Page 94 of Merciless Sinner

With that reasoning, I drop my gun.

* * *

I make it home in one piece with my mind intact, just barely.

Today is the first in a long time that I've come home in the middle of the day. And on a weekday.

I walk down the corridor. When I turn the corner, Eden sees me and gaps as she takes in the massive shiner over my eye and the black and blue bruises starting to form on the left side of my face. This is actually tame in comparison to what she's used to. At least I'm not covered in blood and guts, and I haven't been shot.

“What happened to you?” She rushes up to me and sets down the basket of clothes she was carrying.

I sigh and think for a moment on what to tell her. “I had a little scrape with the guys,” I decide to say.

She frowns. “You call this a scrape?”

“I'm fine, trust me.” I insist, but it's a lie. I'm far from fine. In fact, I might not be fine ever again.

“Go into the living room. I'll grab an ice pack,” she urges.

“Okay.”

Eden saunters away, going back the way she came, while I make my way into the living room to wait for her.

Eden takes care of me the way a mother would. Since she practically raised me, I guess in a way, she could be classed as my mother.

She's worked for my parents since before I was born, but after twenty-five years of service, they fired her.

That came when she had to have a day off because her daughter went into labor, and she had to deliver the baby. My parents didn't think that was a good enough reason for a day off. Such is the despicable nature of the people I call mother and father. I hired Eden on the spot when I learned what happened.

At the time, I lived at my apartment and didn't really need a maid. But I took her in anyway and at the same salary she earned when she worked for my parents. When we moved here, I doubled it so she could be in charge of the rest of the house staff and the household along with my affairs.

She also puts up with my dangerous lifestyle.

Eden has seen a lot in her time, and it's not over yet.

Things can only get uglier with this news of my father.

She walks in with the ice pack and some of that homeopathic cream she’s been using on me since she turned to natural remedies. Although it helps with bruising, I mainly humor her to make her feel better,

I sit and take the ice pack from her, place it on my eye, and allow her to put the cream on my face.

“Are you going to elaborate on what this scrape was about?” she asks, intensifying her stare.

“No,” I reply in a tone that suggests she mustn't press me for more information. I don't tell her things she doesn't need to know, but this might be one occasion where the news I have supersedes all else.

And once again, this news about my father is also one I mustn't share with Olivia yet.

I'm so sick of keeping secrets from her, but as Cillian quite rightly pointed out, Olivia might not react too well, knowing that she just married a man whose father might have killed her parents.

Thatmight, in my mind, is only there out of protocol.

Innocent until proven guilty. But I don't believe for one minute that my father is innocent. Especially since I've always suspected him.

“There, all done,” Eden announces.

“Thanks. Where's Olivia?

“She's in the sunroom reading. Amelia is coming to pick her up to go shopping in a little while.” Eden smiles. “Olivia seems to be adjusting very well, and I think it's nice having Amelia around.”

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