Threat (23 page)

I extend my hand to Colin. “It was nice
meeting you, sir. And good luck, because you're going to need it.”

Unsurprisingly he doesn't reciprocate. “You
should really leave. Now.”

I don't even bother to look at Leah as I turn
and head back towards the house. I walk with purpose, pounding the
dirt like I did this morning. Once I’m inside I practically fly
to my room and stuff all my shit in my bag—it's a disorganized
mess, but I'll deal. The last thing I want to do is spend another
unnecessary moment in this place.

When everything is packed I sling my bag over
my shoulder, turn on my heel and rush towards the door—only to
run directly into Leah, blocking the doorway.

Her eyes are still wide and pleading, and
brimmed with tears. Just seeing her like that crushes something
inside of me. I'm angry and frustrated, all at the same time. Angry
that she didn't say a single fucking thing to defend me, but
frustrated that I'm the reason she's on the verge of tears.

Ultimately, and like always, the anger wins.

“You should really get out of my way,”
I growl.

“You don't have to go,” she manages
to choke out.

“Did you hear what your father said? He
wants me gone. It's his house. Plus I don't want to spend another
minute here.”

Her face scrunches; she looks pained. “So
you're just gong to leave? Just like that?”

“He didn’t exactly give me much of
a choice, in case you didn't notice.”

“Don't take this out on me. None of this
is my fault.”

“Yeah? Well it might not be your fault
but you didn’t exactly lift a finger to try and help.”

“He's my father! What was I supposed to
do?”

“Uh, anything besides just sit there? You
could have stood up to your father. You could have vouched for me,
but no. You took my mom's fucking side just like you always do.”

“I didn't take any sides, Threat.”

“Right, and that's why you always get on
my back about being nicer to my mom, despite all the shit she's
pulled on me all these years. And even after you learned you still
didn't say shit. That tells me what side you're on.”

“Good God, you expect me to take sides
against my father? Are you mad?”

I let out a bark of laughter and shake my head.
“Nah. I don't expect anything from you. Now if you'll excuse
me.” I brush past her and start down the hall. She follows. I
race down the stairs and she matches me step for step.

“Why are you being such an asshole about
this?”

“That's what I do, remember? I'm an
asshole. You've said that a million times. Remind me again why you're
surprised?”

I reach the front door and swing it open. I'm
not exactly surprised when Leah catches it and follows me out front,
to where my bike is parked.

“You're a fucking hypocrite you know
that?” She shouts at me while I strap my things on to the back.

I turn and place my hands on my hips. “How
am I a hypocrite.”

She walks up towards me, spritely and
determined, with her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. I think with
my dick before my head, because she looks hot as hell angry like
this. She could fuck me over a thousand times and I'd still take her,
if she let me.

“Remember what you told me last night, on
the pier? Remember how you told me to let go of the things my mother
did to me?” she asks. “But you won't even try and let go
of your resentment towards your own mother.”

I shrug and climb on my bike. That's comparing
apples and oranges, as far as I'm concerned. “So I'm a
hypocrite and an asshole. Any last insults before I go?”

Her shoulders slump and she looks defeated. She
looks away, as if she doesn't want me to see the hurt in her eyes. I
already do, and it tears me apart inside.

“You might think I've abandoned you. But
you're the one who's leaving me.”

I rev my engine. “You'll be fine without
me. You never needed me anyways.”

I know that good and well. And you know what? I
don't need her, Mom, or anyone else. For twenty years I’ve
managed to make it on my own, fending for myself. I never had anyone
and I was foolish to think that would suddenly change. I'll get by
just fine, like I always have—on my own.

But that doesn’t stop me from wanting
her.

THREAT

Avoiding my pops for the next couple days isn't
exactly easy, not when we live and work together. Well,
used
to
live together. I never went back to his apartment after coming home
from the lake. I finally bite the bullet and use the money I've saved
up from working at the tattoo shop over the past two years to move in
with a couple friends. That's something I should have done a hell of
a long time ago, instead of wasting time coming up with plans to
freeload off my mom's new chump of a husband.

Work is harder, but I throw myself into it head
first, lining up client after client, a few of whom have been trying
to get a hold of me since the whole road trip fiasco started. I book
them in the mornings or right after regular working hours, avoiding
the evenings—the main time my dad likes to wander into the
shop.

He must have caught on. Because today when I
open up the shop, guess who's sitting in my chair, just waiting for
me with a sly grin plastered across his face?

“Hello there, son,” he says sharply
when I enter.

Shit.
I
knew I couldn't avoid him forever, but I had hoped to at least
prolong it.

“Hey, Pop.” That greeting isn't
nearly as convincing as I'd like. I already know where this
conversation is going, and I don’t want to deal with it.

“You've been back in town for a couple
days now, I hear. Avoiding me?”

He can smell it on me, one of Pop's many
talents. “Nope, just busy.” My words with him are curt
and even though I avoid eye contact, I can feel his eyes boring into
me.

“Well, that can only mean one thing.”
God, here we go. The last thing I need right now is to berated by
him. “You didn't get the job done, did you?”

I don't answer. I don't even look at him.

He climbs out of his chair and plants himself
beside me as I organize my station. “Well?” he asks. He
holds up the keys to his shop, the sound of them clanking together
ringing in my ears. “Are these yours or not?”

