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“What woman?”

“Don’t play dumb, Austin. Despite Father’s insistence on making you into an enforcer, you do have a brain. So tell me, who is she?”

My heartbeat picks up, which I note is rather telling. I don’t want Augustus to know anything about Olivia. I don’t want him anywhere near her at all. And yet, if I want to rebuild this relationship, I need to learn to trust.

“You don’t know her. But she’s not like us.” Technically, not up until a week ago, anyway.

He nods, and the lines around his eyes lose their sharpness.

“Then you should let her go. This isn’t the life for her,Austin.”

It might be the kindest advice my brother has ever given me. The only advice, actually. And he’s right. This isn't the life for Olivia. But I knew long before I met her that it wasn’t the life for me either. I have to prove that I'm out of it. I have to prove that I'm worthy of her. Because she’s it for me. And as much as I’m trying to be a good person, that doesn’t extend to letting her go.

???

I let myself in. And while it usually brings me great joy to see the shock on someone's face, catching my father with his pants down, dick-deep in some poor, unfortunate soul, has me reevaluating my scare tactics.

His forehead has a vein popping out like a hernia. His head is thrown back as he repeatedly thrusts into the poor girl, who’s biting her lip hard enough to bleed. He is slamming into her like a jackhammer.

“Glad to see you can still keep it up at your age, Dad.”

“Austin, I’m busy,” he puffs out, continuing to thrust.

“Off you go, sweetheart. I’ll see you get your tip, pun not intended.” I sigh, closing my eyes, but unfortunately, that image is seared into my retinas.

My father eventually relinquishes his grip on her hips and slaps her ass like he’s trying to get a horse to start moving. The poor woman scurries out the door, clasping her clothes at her chest.

Unfortunately for me, my father is butt naked as he wipes his brow with the back of his arm and heads straight for the liquor cabinet. How remarkably similar he is to my brother. Or my brother is to him. Unlike Augustus, he doesn’t hand me a drink, so I take the initiative to pour myself a glass as my father locates his slacks and pulls them up, covering what little modesty he has.

His office is old money. Deep mahogany wood carvings house first editions, and he has a rifle on the wall that apparently belonged to Teddy Roosevelt. The dark green walls and paneling mirror mine to a point. But if I do say so myself, mine elevate the room; his dark-on-dark furnishing seems to make his office seem cave-like. A dragon hoarding precious possessions and discarding anything he deems invaluable. Like that woman who’s just escaped his greasy clutches.

“Here to finally take a seat at the table? I’ll make sure it’s wiped down before you do.” He smirks, his eyes flitting down to where the young woman was pressed down, ass up over his desk.

“I can assure you, the desk would be burned if ever I was to take the helm, Father. But luckily for youand your desk, I’ve come to officially hand in my resignation.”

I pause to let him digest that first tidbit.

“No.”

Okay, well, let’s ignore that.

“I’ll be stopping all official duties as your enforcer and cease completing any contracts or otherwise henceforth.”

“Hence-fucking-forth? What the fuck have you been reading?” he hisses; a blob of spit hits the desk, inches away from my hand. I have the good sense to pull my drink away from his firing range. I can’t help but think of all the fluids he hasn’t wiped up.

And if he must know, werewolf smut, where the heroine really does save the day and allows the hero to feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Only with her, though. Only ever with her. Erotic, exciting, and honestly, quite therapeutic. Smut really has it all. Speaking of, I need to get the next book in the series from Olivia when I get home.

“Nothing you’d like, Daddy dearest.”

His mustache starts to wiggle on his top lip as he rolls his thin lips together. The bristles rub against the end of his nose. How is he not sneezing all the time?

“The week I gave you before your little vacation togod knows where wasn’t a time for self-reflection. It was a deadline.”

“And here I am, before the weekend is up, letting you know that I’ve made my decision. And my little vacation did me wonders, thanks for asking.”

“Clearly not if you’re throwing everything away.”

“You’re under the impression that this is a negotiation. It’s not. I’m not interested in being your enforcer, your successor, or anything else you may think to offer me. This isn’t about money or titles or what you want me to do. It has to do with what the business does and what you do. I’m not doing it anymore, Dad. I’m done.”