Page 22 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

“Are you okay? You seem nervous,” I ask, already knowing the answer, but also knowing that he won’t say anything about it unless I ask him. He turns to me and shrugs his shoulders, simply shaking his head and swallowing hard.

“I don’t know. I know these are my dad’s guys, and he trusts them, but I don’t.

I don’t know them like I know my guys. My men do this for loyalty, and for their own reasons.

The money is just a plus for them. These guys?

They’re only out for the cash, and I don’t like what happens when that becomes important.

” He tenses, and I just nod understandingly.

“True, but you’re everything to your dad. If he didn’t trust these men with your life, he wouldn’t bring them here.”

He finally looks back over at me, and his face falls.

“I’m not worried about me. I'm worried about the guys, and I’m worried about you.

All we’ve talked about the past few days is possible positions and duties for these guys, and I’m not comfortable with any of them.

Carter mentioned using the mercenaries for the house instead of our own men, and I sure as shit don’t trust them with you.

” He grits his teeth, and I notice his jaw clenches.

He’s really upset by this, and while I know he has control issues, this might just be something he needs to let go of if he’s going to accept the help.

I step up to him and push my arms through his own, wrapping them around his waist and holding him in a tight squeeze. He accepts it by wrapping one arm around me and placing his other hand behind my head as he kisses my forehead. Soft and sweet. Savoring me to calm himself down.

“Just try to remember that they probably don’t trust you yet either.

Trust goes both ways.” He nods his head in agreement, but I can tell his mind is still swirling with anxiety.

The way he tightens his hold on me ever so slightly tells me everything.

“What am I going to do to keep you from worrying so much?”

“You don't need to worry about me, baby,” he says against my forehead.

“Yeah? Well, I'm going to,” I say in a playful tone, and he finally lets out a chuckled huff before he pulls back a little.

“How are you feeling? You seem off, and I don't just mean here.” He gently pokes my stomach. “You seem off here too.” His index finger pushes against my temple.

“How do I seem off?”

“Tired, and not just physically.” His fingertips graze my hair easily.

“I’m fine. I'm not nearly as tired as you.” I purse my lips, and he chuckles again, more heartedly this time.

That is, until his attention is grabbed by the sound of large trucks approaching the gate.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the vehicles.

“Just breathe, baby.” I pat his chest, giving him one last assuring touch, and he grabs my hand to start walking to the loading docks.

Men begin pouring out of the trucks the moment they park, and one right after the other, they line up in perfect formation.

Eight rows, six men in each, all ranging from early-twenties to mid-fifties.

I see Damien’s dad walk out from between two of the trucks and stand in front of the men, looking as tall as ever.

They all straighten and stand at attention the moment he stops advancing, not daring to move an inch as they wait to be addressed.

Each one of them looks serious and determined, like if Mr. Hartley were to command them to step into battle right at this moment, they’d do it with no questions asked.

“Damn, your dad really does have a specific presence.”

“Yes, he does,” he says, sounding defeated already, but he squeezes my hand faintly and steels his spine—readying himself for the day ahead.

I release his hand and let him walk ahead, beside his dad, as I stay off to the side, and Damien stops where his father is, instantly standing tall with his hands behind his back.

His usual relaxed and comfortable appearance is gone in the blink of an eye and replaced by a hardness that I only normally see when he’s in action.

I’ve noticed this tension between them at his parents’ house.

Normally, he’s so laid back and loose, but not with his dad.

He always calls him Sir, and is very tense, like he’s waiting for a command.

I couldn’t imagine growing up with a father like him.

I had two fathers, who were very different from one another.

There was my real father, who would forget I exist. The one who’d slapped me around and order me to cater to his drugged-up friends.

The man who’d lay unconscious for days—so long in fact, there were times I thought he was dead.

Then there’s Mr. Anderson, the man who took me in, and surrounded me with warmth.

