I can’t even make a sound when my back smashes into the wall. My skull makes a nice cracking thud against the wood, though.
The bedroom door slams shut.
“Where ya been, son?” My father’s liverwurst and onion breath washes over me, and I try not to gag.
I cough, sputter, and attempt to pry his fingers away from my windpipe.
“That hurt?” His eyes glint with rage from about a millimeter away.
I blink once for yes.
“Tryin’ to help you out, since you seem to have a death wish.”
He finally releases me, and I slide to the floor, landing on my ass like a sad sack of rotten potatoes. Black spots dance behind my eyes while I fight to catch my breath.
“Get up,” my father barks.
Still coughing, I stumble over to the bed and drop down. “What the fuck?” I rasp.
“Well, I tried the nice dad approach. That didn’t seem to work. Now, it’s tough love time.”
“When have you ever been nice dad?”
“You’re about to find out how not nice dad I can be, you little fuck.”
“You gonna shoot me next?”
“If I have to.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have put that suggestion in his head.
“Where you been?” Before I open my mouth, he shoves his index finger about an inch from my nose. “And don’t fucking lie.”
“Out.”
He pulls his revolver free from the holster under his leather cut. “Out, huh?” he mutters as he flips open the cylinder and gives it a spin.
Russian roulette has never been my father’s game. The gun’s probably loaded. “Downtown.”
“Doing what?”
“Seems you have some suspicions.”
“Who’s supplying you?”
“I didn’t steal from the club, Dad.”
“At this point, I’d rather you did.” He stares at the gun for a few seconds before tucking it away. Thank fuck. I wouldn’t put it past the old man to fire a bullet into me. “Where?”
“Some dealer downtown.”
He stares at me.
“I didn’t ask for credentials.” I snort out a humorless laugh. “Real diluted product, though. Can’t be good for the club’s reputation.”
“You think you’re funny?”
I hold up one hand, in case he decides to go for the gun again. “Just saying.”
“You remember a couple months ago when you asked the club to protect your girl?”
I slowly lift my gaze. “What’s Mallory got to do with this?”
“Well, for starters, I went and poked my fingers into a nest of sleeping vipers. Last thing I need is word spreading that my son’s a fucking cokehead.”
“Please, that’s the least of what they’re into.”
“That really the answer you want to go with?”
Answering him with this amount of disrespect isn’t helping either of us. “I’m sorry. I’m trying.”
“You’re trying?” he mimics in a high-pitched whiny tone. “Bullshit. You ran out and got high the first morning and you been out doing it every damn day since.”
I’d try to defend myself, except I’m not even sure what day it is. And he’s right.
“You dragged that sweet girl home with you, to do what? Sit around by herself all day waiting on your ass? Didn’t she blow off work to help you?”
I swallow hard. This isn’t anything I haven’t been berating myself about every morning. “Yeah.”
“Then pull your head out of your ass before she decides to go back to California without you.”
“What are you talking about?” Oxygen’s finally made its way back to my brain, and my head clears. “Where is she?”
“Out with Tally.” His lips curl up, and he crosses his arms over his chest, daring me to complain.
“What do you mean, ‘out with Tally?’” I ask slowly.
“You got a hearing problem?”
“When did they even meet?”
“When I introduced them.”
“Why?”
“He’s supervising the renovations at the house.”
I jab my fingers through my hair. Tally and I grew up in the club together. His dad was the treasurer for years. Since I was busy with music, socially, we went our separate ways in high school. He’s still a brother, though. He wouldn’t dare hit on my girl. “What renovations?”
“Poor girl looked like she was gonna burst into tears at breakfast,” my father says. As if any woman’s tears have ever had an effect on him. “Took her out. Taught her how to drive stick. She’s good at it. Quick learner.”
“You what?”
He lifts his hands at ten and two o’clock and grips an imaginary steering wheel. “Car. You were supposed to look at it with me.”
“Oh.” Forgot all about that conversation.
“Yeah, oh. Anyway, when we came back, I sent her out with Tally to get some things for the house.”
“Like what?”
He shrugs. “Furniture. Carpet. Nothing special.”
“You sent her furniture shopping with Tally.” I hang my head. “Jesus.”
“I want you moved into the house by the end of the week. No more fucking bullshit.”
“You think that house is magical, old man? It’ll cure me?”
“I think you need to treat that girl with more respect, get yourself clean, and then go pay her father a visit.”
All the pieces start falling into place in my drug-addled head. “They ask to see her?”
“Something like that.”
“Surprised you’re not sending Tally with her,” I sneer.
“I will if you force me to.”
“Like fuck you will.” I stand and run my hands over my jeans a few times. “I know you think I’m weak and an asshole. But I am trying.”
“Not very hard.”
Fuck this shit. Why bother defending myself? Not like I plan to spill all the insane nightmares I’ve been having. “No more. I promise.”
“Don’t promise. Just do it.” He slaps my back, then reaches into my pocket and takes the truck keys.
“What the fuck?” I reach for them, and he blocks me.
“Obviously, you can’t handle the responsibility. From now on, you need a ride, ask your girl.”
Smart move on Dad’s part. He knows damn well I’d never take her on a drug run.
“And she’s been told not to give you her keys, so don’t think about being sneaky, either.”
“Guess you two had a nice chat.”
“Don’t get your boxers in a wad. She tried covering for you and downplaying the situation at first. She cares about you.” He coughs and mutters, “Fuck knows why.”
Can’t argue with him there.
He reaches for the door, then stops himself. “I’m not having this conversation with you again, Russell. Next time, I shoot you in the leg.”
“Super. Great parenting.”
“You’re twenty-fucking-two.” He pokes a finger into my chest. “I shouldn’t need to parent you. For fuck’s sake, you had more sense when you were twelve.”