Page 118 of What Lies Within

“You worried Connor will take your newest fuck toy back if he works too closely with you on the road?”

“There is no road.”

“Not yet.”

“Answer my fuckin’ question.”

Terry peeks at me in my periphery, a wry grin on his lips. “My son isn’t book smart, Tyke, as I’m sure you’re aware. He has passion, that’s true. But he’d be too easily manipulated. He wouldn’t see a coup or a takedown coming until it was too late.”

"You think he's stupid." Impulsive. Irrational. Sure. But the kid's smart. Terry needs to know how to tap it.

"I think his brain doesn't work like ours." Terry sighs. "He lacks logic and foresight."

Considering the kid guessed his father would never trust him with a leadership role in the business, the guy's foresight seems fucking on point to me. But what would I know?

Didn't predict being here, pretending we're friendly enemies before I end this cold war, did I?

"Again," Terry says, pausing to pluck a leaf off an overhanging branch. "You're not here because you're concerned for my son's future. Get to the point." He crushes the leaf's drying form between his fingers, sprinkling the pieces on the track.

I glance ahead, keen my hearing to Ronan following a respectful distance behind, and measure the distance to the bend in the track before us.

I had no solid idea on how this would happen—just knew I couldn’t let the mafia take the honor from me. Call it improv, but how the fuck was I to know we'd end up out here? Terry couldhave turned me away. He might have insisted we stay indoors. Hence, the plans.

The lost sleep.

Staring at the ceiling of my bedroom while my brother and my lover slept beside me, I plotted, schemed, ran scenarios, and, most of all, prayed.

For a victory. For the ones I love to understand why I need to do this.

I fucking dug into my abandoned faith and threw the whole kit and caboodle at this day.

“I need you to leave the Reapers the fuck alone,” I say.

Terry grinds to a halt, feet biting into the ground with a scratch and a swish, then laughs—loud and condescending. "No way. Really?"

"Never wanted anythin' to do with the shit you pedal and still don't. Never wanted it in Red River. It's bad enough having you as close as you are, but that's our land. Our grounds. And we take care of what's ours."

“Guilt eating at you for your failures?” He starts walking again, chin down as he matches my pace.

I calculate the steps to the bend and the seconds it'd take Ronan to catch up to us in a crisis. Terry's fucking pause to cackle at my frustration fucked us up.Shit.I lengthen my strides a little. Not so much that they’re noticeable, but enough that I get a few more yards between Ronan and us.

“The only failure I had, when it comes to you, was staying neutral when you fucked with Monica.”

The explosion of air from his lungs creates an audacious croak. “You taking usallthe way back there?”

“They say marijuana is a gateway drug,” I muse. “For you, I think date rape was a gateway crime.”

“How so?” He doesn’t deny it, and that’s what angers me most. Has my fucking blood heating until my goddamn face burns and my hands throb with the increased pressure.

“You got away with it,” I say. Straight facts. “And that encouraged you to try something else. Am I right?”

I chance a look at the fucker.

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Theft. Acquisition of narcotics. Dealing.” I narrow my gaze a little. “Murder.”

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” Terry sighs.

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