walk out on your own was out of respect for Silver. But you’re down to sixty seconds and I suggest you use your time wisely.”

And the standoff ensued. Weston unmoving, arms crossed over his chest. Dale Coyle stubbornly staring at him. The whole scene was as ridiculous as it could be. So ridiculous Weston would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so angry. How the fuck could a father be so callous? How could a man who was supposed to love his child be so selfish?

Questions Weston knew he wouldn’t get the answers to, so he gave up, broke the standoff, and turned to Nixon.

“Your house, your call. I’m going up to check on my woman. Neither of us is coming down until he’s gone.”

Giving Dale not a second more of his time, Weston moved to the stairs.

“I’m calling the police.” That was Dale. Weston didn’t know who he was talking to and didn’t give a fuck.

He was done.

He’d said what he had to say and now it was up to Dale to clue in or not. If he didn’t, Weston would make it so the man wasn’t around Silver until the op was over—and even after that, he’d wade in when it was necessary. Weston wasn’t stupid, he also wasn’t a dick so he’d never dream of trying to keep father and daughter apart. But what he would do and planned on doing was making sure Silver didn’t get cut up in the process.

That was the last time he’d watch Silver take a hit that put sadness in her eyes.

18

I heard.

Everything.

Every word Weston had said to my father after he’d asked me to go upstairs.

I didn’t question him or put up a fight mainly because I was so embarrassed by my dad’s antics. I wanted to run away and disappear or hit my dad over the head with a lamp. I couldn’t believe he’d behaved like that, and that was saying something because my dad was pretty melodramatic and over-the-top. There’d never been a time where he wasn’t.

When he and my mom argued it got dirty, but Dad was normally the one to back down because there was no winning with my mother.

“Hey.” Weston’s voice filled the room and my eyes closed.

“I’m sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yeah, I do. That was embarrassing.”

“I agree. For him, not for you.”

That was nice of Weston to say, but we both knew that wasn’t true. Dale was my father. My blood. The man who made me and raised me. I was a direct reflection of him, and him of me. Either way, it said nothing good about me.

“Is he still down there?”

“He was when I came up,” Weston told me and shut the door to his bedroom. “You all right?”

“No.”