Page 21 of Bozo

I stand there, phone in hand, trying to breathe through my rage. I need to sort this shit out. My fucking dad… I should have known he wouldn’t slink away quietly. It’s been fucking years since I last saw him.

I dress quickly, my anger still coursing through my body. My mind is reeling. I have no doubt that Jer’s about to lose his shit. I wonder who made my dad bleed, Jer or Lorcan?

It takes me forty minutes to get to the casino. As I pull into the casino parking lot, my mind is racing. What the hell am I walking into? How bad is this situation really? And most importantly, how the fuck am I going to get Grá out of this mess?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I can't go in there looking like I'm about to lose it. I need to be cool, collected. I need to think.

The casino is buzzing with its usual nighttime crowd, but there's an undercurrent of tension in the air. A few regulars give me wary looks as I make my way through the main floor. They know who I am, who my father is. Word travels fast in places like this.

I spot Lorcan's right-hand man, Declan, standing near the entrance to the private rooms. He nods at me, his face grim.

"He's waiting for you," Declan says, jerking his head toward the back. "It's not pretty in there, Connor. Brace yourself."

I nod, steeling myself as I follow him down the hallway. The sound of raised voices grows louder as we approach Lorcan's office. I recognize Jerry Houlihan's booming voice, thick with rage.

"I'll fucking kill him myself if he so much as looks at her again!" Jerry roars.

Declan pushes open the door, and the scene inside makes me freeze.

My father is slumped in a chair, his face a bloody mess. Jerry looms over him, fists clenched, looking ready to deliver another beating. Lorcan sits behind his desk, cool as ever, but I can see the anger simmering in his eyes.

"Ah, Connor," Lorcan says, his voice deceptively calm. "So good of you to join us."

Jerry whirls around, his eyes locking onto mine. "Did you know about this?" he demands. "Did you know what this piece of shit was planning?"

I glare at the fucker. "Jerry, do you think if I knew, he’d be alive?"

Jerry's eyes narrow on my dad, his look of disgust so clear to see. He steps back, giving me space to approach my father.

I look down at the pathetic figure before me. My father, once so intimidating, now looks small and broken. He raises his head, his swollen eyes meeting mine. "Connor," he slurs, blood trickling from his split lip. "You gotta help me, son. These guys, they're gonna kill me."

I feel nothing but disgust as I look at him. "You brought this on yourself," I say coldly. "And don't you dare call me son."

I turn to Lorcan, ignoring my father's whimpers. "What’s next?”

Lorcan grins. “It’s up to you. I thought you’d be the one who would want to end him. After all, he’s the one who made your life fucking hell growing up.”

It wasn’t exactly a secret that my dad was an asshole, especially as he used me to get money. Something that everyone in the casino scene witnessed.

I turn to my father. “You tried to bring Gráinne into your shit?”

My father coughs, spitting blood onto the already stained carpet. "She's a rich bitch now that Jerry’s taken her in," he slurs, and the insinuation in his voice pisses me the fuck off. There’s no way that anyone genuinely believes that Jer and Grá are anything but platonic. Sick fucker. "I figured she could spare some cash for your old man."

The rage I've been trying to contain explodes. Before I know it, my fist connects with his jaw, sending him sprawling to thefloor. "You don't ever get to talk about her," I snarl. "You don't even get to think about her."

Jerry steps forward, a hand on my shoulder. "Easy, Connor. You need to make sure this is what you want to do. It’s not something you can ever come back from."

I’m more than certain about what I want to do. My dad dies tonight, and at my own hands. I’ve let his shit go on for too fucking long already. But him trying to make Grá’s life hell is something I’ll never allow.

"How much does he owe?" I ask.

Lorcan raises an eyebrow. "Are you planning on paying his debt, Connor?"

I shake my head. "No. I want to know how deep of a hole this bastard has dug himself into."

"Two hundred grand," Lorcan says casually, as if discussing the weather.

I whistle low. That's a hell of a lot more than I expected. "And how, exactly, did he think Grá was going to pay that?"

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