Page 33 of Penny
“I have some paperwork to go over with you,” I announced, sitting on the small wooden chair across from him. He never wanted the person he was doing business with to be comfortable.
“Show me,” he demanded, shoving his hand out at me but not looking up.
I consciously made sure I didn’t shut my eyes or tap my foot as I opened the small bag in which I’d stored the stack of papers. On the top was page fifty of the second contract I’d filled out with the hotel manager. We made people we worked with fill out multiple fake agreements, trying to confuse the person and the feds. I turned the stack and pushed it toward him, making the wooden child’s seat creak.
“Top page. Marked with a sticky note,” I advised, forcing myself to remain calm. A tornado was brewing and adding any wind at this point could make this an F5 storm.
“What am I looking at? Your brother couldn’t—” He stopped abruptly, scowling at the piece of paper and ripping it away from the stack.
I sat in silence, anticipating the tornado to touch down. His anger was like a tempest, except with knives and guns. Pressure built in my chest, and I bit my tongue to not try to explain why there was a mistake. If I was honest with myself—which I tend to not be—it would be because I did the paperwork with a bottle of whiskey on the side.
“Tell me this is a joke,” he muttered, not looking up from the paperwork.
“You see what you see,” I grumbled, forcing my leg to not bounce.
He stared down at the mistake clearly pointed out to him, twirling his pen in circles. I wanted to set a timer to see how long it took him to tear into me. Wonder what he would throw this time?
He massaged his eyes, furrowing his brow. He slowly pulled out the middle drawer and yanked a Glock out. The gun was pointed at me with a steady hand. My muscles tensed, and my stomach twisted as I stared down the barrel of the gun held by my dark-eyed father.
“Tell me why I shouldn't kill you?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Because I’m your fucking son,” I murmured, trying to keep my calm.
He’d had pulled a piece out on his desk in the past, but he’d never pointed it directly at my head before. My hand twitched, desperately wanting to grab for my own gun, but I ignored the urge and didn’t move.
“Why should that matter? You have been nothing but a failure to me and my business.”
“This tells the feds nothing about us. Paranoia doesn’t look good on you, Dad,” I answered, regretting the slip of my tongue. If I died over a contract, Liam would raise me from the dead to kill me again.
“Yesterday, the Ivor family went into custody. Our world has a rat, and you give them this fuck-up? It could take us out, and pigs can only be fed so much slop to look the other way,” he snarled, pounding on the desk and cocking the Glock.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I ground my teeth together. I needed to grab my gun and just kill the bastard. The move may also take me out, but then at least Liam could take over the family business.
“Liam and I will clean it up,” I insisted, taking a jab to defuse the situation.
“You will not help with shit. Fuck, I can’t even trust you with my property.” He sat the gun on the desk, next to his hand, the barrel was still pointed at me. The acid reflux that pushed its way up my throat settled, and the burn started to ease.
“I don't have any of your property,” I retorted, not knowing what he was referring to. Everything I owned was paid in cash I had earned over the years. I did my best to not touch anything that belonged to him.
“Penny belongs to me and, as such, will be brought here tonight,” he smoothly answered, sliding the stack of paper back to my side of the desk.
The bitterness slid back up my throat as it constricted in on itself.
“She’s not fully trained yet. Liam and I are working on her,” I blurted, hoping to deter him away from her. She was mine and belonged to me and me only.
“I don't need your wimpy training. See right there?” He pointed to the corner of the room where Candice was kneeling. “That is what a trained bitch looks like, and it’s time I reminded you and your brother that. Now get the fuck out of my office before I shoot you,” he snapped, hovering his hand over his gun.
The phone rang before I could turn around, and he picked it up on speaker.
“What?” he barked.
“The Osmani family just got taken in,” the voice on the other end of the line acknowledged.
“Fucking shite, all of you are a bunch of amadáns,” my father screamed, throwing everything off his desk with one brutal swoop.
My fists clenched and unclenched as I tried to force myself through his commands and ignore this news. Business rivals were being taken out one by one, and all I could think about was my girl at home. He wasn't right that Emily belonged to him, but why should I care? She would have been gone soon, anyway. At least if she left now, I would get time to get a grip and scrub her from my skin.
I turned on my heels, not saying another word, and made myself walk to the door. Old man scrooge stood with my glass of water outside the office, and I forced myself to not send the glass shattering to the floor. My father couldn’t see how much he was affecting me. He didn’t deserve shit from me.
