Page 77 of Reckless Thief

I didn’t quite smile at his description, but it helped.

“Sweetheart,” my father—no, Sharpe said as he struggled to sit up. His hands were still bound together and so were his feet. The only restraints Milo had broken were the ones keeping my father to the chair. “Brad—Brad’s a bastard. I know that. He’s…also very manipulative.”

“Fuck off with your excuses,” Milo said. “And answer her fucking question.”

“I’m working on it,” Sharpe spat out. “She needs to understand what was happening.”

“Excuse me,” Kellan said, reaching forward to seize Sharpe’s bound wrists. “Left or right hand?”

“What?”

“Right,” I supplied, and Kellan flashed me a smile.

“Thank you, Sparrow.”

“Why do you—” Sharpe’s next words broke off on a scream as Kellan broke the index finger on his right hand.

“I’m going to break a finger each time you open your mouth and don’t answer her question.” Kellan’s calmness wrapped around me, and I leaned back, resting against Freddie and Rome.

“You son of a bi—” He ended up screaming again as Kellan broke his middle finger.

“You have eight more, and I have time,” Kellan told him. “Answer her question.”

It took two more fingers, screams that turned his voice ragged, and the distinct stink of urine before he sobbed, “What was the fucking question?”

I gave Freddie’s hand a squeeze before taking a step forward. His and Rome’s contact fell away, but they didn’t retreat. They had my back. With care, I squatted down so I was on eye level with my father.

No matter how often he tried, there was nowhere safe for him to look, so I waited for him to focus on me. Tears were wet on his red face, and there were definite flickers of pain. His right hand was mangled.

They could probably fix it.

Mickey knew how. Not that I intended to ask him for that.

“What did he give you for me?” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t let the tears out. I was pretty sure the trembling inside didn’t communicate to my voice.

Twice he opened his mouth, and both times he closed it without saying anything.

“I know you want to lie—whether it’s to yourself or to me, I don’t care. Just—tell me. It can’t be any worse than everything else I endured.” The truth in that statement chipped away at a shackle I hadn’t even realized was present.

The past chained me as effectively as my uncle had. The past. Their choices. My own in the effort to survive. That was then. This was now.

“I didn’t know why he wanted you,” Sharpe said slowly. “I’ve never been good with money—but then you know that.”

“You’re a gambler,” I said without recrimination or much of anything.

“A bad one,” he said. “That week…that week he assaulted your mother, that was to punish me for losing two lucrative contracts because I was gambling.” He sniffed. “He sent me to try and fix it, but I was pretty sure he knew I’d fail…”

I waited.

“He showed me the tapes when I got back. I took from him so he took from me.” Another sniff. “She didn’t tell me…” He shot me a teary look. “We never spoke of it, and after that…I made sure to take her with me when I had trips, or I made sure she was off on her own…”

“You want a fucking medal for not leaving your wife with her rapist?” Liam said. “You should have nailed his dick to the floor.”

“Then set it on fire,” Freddie supplied.

“After you skinned him alive,” Jasper offered up.

“You don’t know him,” my father said, cradling his broken hand. “I thought…I thought since she never said anything that maybe it hadn’t been as bad as it looked. Then—she lost the baby and…I was grateful.” Guilt filled his expression. “I didn’t want her to have his child, and I had no idea if it was mine.”

---