There's a devil and an angel sitting on each of
my shoulders now. Everything about taking those keys feels wrong, and
for reasons I don't quite understand. What's the worst taking the
shop could do to me now? Everything I thought I had with Leah is
gone. Even if I tried to get her back now, there's no way she would
have me. And I wouldn't blame her for it either. We were doomed from
the start. What could I offer a girl like that? Truth be told, even
with
the tattoo shop, I wouldn’t be able to give her
half of the things her father provided.

I swallow hard when I say the words. “Nope.
They're not mine.”

I dreaded saying it and I expect to regret it,
but for some reason, I don't.

I'm prepared for my father to gloat, but to my
surprise, he doesn’t. Instead his eyes narrow and he studies my
face carefully. “You spent all those days and nights alone with
that girl, and you couldn’t seduce her? A good lookin' guy like
you.” It's not a question—it's an accusation. His tone is
suspicious. Pop is too smart for his own good, sometimes. He can read
me like a book and I hate it.

I shrug and turn away. “It just didn't
happen. Sorry.”

He sucks his teeth. “You didn't get her
to do nothin'?”

I shake my head. “I'm sorry to
disappoint.”

“Uh huh...” his voice trails off.

“So I guess I'll just have to earn the
shop myself.”

“Well I don't know, if you can't complete
a simple task like that, maybe you aren't right to carry on my
legacy.”

Seriously? His words blind side me. “Wait,
you're judging my ability to run your shop based on whether I can get
a girl in bed? The fuck does that have to do with running a
business?”

“You weren't so concerned with that when
we first made the bet.”

“But I practically run your shop for you
already.”

“You can open and close. You're a decent
artist, so what? Making it in a business like this isn't just about
talent. It's not just about business skills and book learnin'
either.”

“Then what is it about? Cheating and
hurting people? Lying to customers? Paying off inspectors to get away
with health code violations?”

Fury burns behind his eyes from my words and I
don't feel the least bit bad about it. He pushes towards me,
posturing himself just inches from my face. I don't even flinch.
“It's about being able to do what it takes, son,” he
shouts. “I worked for every damn thing I earned, and now I’m
willing to hand it all to you and you're being a fucking ungrateful
little twat!”

I shrug my shoulders. “You know what? If
you don't think I'm good enough to run your shop then fine, don't
give it to me. I can live with that. But when you tell me I can't be
your successor just because I won't hurt someone, that's fucked up.”

His eyes widen, like a light bulb just fucking
went off above his noggin or something. “Oh, so that's what
it's about. It's about the girl. You don't want to hurt her because
she's 'nice',” he says with finger quotes. Something coils in
my stomach—I don’t like him talking or even thinking
about Leah. “Just how nice was she to you, huh?”

“Stop.” I wave him off and turn
back towards my station. “They're nice people. The whole family
is. I wouldn't do something like that to any of them.”

“So you're turning your back on your own
flesh and blood for some two bit strip comedian? You're choosing his
family over me?”

“I'm not choosing anyone over anyone
else,” I mumble.

“Yeah, well it sounds a whole lot like
you are. A corny ass magician and his sweet lil' daughter. I bet
she's a rich priss. Tell me son, what do you got that you can offer
her? You really someone like her is gonna pick you at the end of the
day? Huh?” He prods me in the shoulder and it takes all the
restraint I can muster not to react. “You think your
gold-digging whore you call your mother really deserves them? You
think after all the things she's done to me, she deserves a happy
ending?”

My brow peaks and I turn to face him. His
pruned face is twisted with anger and resentment, and that's when I
finally get it. “Is that really all this is about? Getting back
at my Mom?”

He folds his arms over his chest, an evil sneer
playing on his lips. “I guess you could call it collateral
damage.”

I study his face for a long moment, my mind
flashing back to the bonfire and the things my mother said about him.
“Did Mom ever ask you for help when she was raising me?”

He remains silent.

I plant my feet firmly into the tile as I grill
him. “Did she ever once come to you, asking for child support?”
I pause, watching his features twitch, despite the fact that he
doesn’t speak. “When we were living in a shit hole on
food stamps, and you were partying it up with your rocker
friends...did she ever beg you for money?”

His stone-like demeanor finally cracks...and he
laughs? It's a raspy, bitter laugh that's devoid of any actual joy.
“That family really has done a number on you, haven't they?
What kind of lies has your mother told you, boy?”

“It's a simple yes or no question,”
I breathe.

He jabs at his own chest. “
I'm
the one who's been here for you.
I'm
the one who's supported you. I trained you and gave you a job, and
now you turn around and question me? You second guess me?”

“It's a yes. Or no. Question.”

“What the fuck has your mother ever done
for you?” he growls. “You'd be sleeping on the fucking
streets if I hadn't been kind enough to take your worthless,
delinquent ass in! Who the hell gives a shit what I did in the past?
Your mother has done you a million times worse!”

My jaw stiffens. “So Mom wasn't lying.”
Something sinks inside of me when I admit it.

He huffs and clenches his fists. For a moment I
think he's going to breathe fire he looks so damn angry. “Your
mother was a fucking slut! She was a God damned gold-digger, and
still is. Of course she asked for money, that's all she's ever
fucking done!”

I wince at the insults he hurls at her. It's
not like I haven't called her the same fucking names a million times
over. But it stings every damn time someone else says it.

“You've reminded me. Plenty of times.”

“She was a God damned groupie.”

“She was
fifteen
.”

He leans in, his unruly brows in a knot. “That
should tell you how much of a cunt she was.”

My fist collides with his jaw like it has a
mind of his own. The impact sends him spiraling backwards into my
chair, clutching his mouth and grimacing.