Page 35 of Bound

Holding the door handle in my hand, I kept my head facing forward, refusing to look at him. “Yeah, that's exactly what I set out to do. . .” Pausing, I yanked the door open. “I'm a fucking horrible person, aren't I?”

Slamming the door, I stormed down the hall and headed downstairs. Being judged, being told over and over again how you're a disappointment to the family, how you're the cause of all the problems they faced—it fucking hurt.

I already felt like shit, I was already well aware of how my actions affected the people around me. I didn't need my father constantly throwing it in my face.

Doesn't he see I'm trying to make it right?

Can't he see that I'm doing what needs to be done?

Not once did I think getting involved with D would come back to haunt me like this. I was a lost kid, a boy who needed guidance, and wanted to be seen as something other than the problem stepchild. D gave me that chance, he taught and trained me, he made me his angel of death.

He was more of a father to me than Franco had ever been. I was pushed aside when Zander came along, treated like I was the black sheep, like I held no value.

When I met Marcos Disesto, and found my calling, nothing was more important to me than riding the ranks and becoming a made man. That had been my goal. To become the best, to be the danger and the fear that kept all our enemies up at night.

And now they're my enemies.

My nightmares, my sleepless nights, my life of solitary confinement, they did that to me. And all of it was because I couldn't pull the trigger one fucking time.

“Are you hungry?” my mom asked, sneaking up behind me, and placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Not really.” Closing the fridge, I stepped back, and leaned against the kitchen island. “I don't even know why I'm looking in there anyway.”

“What's wrong?” Running her hand across my forehead, she smiled. “Come on, spill it, I can see the wheels turning. Talk to me, don't shut me out.”

Gripping the granite in my hands, I shrugged my shoulders. “I'm trying, Mom, I'm trying to fix this shit.”

“I know you are, Honey, I know you want to fix it.” Turning away from me, she opened the fridge and took out some items to make a sandwich. “You thought you were hiding it, but I've known. I could always tell, even after you took off.”

“Then why did you let me go?”

Laying her hands flat on the counter, her shoulders rolled forward. “This isn't my fight, Porter. I want you to be here, I don't want to lose you, but I can't fight this for you either.” Lifting her eyes to mine, she smiled and asked, “Is there anything I could say that would change your mind?”

Thinning my lips, I shook my head. “No, not a thing.”

Her eyes softened, tender and understanding. “Here,” she said, handing me a plate with a turkey sandwich on it. “Take that up to Emery for me, I've got a few errands to run with your father. And don't leave her alone, understand? The last thing I want is for her to try and get up, fall, and hurt herself even more.”

Tipping my head to show her I understood, I took the plate and started to head upstairs.

“Oh and Porter,” she called out, causing me to look over my shoulder. “I don't know how that girl ended up with you, and I'm not sure I want to know. But be nice to her, I kind of like that one.” Winking, she grabbed her pocketbook, and threw it over her shoulder. “Franco, I'm heading to the car!”

I heard the door to my father's office open and close, his steps echoing between the walls as he approached the top of the stairs. Fixing the cuffs on his sleeves, he stared down at me, his face still cured in resentful hate.

My mother wasn't able to keep me at arms length for too long, deep down she still loved me. Despite the hell I rained down on her, she knew I hadn't done any of that shit on purpose.

But Franco, he never looked at me with anything but hate in his eyes.

Stepping to the side, I made room for him to walk by. “Don't do anything stupid while we're out, I'd hate to come home and find the house in flames because your little friends figured out where we live. You can't stay long, I want you gone,” he grumbled as his shoulder brushed my chest.

“Franco, that's enough.” My mother rolled her eyes as she dug around in her purse for her keys. “You have to stop doing that to him, stop treating him like he doesn't belong.”

Smiling to myself, it was nice to finally see my mother standing up to him. She wasn't bowing her head like she used, she wasn't sitting quietly and letting him take the lead. For the first time in ages my mother wasn't just a pretty handbag dangling off his arm, she had found her voice.

Walking to her side, my father and her started bickering back and forth about me as they stepped outside and closed the door.

You'd think by the way they sounded that I was still sixteen years old, and they were leaving me home alone for the weekend.

Shaking my head to myself, I sauntered upstairs, stopping outside her door. Knocking softly, she didn't answer, staying quiet.

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