Page 35 of Bittersweet Revenge (Sins of the Father #1)

Tiernan

M y father has a penthouse apartment on Dalton St. in Boston.

Everyone, including my mother, knows it’s where he takes the women he fucks.

It’s not something that’s spoken out loud.

We all pretend he comes here to get away, or when he has business to take care of, but it’s always to get his dick wet.

I fucking hate the place, hate what it stands for and what it does to Mom. I don’t believe she loves him. How can she? But she knows he’s dangerous. She knows I’m so fucking entwined with him that there’s no getting me out of it, even if I wanted that. The only way is if I’m dead…or maybe if he is.

And of course, that’s where he wants me to meet him tonight. He knows I disapprove of that shit, but he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone other than himself.

It takes longer than it should to get there. The doorman recognizes me and gives me a smile. “Good to see you, Mr. O’Shea.”

Maybe I’m supposed to like that shit, but I don’t. There are tons of things I let go to my head, and power is one of my favorite things, but I don’t like to be called Mr. O’Shea. That’s my father.

Still, to correct him would be disrespectful and would make it look like I don’t appreciate the position of power I’ve been given, so I say, “Good to see you too,” then take the elevator to the top floor.

My heart beats too hard the whole time. I have no idea what the fuck he could want from me. The harbor meeting went as planned last night, so hopefully whatever the fuck this is goes just as easily and I can get back to Dean, where I belong.

The elevator dings, and I get off, walking toward the door at the end of the hallway. A woman opens it before I reach it, telling me that my father had the doorman let him know when I arrived.

She’s in a bra and panties, not bothering to cover up. He likes to show off his women like this, wants people to know what is his.

I don’t recognize her. She has long red hair, huge fake tits, and what I would say is a sincere smile. I can’t imagine why she would feel that way, meeting the son of the married man she’s fucking, but then, I don’t blame her the way I do him.

“Tiernan, it’s so good to finally meet you.”

I stiffen when she pulls me into a hug. “Don’t touch me,” I say through gritted teeth. It might be my father’s fault he’s cheating on my mom, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be nice to her.

“I’m sorry. I…”

“Where’s my father?”

“In here,” he calls out.

I walk past her and into the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, wearing slacks and a button-up shirt like me, looking completely put together while his mistress walks around half naked. There’s power in that for him.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Sit down. Stop being such a fucking prick. This is Angel.” He points to the woman, who sits on his lap. She smiles at me again, then reaches for the tray on the table with a line of coke. She offers it to me, but I shake my head, and she snorts it herself.

I take the chair across from them. “What am I doing here, Dad? You know I hate this shit.”

He laughs. “My son likes to pretend he’s a good person, but I know who he is. He’s just like me.” I tense at the way he’s speaking about me, but he just continues. “One day you’ll understand that this is the way it is. We’re owed this. Your mother understands, so why can’t you?”

“Fuck…” I trail off as he cocks a brow, hating myself for being such a fucking coward. I fight to school my emotions, keep them under wraps. Control, just like I tell Dean. We need to be in control. “What do you need me to do?”

I expect him to send Angel into the other room, but instead he says, “Her husband. I want him dead. Tonight.”

My body goes rigid, my heart pausing its beat.

He sure as shit shouldn’t be talking like this in front of her, and this is all fucking wrong.

We’re not good people, but we don’t go around killing men so we can fuck their wives.

It’s not as if he wants to marry the woman.

But now I realize why he called me. He would never get his hands dirty with something like this, and if he brought it up to Rian, he would tell my father to get fucked.

Rian is many things, the worst of which is not being a good dad to Cil, but he follows the rules much more than my father does.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” he asks with all the calm in the world, but I know him better than that. I feel the rage seething below the surface, reminding me that people don’t speak to Sloan O’Shea this way—not even me.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because he’s worth a ton of money, and I’ve decided I want to keep her.” He pushes a lock of hair behind Angel’s ear.

She giggles, and yep, I fucking hate her now too.

“You’re married .”

“Jesus, Tiernan. Grow up. How many times do I have to tell you, your mother knew this is how it would be when she married me. She didn’t care then because she wanted to be rich and powerful.

Don’t let her fool you. She acts like she’s so much better than me, but she’s not.

She was a whore then, and now she’s a bitter woman who doesn’t appreciate what she’s been given. ”

It only takes me a second to be on my feet, my gun pulled out and aimed right at my father’s head. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, just sits there still petting the purring woman on his lap.

“Are you done throwing a temper tantrum? We both know you’re going to do what I say.

You can try to be moral all you want, but you’re not.

You’re just like your mother. You want all this, except when it gets hard.

But you don’t have it in you to pull the trigger. You don’t have it in you to walk away.”

My hand shakes. He’s right. I hate that he’s fucking right. Who am I if I’m not Sloan’s son? How could I ever keep my mom and Aislin safe if I killed him?

Self-hatred bubbles up inside me as I put the gun back in my pants.

He gives me a sadistic smile, eases Angel off his lap, then stands. In a few strides, my father reaches me, his arm shooting out, making my head whip to the side when he backhands me.

I don’t stumble, don’t even shuffle my feet, just turn my head forward again, spit blood on the floor, then wipe my mouth. “What do I have to do?”

*

Her husband, Curtis, is some fucking bigwig at a national bank. They have a huge house that boasts the money my father was speaking about, which will now benefit him somehow. And apparently, Curtis is just like his wife and my father. He’s cheating on Angel as well.

He was with his mistress tonight, exactly where Angel said he would be.

I followed him home afterward. Curtis, proving the creature of habit Angel said he was, had a Scotch, took a shower, changed into night clothes, then came downstairs to the back patio for a cigarette and another Scotch before bed.

I’m waiting in the shadows of the house, hidden by the lush shrubbery and massive, dense trees. We’re outside the city, the houses not close, his backyard leading to a sloped hill.

He sits down, takes a sip of Scotch, then lights his cigarette.

My heart slams against my chest, but I fight to steady my breathing. This is nothing. I’ve done this many times already.

I let him enjoy most of his cigarette—a man deserves that before he dies—then slip out of my hiding spot, in all black, gloves, and a mask.

He turns to me, fear in his wide eyes as I raise the gun. He doesn’t have time to do anything before I pop off the first shot, hitting him in the forehead.

My legs feel slightly weak as I walk over, look down at him, at the blood spreading across the cement. “I’m sorry,” I say, then pull the trigger one more time, making sure the job is done, before disappearing into the night.