Page 46 of Protecting What Is Mine

I raise my pen. “Alright. What would you like?”

Roger slams his fist onto the counter, rattling cups and plates and catching the attention of practically everyone in the place. “I’d like some GODDAMN loyalty from my goddamn family!” In contrast to his outburst, Roger calmly closes his eyes while he turns his head left to right, cracking his neck.

I stand before them, stunned. Every instinct in my body is screaming that I should run, but to where?

Home isn’t safe.

Work isn’t safe.

I’m cornered.

The next words come out of his mouth in a hiss, barely above a whisper, but seething with contempt. “Why is that so hard for you and that no account bitch daughter of mine to understand?” The corners of his mouth lift into a crooked, devious smile. “Your daddy knew how to be loyal.” Roger’s hand snakes across the counter and grabs me by the wrist. “You’ve got what it takes. It’s flowing right there in those veins.”

I squeal as I jerk my arm free, prompting Eddie to wander out from the kitchen to check on things. “Hey Mol, everything okay out here?”

Clint stands, puffing out his already sizeable chest, and nods his chin at Eddie. “She’s fine. You should go back to the kitchen where you belong.”

The size difference between the two men is substantial. Compared to Clint’s bulky muscles and chiseled features, Eddie looks like a gangly teenager eagerly waiting on the first signs of puberty. He falls back on his heel but doesn’t heed the warning. “Order or leave,” he says with a crack in his voice.

“You the cook?” Roger asks.

Eddie nods. “Yeah?”

“Know how to make eggs Benedict?”

“Sure, I do,” he says confidently.

“Good.” Roger nods and elbows Clint. “Sound good to you, boy?”

“Um. I guess.” The look on Clint’s face says he’s as confused by the question as I am.

Roger looks back to me. “How ‘bout you, Dollie? You want some eggs Benedict-Arnold? My treat.”

Embarrassment and frustration well up inside me. “No, I do not. What I want is for you to leave. Both of you.” I point at the door. “You think you can come to my home—and now where I work—and scare me? Well you can’t. I won’t let you. Not anymore. I am not afraid of you!”

Clint grimaces at my words but is careful not to move while he waits for his father’s reaction.

Roger stands, his eyes narrowed. “Fair enough. But since we’re being so honest here, let me tell you what I want. I want you to remember who you are and where you come from. And the rules our family lives by.” He turns to leave, but stops before taking a step, craning his neck back toward me. “And while I’m at it, let me tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want to hear about you or Samantha talking to the law about our family again. Ever.” Roger nudges Clint and nods his head toward the door. “Let’s go. The food in Sterling’s better anyway.” He looks around Belle’s and scoffs. “Atmosphere too.”

Clint and Roger leave. Eddie follows a few paces behind until he reaches the door where he stands and watches until the crusty old Lincoln is out of sight. “Okay, Mol. They’re gone.”

I collapse back against the counter, desperately trying to piece together how fear and chaos have suddenly become my life again after so many years.

Answer? Clinton.

Things started going south the moment he showed up.

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