Page 42 of Ruthless

My dad leans back in his chair and gives Zane a onceover, letting the silence linger for a couple of beats. I’ve seen this tactic lots of times before. It’s something he does when he’s trying to assert his dominance and let others know that it’s his house and he’s in charge. He’ll do things in his own time and in his own way, whether you like it or not.

“You think it was wise to threaten him?” My dad’s dark eyebrows arch as he tilts his head to the side.

Zane stands upright and puffs out his chest, mimicking my dad’s domineering posture from earlier. “If he’s in here with you, I’ll take my chances.” He shrugs.

My dad stares at him for a beat and then shakes his head. That’s as good of a sign of respect as Zane will get. Then his gaze shifts to me, and his features soften. It’s then I have to admit that Connor was right. Being the only girl in this family does tend to work out in my favor most of the time. He adjusts the ends of his suit jacket before standing to his feet and setting his cigar down in the ashtray to the right. He crosses the room and wraps me up in a tight hug. I sigh into the familiar warmth of my dad’s chest, just like I used to do as a little girl.

When my dad pulls back and glances down at me, his dark eyebrows pinch together. “Everythin’ okay,a stóirín?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I press my lips together in a firm line and ignore my turning stomach. If I don’t think about it, then it’s not nearly as bad.

“Ye sure? Ye look a wee bit pale.” My dad’s dark eyebrows pinch together as he studies me.

“I’m just a little shaken up from being chased and shot at, but I’ll be okay.” I attempt to shrug it off, but my dad can see right through me.

“Aye, that ye will.” He kisses me on the forehead. “I’ll make sure of it.” Those words hold a double meaning in the world of Finnegan Donnelly, and I’ve learned not to question them. He’ll find out who did it and make sure that Zane and I don’t make the news. “How did yer appointment go?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Good. The baby’s healthy and right on track where it’s supposed to be.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the grainy photo to show him.

His blue eyes light up the second they land on that image, but his expression takes a nosedive when his gaze lands on the diamond ring on my left finger. “That’s grand news.” He kisses the top of my head once more, and then he hands me off to Connor. He and Rory are standing quietly on the sidelines, watching everything unfold, and I forgot they were even there.

Connor wraps his hand around the top of my head and pulls me into a hug, careful to touch the broken lens of my glasses. “Scared the feck out of us, Ken.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not like I planned on getting shot at,” I mumble against his chest.

“I know.” He pulls back and taps me on the chin. “Good to know you can still aim at least.”

I roll my eyes and get ready to say something smart back at him, but without warning, there’s a sound of flesh hitting flesh. When I turn around, my dad has his fist up, and Zane’s got a cut on his bottom lip.

“What are you doing?” Nausea be damned, I’m not going to stand here and watch without doing something about it. I move to stop my dad from hitting him again, but Connor’s arms tighten around my middle like a vise, keeping me in place. It’s obvious to me now why I was passed onto my big brother in the first place, and I should have known better. My dad is always ten steps ahead of everyone.

“Don’t even think about it,deirfiúr,” Connor says to the back of my head as Icontinue to struggle to break free. “He had it coming, and he knows it.”

“That’s for treatin’ me daughter like a feckin’ slag.” The muscle jerks on the side of my dad’s jaw as he glares at Zane, but he’s not done with him yet. Another blow comes. This time from the left. “That’s for shittin’ all over our Catholic traditions.”

My hands come up to my mouth to stop the scream that wants to break free because I know it will do no good. There’s no stopping this until they’re done. And it seems my dad isn’t. He slams his fist into Zane’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “And that’s for fecking with me business.”

Connor tenses up at that last comment, but I’m too fired up to wonder why at the moment.

Zane grunts, and he folds in half from the impact. My heart pounds in my chest as I watch him suck in a few shallow breaths before gaining his sense of balance and standing back upright. He spits out a mouthful of blood at my dad’s feet and wipes at the corner of his mouth. I’m not sure if he has a death wish or enjoys taunting my dad to see how far he can push things. He’s lucky that I swore my big brothers to secrecy on the rocky terms our so-called relationship has been thus far. “You done?”

“I don’t like ye or yer brothers, but ye’ve got balls, Savage. I’ll give ye that.”

“You are all insane.” I jerk out of Connor’s grip and wave my finger at every Neanderthal in the room. I hope this baby is a girl. I’m so tired of being outnumbered and surrounded by stubborn ass men. “You know that, right?”

“Some more than others.” Rory feels the need to add, and I can hear the humor inflected in his voice. Such a. Shit stirrer that one. He could give Axel Savage a run for his money in that department.

“Shut it, Ror.” I hold my hand up to keep whatever bullshit remark he wants to make trapped in his mouth where it belongs. The last thing he is is a damn saint.

My dad flexes the hand that he just buried into my husband’s face, drawing attention to the ripped skin of his knuckles, and another swarm of heat flushes through me. I’ve had enough excitement to last me a lifetime today. I want to shower and wash the crap from the last forty-five minutes off. They can stay in here and act like the little boys they are. I spin on my heels and stomp my way down the hall into the bedroom I stay in whenever I have to stay here.

The cream walls are bare except for a few of my favorite paintings on the far wall. This isn’t a room I spend much time in, so I haven’t put forth the effort to decorate it to my liking. The patterns meld perfectly with the maroon bedding that’s resting on top of the four-poster California King bed that’s in the middle of the spacious area.

Each of us may be grown, but we all have a designated bedroom, complete with its own bathroom at my dad’s insistence. And given my family’s line of work, I guess he isn’t too far off the mark with that.

I keep walking into the ensuite bathroom with the same color scheme as my bedroom and straight to the shower. It’s one of my favorite places to think and regroup.The raindrop showerhead is much nicer than the basic one I have back at my apartment and just what my sore, achy muscles need at the moment. My hands make quick work of my clothes and glasses before I slip inside the steamed-up space.

My hands press against the marble wall, and I hang my head, letting the heat of the water seep into my weary bones and trickle down my back. The only plus to come from this crap is that my nausea seems to have gotten itself under control.

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