Page 10 of Filthy Little Regrets

“Shut up,” I tell her, snatching her glass from her hands before she can finish it.

“Hey!” she screeches.

“At least I’m old enough to drink.” I finish her wine, wrinkling my nose as the sickly sweet Moscato assaults my tongue. “This is disgusting. Fucking amateurs.”

“Ugh, I hate you!”

I smirk. “No you don’t.”

“I wish I did.” Her eyes narrow, then revenge shimmers in them. “Did you hear? Dad is searching for your wife again, and this time, you can’t get out of it.”

Anger bursts through my body. No, there’sno fucking wayI’m letting him dictate this part of my life. I’ve given him everything else and then some. Grip tightening on the stem of the wineglass, I try to fight the fire of rage rolling over me, to spare my sisters from seeing that, deep down, I have the same affliction as our father.

“Mace?” Adalie whispers. She sounds so little. Scared.

My gaze jumps to her scrunched face. She chews on her cheek and glances at Melody. I look at my other sister, whose face is lined with regret and sadness.

“I’m. I’m so sorry,” Melody says in a rush. “I don’t know why I said it like that.”

The shake in her voice rips me apart. When did my sisters become scared of me? The stem creaks in my hold.

Melody’s eyes dash to it, then back to my face. “Maccon?”

Are you okay?

The question is there. They both see it. They see the violence that slithers through my veins, the monster I hide behind quick smiles and easy conversation. The predator that lurks beneath the surface. Whenever I returned from the cage fights, I would hide the bruises and blood from them because they were so little. They had no idea that Dad threatened to put them in the ring if I refused to fight. For the most part, I’ve shielded them from this part of me, and I don’t want them to look at me with fear in their eyes.

“I’m fine.” Placing the wineglass on the table, Istand and walk away.

“Mace!” Melody calls.

“Leave him,” Adalie murmurs. “It’s like when Dad is mad. You can’t reach him.”

It’s like when Dad is mad.Those words slam into me, and I pause at the threshold, one foot in the hallway, the air yanked from my lungs. They say every man becomes their father, but I can’t be like him. I won’t.

My body vibrating, I slowly look at my sisters over my shoulder. Melody’s eyes are rounded, and she wrings her hands in her lap. She’s seen the worst of Dad’s temper a time or two, and while she puts on a tough front, she’s more like Mom than she’ll ever admit. Terrified.

But Adalie? Melody and I made sure Adalie never knew when we were little. But we’re not always here, are we? Work. Life. Freedom. It’s all an escape from the wickedness these walls contain. My presence only makes Dad angrier. I spend most of my time at my own house on the compound. I thought things were better without me here.

Adalie looks me dead in the eye. She doesn’t even blink. Her eyes drill into me, straight to that vicious part of me I hate so much.She knows.Regret lashes at my back. I should have known she’d find out, eventually.

My chest feels like it’s about to rip in half. It was stupid to think that any of us could be normal. “I love you,” I rasp.

Adalie nods. “I know.”

My attention strays back to Melody. “I’m not mad at you.”

She exhales, and the weight of the world lifts from her shoulders. Her smile wobbles, but it’s better than the petrified expression she was wearing seconds ago. I leave them and go in search of the bastard who thinks he has any right to tell me what to do.

I find him in the study. Lined with walnut paneling and floor-to-ceiling shelves that hold rows and rows of books, this room used to be my favorite. There’s a grand executive desk on one end of the room, and the other has a fireplace and two forest green leather chairs with a table between them. A decanter of scotch sits half-empty, and one of the glasses is filled with amber liquid.

Dad’s sitting in front of the fireplace, staring into the crackling flames. He reaches for the glass. Those fingers that bring so much pain are thick, the wedding band on his left hand is too tight, making the skin bulge. The ring on his right, the one with the square-cut diamond that leaves a nasty impression, glimmers in dim lighting.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” he grouses.

Grinding my teeth, I stalk into the room and take the seat beside him, pouring myself two fingers of scotch. I can’t bring myself to look at him. “Heard there’s a marriage to discuss.”

His hair is still a light shade of brown, not a gray in sight, but there are wrinkles around his eyes that weren’t there before. The one between his eyebrows is a permanent fixture I’ve mostly learned to heed. Dad chuckles at the bitterness in my voice. “I see your sisters can’t keep a secret.”

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