Page 7 of Ruthless Sin

I take another deep breath and push open the doors. Dad's sitting at the head of the table, exactly where I expected him to be. His fingers are drumming against the wood, and there's an unopened bottle of whiskey in front of him. Bad sign. When he looks up at me, his eyes are dark with a mix of relief and fury.

"Close the door," he says, his voice deceptively calm.

I do as I'm told, then stand there, waiting. The silence stretches between us, heavy with twenty-one years of love and protection and the beginning of something that might break us both.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I needed a drink," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Last time I checked, that wasn't a crime."

"At Crossroads?" He stands up, his chair scraping against the floor. "In practically Outlaw territory? After what we did to their weapons stash? After we exposed their trafficking ring?" Hisvoice rises with each question. "Jesus Christ, Angel, you might as well have walked into their clubhouse wearing your cut!"

"I can handle myself."

"Handle yourself?" He barks out a laugh that holds no humor. "Two Outlaws recognized you. If Ruthless hadn't—" He stops abruptly, his eyes narrowing. "Speaking of which, why was it Ruthless who showed up? Why not call me? Or the club?"

My heart skips a beat, but I hold his gaze. "He was the first person I thought of."

"The first person you thought of," he repeats slowly, coming around the table. "After I specifically told him to keep his distance from you."

"That wasn't your call to make."

The words hang in the air between us, dangerous and defiant. Dad's jaw clenches, and I see the muscle twitch there – the same tell he gets before all hell breaks loose.

"I'm your father," he says, his voice dropping low. "And I'm his president. It was absolutely my call to make."

"I'm not a child anymore!" The words explode out of me. "I earned my place in this club. I can ride, I can fight, I can make my own decisions about who I—"

"Don't." He holds up a hand. "Don't finish that sentence."

But I'm done holding back. The taste of Ruthless still lingers on my lips, giving me courage.

"Why not? Because you don't want to hear that I have feelings for him? That he has feelings for me?"

"He's too old for you."

"Like you're too old for Chloe?"

His eyes flash dangerously. "That's different."

"How?" I step closer, my hands balled into fists at my sides. "Because you're the president? Because you get to make the rules but don't have to follow them? Chloe's younger than you, but that doesn't matter because you love her. She makes you happy. Well, guess what, Dad? Ruthless makes me happy."

Dad goes completely still, the kind of stillness that usually precedes an explosion. I've seen him like this before but never directed at me. His next words come out like ice.

"You think you love him?"

"I know I do." The admission feels like jumping off a cliff, terrifying and freeing all at once. "And if you weren't so blinded by your need to control everything, you'd see he's good for me. He respects the club, respects you, and he would die before letting anything happen to me."

"Like tonight?" He challenges. "Where you ended up in a bar fight with Outlaws?"

"Tonight, he came when I called. He had my back. And yes, I got hit," I gesture to my face, "but I also put one of them down myself. The brass knuckles you gave me for my eighteenth birthday? They work great."

Something flickers in his eyes – pride maybe, quickly buried under anger.

"This isn't about your ability to handle yourself, Angel. This is about—"

"Me growing up," I interrupt. "Me making my own choices. Me falling in love with someone you don't approve of."

He runs a hand over his face, and for the first time, I notice how tired he looks.

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