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And now, like always, alone.
15
COLT
Istared out the windows. The brick warehouses outside were a blur. Lights were on in the small office tower. It was Kavner’s. He lived in the penthouse, and the rest of the building was filled with offices for his business empire.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d lost my temper. I hated when I did. It reminded me too much of my father.
Just the thought of Macy in danger, getting hit…
My hands flexed.
I’d find Scott Warner. And if he wasn’t the guy, I’d keep searching until Macy was safe.
There’d be no more fucking panic attacks.
And no more losing it and making her feel worse.
As I was trying to teach Daisy, when you messed up, you apologized. I stomped through my warehouse. It was usually my sanctuary. Or my bear cave, as my brothers liked to call it. Today, it didn’t make me feel better.
I reached the guest room and stopped. I stared at the door for a few minutes before I finally found the courage to knock.
“Go away.” Her voice was muffled.
“Can I come in for just a minute, Macy? Please.”
Through the door, I heard her huff. “One minute is all you get, Colton Fury.”
I shook my head. Macy was incapable of staying mad at anybody for very long. It was probably why she’d lasted so long as my office manager. I frowned. Assistant.
Pushing open the door, I saw her in the center of the bed, her knees tucked under her chin. She looked small and sad. My heart shriveled. This was my fault.
I looked at the wall. “I’m…sorry.”
“Why?”
I looked at her. “Because I upset you.”
“That’s not why you should be sorry, Colt.”
With a sigh, I walked over and sat on the bed. “I lost it. Ran my mouth off. I was worried, but I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re the opposite of stupid.”
She just stared at me with big, sad eyes.
I blew out a breath. “My dad killed my mom.”
Macy gasped and launched forward. She grabbed my arm. “Colt. I’m so sorry.”
“Neither of them were particularly good people, but my mom didn’t deserve to die.” Shit, my skin itched. I hated thinking of those days, let alone talking about it. I never talked about it. “I was there when it happened. We lived in a trailer.” Old and dirty were the best two adjectives I had for that place. “My parents argued a lot. Usually when they were drunk or high.”
Her small hand stroked my back. It eased some of the pressure in my chest. I’d come in here to comfort her, and now she was comforting me.
“The last time, my dad lost it.” I closed my eyes. “They were shouting, throwing things. I hid in my closet.” I’d listened to the shouts and the screams escalate. “I didn’t help her.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