The one who made sure Serena packed two lunches every day until I was old enough to make my own lunches, because he knew I wouldn’t have eaten.

Even once I was old enough to go grocery shopping, he still often had her pack an extra, because the only diet my parents needed was crack and alcohol.

He’s the man that taught me how to change a tire and change different light bulbs and fuses out of the box because ‘that’s what dads teach their daughters. ’

On one hand, I had a father who beat and abused his wife, and on the other, I had a father who made sure his wife was never with needs or without affection.

Two very opposite sides of the spectrum.

Mr. Hartley? I feel like is a very tight line between the two.

I imagine he loves as fiercely as Damien but is too hardened to show it.

At their house, I could see his desire to be close to Damien, even though he kept a distance.

If Damien walked outside, so did he. If Damien was with me, he was across the room.

I can see the overwhelming love Mr. Hartley has for him, but I don’t think he knows how to show him.

So instead, he’s hard. Tense. Over-bearing.

Damien told me how his dad had been training him behind his mom’s back since he was five, and then around ten his mom found out.

Some boy was picking on Emma, and Damien showed him how that wasn’t allowed.

He said it almost got him expelled, but Mr. Hartley convinced the school that it wouldn’t happen again, and ‘convinced’ the kid’s parents not to press charges.

I can only imagine what he did to that kid.

With how Damien is now, and how protective his mom told me he was of Emma? It must have been something horrid.

“I would like to make something clear to every one of you,” Mr. Hartley speaks boisterously, startling me from my thoughts and drawing my attention as he starts walking up and down the lines of men.

“This is not my operation. Past today, I am not involved. If any of you cannot show my son the same amount of loyalty you show me…” He stands at the front again, proud and tall beside Damien.

“Leave now.” He stands still and watches them intently, clearly scanning the precise crowd and staring each of them in the eyes to find a weakness.

Surprisingly, I am too, curious if Damien’s hunch about these men is correct.

After no one moves for a few moments, he nods to Damien and steps back with a look on his face that I can’t quite decipher.

Pride? Longing? Maybe even a hint of grief?

Is he afraid to pass the torch down to him?

Does he not think he can handle it? There’s a wariness in his gaze that makes me question him, but I obviously keep my mouth shut.

I still don’t know what all was talked about when they had their little meeting at the party last week, but from what I imagine, it possibly had something to do with this.

When Damien steps forward to take his rightful place, it even intimidates me a little.

He looks very serious and menacing, much stronger than his father looked.

In my mind, Damien is a dark God taking his rightful place as commander over Hell’s soldiers, displaying his birthright and securing his position.

“Let me make something clear,” my King proclaims. “This is not government sanctioned. You all will be labeled as vigilantes. Criminals.” His thunderous voice booms through the air and the men stiffen, just like they should.

“I don’t run my organization like the military.

You don’t stand, or salute to me, and God help you if you call me sir.

” I smile at that, knowing that he’s never viewed himself as better than any of his men, and that he truly feels they’re all equal to him.

“We do this because we want to help people. We rescue women and children, we keep drugs and guns off the streets, and we fuck up the ones that put them there. Everyone will be filled in on the names and protocols of our operations, and I do expect you to adapt to them quickly. This is not easy. I will demand a lot from you, but I will also give you a lot in return. Our loyalty to each other is everything. We fight for each other, we die for each other, and we live for each other.”

I look over to the loading docks to see the other men walking out, all looking strong and stubborn. Like if any of the mercenaries even look at Damien wrong, they’ll pay the price. Carter, Zeke, and Alex lead them, while Serena walks out of the back door and up to me.

“What’s going on?” I ask her in a hushed tone.

“They wanted to back Damien,” she whispers back, and I look over to see the three of them stand by his side.

The rest of the men fall in behind them, arms crossed, and while they may not look as professional or groomed as the soldiers do, they stand just as tall—showing their loyalty and causing a warmth to spread across my chest.