Page 39 of Bittersweet Revenge (Sins of the Father #1)

Tiernan

D ean’s been home for two weeks, and we haven’t spoken about my father since.

I’m even more cautious when it comes to my phone calls with my father or speaking about him. I’m stuck in an impossible situation where my loyalties are pulled in opposing directions.

I hate my father. There’s no denying that, but…

he’s still my family. All my life I’ve been told that family is everything, and that included our extended family and anyone in our crew.

My father doesn’t abide by those rules, despite them being what he’s always preached, but that doesn’t mean that in my core I don’t believe in them.

Equally, I know that family isn’t blood.

It’s the people who show up for you, the people you love and care about.

While not blood-related, Rory is more my family than my father will ever be.

And Dean…well, he’s fucking mine in every way he can be.

I would die for him. I would lie for him.

Clearly, I would betray my fucking family for him because that’s exactly what I’m doing.

How can I not, though? Even if Dean wasn’t who he is to me, I understand why he would want to kill my father.

I’d want the same thing; it’s what would be expected of me too.

The morning after the first night he came home, Cillian and Rory acted like nothing happened.

They treated him like they always would, giving him shit and busting his balls.

They did that for me. That’s the thing about chosen family—they’re here because they deserve to be, not simply because they’re supposed to be.

Aislin had to get her say first. She walked up to him, told him if he ever ignored her again, she would kick his ass. When he apologized, she hugged him, and then everything was all good with them too.

I’m glad he’s back where he belongs, even if I shouldn’t be. Even if I’m lying to said chosen family about who he is just as much as I am my blood family.

He’s being cautious. He tries to hide it, but I see it. He doesn’t want to fuck up, doesn’t want to lose me any more than I want to lose him. We’re both completely in and possessive that way. It’s probably not the healthiest of relationships, but I don’t give a damn.

“What are we doing tonight?” Rory asks while we’re all sitting around the table, eating dinner.

Aislin is back to staying at her dorm, but she’s here with us often too.

She wants independence, but there’s something to be said for comfort, for being around people who don’t judge you for all your scars. We have a-fucking-nough of them.

“I’m not doing jack shit,” I say. “I’m tired of fucking parties and going out and being around people.”

“We’re not people?” Cillian asks.

“Not people we hate,” Dean replies, and I lean over and kiss him.

“He fuckin’ gets it.”

“That’s because you’re practically the same fuckin’ person,” Rory says. “Hey, maybe that’s why you like each other so much. It’s like you’re fucking yourself.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” I tell Rory.

“Yes, but a correct idiot,” Cillian adds.

“Fuck you both.” I give them each a middle finger.

“T, you know they’re right.” Aislin reaches over and lowers one of my arms.

“So now you’re betraying me too, huh?”

“Is there something so wrong with being like me?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ hothead,” I counter, though yes, I’m just like him.

“Oh, and you’re the definition of cool, calm, and collected?” Dean raises his brows.

“A fucking saint.” I take a bite of stew. It was Cillian’s night to cook, and he was smarter than most of us, putting stuff in the crockpot earlier today.

Everyone at the table except me bursts into laughter. I can’t lie, I have to bite back my smile too because we all know I’m anything but a saint.

We finish eating together, the whole time giving each other hell the way we’re so good at.

This dinner is another reason Dean is here with me. The people at this table are who fucking matter, and I’ll do anything in my power to hold on to that.

When we’re done eating, we all join in and clean up the kitchen, before each of us takes a beer into the living room.

Rory fires up the PlayStation, not something I do often because it feels like I always have too much on my mind or too much to do.

Dean is competitive as shit, though, and before I know it, he and Cillian are arguing about who’s a better shot.

Rory is losing himself in the bong, and Aislin is sitting beside me with her head on my shoulder.

“I’m glad he’s back,” she whispers just for me.

“Me too. Shit could get twisted, though,” I answer honestly.

“We’ll figure it out. I’m on your side, always.”

I nod, chest full. I don’t return the words, but I don’t need to. Aislin knows I’ll do anything for her.

The games continue until about ten when I want my man back, so I drag Dean upstairs with me.

“I need a haircut.” He runs a hand over his head.

“Sit down. I’ll do it.”

He nods, stripping out of his clothes, then closing the toilet lid and taking a seat.

I take the electric shaver out of the cabinet, oil it, and add the attachment for the length he keeps.

The familiar buzz fills the bathroom as I take the first swipe over his head, watching the brown hair fall to the floor.

There’s something really fucking hot and intimate about doing this for him, about grooming what’s mine.

I stand between his legs, Dean’s hands on my hips, under my clothes, his thumbs rubbing over my hips and making my cock rise to attention.

