Page 60 of Sinfully His

“Of course I believed you,” he said, his voice much lower. “I always believed you. You’re my son.”

We both stopped for a moment, just staring at each other in shock. I hadn’t expected that. The Lucian I knew should have been yelling back, screaming about how I was a disappointment, the black mark on the family name.

“No,” I said. “You didn’t believe me. You pulled me out of that stable like I was a criminal and threw me on a helicopter. Without even talking to me, you sentenced me to a life suffocating under this collar.”

Father pushed past me and collapsed on the couch.

“I should have talked to you. I should have actually talked to you. There wasn’t a single moment I ever believed that you tried to rape Mary Quinn Astrid. With cases like that, facts don’t matter. Perception does. She was telling everyone who wouldlisten and even those who wouldn’t. The warrant had already been issued for your arrest. I needed to get you out of there immediately and to make sure that you wouldn’t come back until it was settled.”

“When was it settled?” I asked.

Father looked up at me, guilt in his eyes.

“When were the charges dropped and the warrant pulled?” I asked again, knowing that I would have been arrested at the airport when I came home if they hadn’t been.

“Four years ago,” he admitted.

“And yet you kept me there. Refusing to let me come home, and ready to pay an exorbitant amount of money to keep me from being excommunicated.”

“Fuck,” he said, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Yeah,” I said, sitting back down on the couch across from him.

“Stella says I need to work on my communication skills,” he sighed.

“I think she might understate it.”

He huffed in agreement.

Before he could say anything else, or I could tell him I had intended on shredding the Manwarring file, Luc marched in, his face red and his jaw clenched.

“What crawled up your?—”

My words were cut off when his fist slammed into my face.

“She’s my sister-in-law, asshole. That puts her under my protection.”

Oh, fuck this shit. I was not twelve anymore. He wouldn’t get away with a cheap shot.

I got to my feet, rubbing my jaw where he had hit me, and then I swung back. He dodged the punch to his jaw but didn’t see the hook coming for his ribs. He made a grunting sound, butbefore I could swing again, he lunged at me and both of us went crashing to the ground.

We grappled on the floor, both blocking and throwing punches.

“She isn’t yours to fuck with,” he growled.

“I claimed her. That makes her mine.” I kicked out my feet, connecting with his thighs and shoving him off of me so I could get to my feet. He ran at me again, but this time I was ready. I met him head-on.

“Boys, stop,” my father boomed, and we both ignored him.

I landed another punch to his gut, aiming just to the side and up so I caught the underside of his ribs. He doubled over in pain, and I shoved him off of me.

It was a cheap shot I had learned my first year of seminary school in a brawl. Father may have thought Rome was a better option than prison, and maybe he was right, but there were more similarities than you would think.

Before Luc could right himself and swing again, Father stepped in between us.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You should ask him,” Luc barked out. “Ask him why Rose keeps painting pictures of him, very inappropriate pictures of him. He’s been messing with the youngest Astrid. My sister-in-law. Amelia is beside herself. We don’t do shit like this to family!”

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