Page 41 of Dangerous Refuge

Rico is safe…

22

SVEN

The home already feels empty, not like a home. I didn’t realize how much I adjusted to Allie and Rico being here until she was gone. Odin sits at my feet whimpering. Even he knows it’s not right. I’m furious with her because she knows better, but she is just the sort of woman who has to learn the hard way.

The bottle of Jameson sits on the table next to my feet unopened. I have a glass for it; I just don’t have emotional energy to open it and drink it. I keep replaying every detail I know about Paul Hensley in my head, hoping something will click and I’ll figure out where he is. Now more than ever I want that bastard dead, for no other reason than I’ve been hunting him for weeks now and I’ve not been successful. This rage inside of me has to go somewhere, and I intend to make sure it goes directly into his body, fists or bullets—it’s all the same to me.

Odin’s ears perk and a low growl rumbles out of his chest. He hears something I don’t, but I’m not even put on edge. No one would dare mess with me in this state. I remain reclined on the sofa, but I watch the hallway floor just outside my door. A shadow passes by and a few moments later I see Matty’s frame enter the doorway. His face is expressionless, but his poor posture reveals his mood. He stops a few strides into the room and Odin rests his chin on his paws.

“I got news about Pop.”

“Yeah?” I ask, still not sitting up. Let life kick me in the balls while I’m down. I come back twice as strong anyway.

"They’re putting him on hospice.” Matty moves into the room farther, sitting in one of the arm chairs across the table from me. Hospice isn’t good. It’s basically saying they’ve given up hope and they’re just making him comfortable now. “He’s officially signed all the documents needed to transfer everything to Dom.”

Matty eyes my Jameson then looks up at me. I say nothing, but I give him permission with my eyes. “When did this happen?” I ask. I’m not surprised by the news. At Red’s funeral he was in bad shape. He can barely walk as it is. His ability to swallow and talk at times is so poor he has to be fed via an IV.

“Just a while ago. I told Dom I’d fill you in. Looks like another funeral soon.” Matty cracks the seal on the Jameson and pours a few fingers into the glass. “Want some?” he asks, pausing before he takes a sip.

“In a bit…” I sit straighter, placing my feet on the floor. Just because I knew my father was getting worse doesn’t make it any easier to adjust to the idea that he won’t be here one day. Death is the inevitable end of every life. It’s to be expected not feared. It’s what my father has told me a thousand times. Thinking this way—that death is just the final phase of life for all creatures—is supposed to remove the pain of it. It evaporates a lot of the pain of someone you care for being taken from you and makes it easier to move on.

But Allie isn’t dead. She just walked away.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, then empties the glass of its contents.

Forcing Allie to stay when she clearly didn’t want to be here would have been wrong, so I let her go. With Dad I’m not getting that choice. He goes whether I want him to or not. I need to get over there and visit him before he’s so far gone with the drugs that he can’t communicate with me.

“Nothing,” I mumble, then stand and walk to my liquor cabinet. I pull out another glass and return to the sofa and Matty pours me a drink.

“You heard Dom got that bastard who was shorting us? He’s dead.” Matty sips his drink, talking shop like he didn’t just tell me our family structure is getting its overhaul even as we speak. Dominic will go all balls to the wall with his attitude and authority for a while to prove he’s the real leader. It means putting up with his ego and anger issues for a while too. I hate that, but it’s the way it is. I nod at Matty. I hadn’t heard that, but it’s good. I failed at doing my job. At least Dominic was able to fix it.

“And he hired a new foreman for the factory today. I thought you were doing that?”

I take the glass as he slides it across the table toward me. The Jameson sloshes in the glass. It has a scent like no other whiskey, calming me before I’ve even had a single sip. I lift it to my lips and finish the glass in one drink. I didn’t know Dominic took that over either. I’ve been so distracted with my personal shit, hunting Paul, trying to watch Allie, that my mind has been scatterbrained. I know it will only get worse until I get her out of my system.

“I didn’t.” I set the glass back down and he refills it. I don’t need that much more yet, so I let it sit there and stare into the swirling honey colored liquid.

“Yeah, I think Dom’s pissed at you to say the least.”

This entire conversation is wearing on me. I don’t want to talk shop. I don’t want to hear what Dominic is saying or doing. I don’t want to know my father is dying or that the company is getting new management. I want to let the caged lion loose to hunt. My temper has been bottled up too long and Paul Hensley is the target I’m aiming at.

Usually Matty and I get along well no matter what. But tonight, I just want him to leave.

“Oh and Jimmy is working out okay. He’s the guy who made the hit on—”

“Shut up, Matty.”

“What? I thought you’d want to know the guy hunting Red for so long is dead.” Matty scowls at me. “You’re still pissed I didn’t make the hit myself?”

What I’m pissed about is far more complex than even I know, but hearing the name of Jimmy Slater in conjunction with my failure just sets me off.

“Get out,” I say gruffly.

Matty huffs and sets his empty glass down. “Pull your head out of your ass, Sven. Slater is here to stay. You can’t just—”

“Get out!” I roar, picking up my glass and throwing it against the wall. It smashes to a thousand shards and Matty scowls at me before retreating. Nothing is going the way it’s supposed to, and I’m the sort of guy who gets what he wants. I don’t quit. I don’t let my enemies off the hook, and I don’t let someone walk away. What the hell is wrong with me?

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