We both ignore it as I continue cutting his hair.

The only time he lets go is when he has to turn around so I can clean up his nape and make sure the line is straight.

“Thank you,” Dean says.

“I did it for me. I like it.”

“I meant for everything. Tonight. Me being here.” It’s the closest he’s come to mentioning my father. It doesn’t take a genius to read through the lines. He’s thanking me for the fact that he’s still here, with us, with me. That he’s still mine despite everything.

I turn off the razor and set it on the counter. “You might not be saying that if you knew I won’t ever let you leave.”

He turns around, giving me a small smile. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Oh, I can keep them, all right. And I will.”

I kiss him, then turn the shower on. Dean sweeps up the hair, and then we step into the stall together. We wash up and jerk each other off before stumbling naked to bed together.

“Are we starting To the Lighthouse ?” Dean asks, picking up the Virginia Woolf book from the nightstand.

“It was your turn to choose,” I say.

Dean nods, opens to the first page, and starts to read.

I pull him close, close my eyes, and focus on nothing but him.

*

Something is off.

Dean is passed out beside me, but I haven’t been able to sleep all night. I can’t explain how I feel or why…just know something is off. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to trust my gut.

As quietly as possible, I roll out of bed and tug on a pair of underwear.

I don’t make a sound as I walk to the window and look through the slats in the blinds.

The property looks like it always does, lit up by lights we keep on so we can see anyone or anything that doesn’t belong.

It’s quiet, the thick army of trees blowing slightly in the wind.

It’s getting colder, the Massachusetts weather moving toward winter.

There are no shadows that don’t belong. No cars. Nothing.

I rub a hand over my nape, the tension in my gut not easing.

The buttons on my nightstand drawer are silent as I type in the code and pull it open, then my gun box.

There are two guns inside, like always. I grab one, press my hand to the lid, then stop without closing it.

Other than his fists, which he’s very good at, Dean doesn’t have a way to protect himself.

He doesn’t need it when I’m around, but I’m not with him all the time. I leave the drawer ajar.

The screen on my phone lights up, drawing my attention. My father’s name is like a neon sign flashing through my mind. I scoop it off the nightstand and walk to the bathroom, heart thumping in my throat. Something is wrong. I fucking know it.

I wait until I’m behind the closed bathroom door before I click on his message. The second I do, the floor drops out from beneath me, the room spins, my hand shooting out to grab the counter.

With difficulty, I focus on the photos. Dean and Aislin, Dean and me, Dean and Cillian and Rory. Dean coming and going.

They’re fucking watching us? I’ll kill whoever it is.

Heat flushes out my confusion and fear, replacing it with anger, until the next text comes through with two words: Riordan Sullivan.

My vision goes black. For the second time, I have to hold on to the counter so I can stay on my feet.

He knows. Somehow, he fucking knows who Dean is.

The phone rings, and I hurry to answer it, almost dropping my cell to the floor.

“I—”

“Be quiet, Tiernan. As of this moment, I’m assuming you and everyone in that house betrayed me.”

“Why? How? Who is…?”

“Do you not understand what be quiet means? You’re losing focus being away from home.

Now, shut up and listen. You’re going to walk to the end of the driveway and get in the car waiting for you.

When you get to me, it will be up to you to convince me you aren’t keeping secrets from me.

Don’t tell your friends. Come alone. If not, they’ll die.

You and I will figure out what to do with our little problem here. Don’t disappoint me again.”

The screen goes black. My hand tightens on the cell. It takes everything in me not to throw it against the wall.

My chest constricts. It’s hard to breathe. How long have they been watching? Who the fuck is it? Finan? Blain? Flynn? It can’t be Conan or Rian, could it?

Are they going to hurt Dean, Aislin, Rory, and Cillian if I go? I don’t think so. He wants me to suffer. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. Plus, it’ll be hard for him to explain killing them all…his kids, his nephew. There will be questions.

Will he kill me if I go? Maybe.

Dean hasn’t done anything to him, but the point is that Dean got away from my father. He killed Liam. He wanted to kill his son and wife, but they escaped him. To men like us, that’s a failure, and my father can’t let that stand. And he sure as shit can’t let me get away with possibly knowing.

When I’m finally able to breathe easier, I sneak into my room, grab clothes and my shoes. I get dressed in the hallway, not wanting to wake Dean, not wanting to leave whoever it is out there waiting for me too long.

I want to wake up Cillian, but no way he’ll let me go without him. Not when it’s something like this. And I can’t be responsible for getting him hurt. I can’t be responsible for any of them getting hurt.

It was always going to come to this—my dad or me. Everyone will be safer without him, even if he kills me in the process.