Page 59 of Bittersweet Revenge
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tiernan
I’ve been onedge all fucking day.
We’ve done shit like this before—this being what’s going down with Michael Jensen tomorrow—but it’s always involved my father, Uncle Rian, Conan, or one of the others. Outside of cleanup, this is all on us.
And it’s something my father will lose his shit about if he finds out, so there’s that added pressure as well.
Doing it on our own is something I want, something I need to do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a lot of shit on my mind. Shit I can’t share with Dean. Some of it—the nerves, the weight that crushes the center of my chest every time I’m going to hurt someone—I don’t share with anyone.
Ever.
It’s weak, and weakness isn’t allowed if I plan to succeed—and I fucking do.
It’s not easy taking a life, even a bastard like Michael Jensen. He deserves to die, and I’ll always do what needs to be done, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t strip away at me every time I pull the trigger.
Eventually, I’m sure it won’t. I don’t know if I should look forward to that day or not.
Usually when a hit is planned, I can lock myself away and not have to deal with anyone, but that doesn’t work this time. We sell a whole lot of product when I throw a party. Still, it doesn’t hurt to go about our everyday business as we’re leading up to a murder.
And then there’s Dean. He’s fucking here, all the time. He’s not an idiot. He knows something’s up. I’m not used to having anyone but my father in my business, and I’m not sure how to deal with it. I could have told him to leave, but I wasn’t ready to do that. I want him here, I just have my responsibilities to handle first.
“Kick everyone out in an hour,” I tell Cillian, who just finished a threesome with the dancing girls.
“Done. You going to find your boy?”
“Yes,” I reply, not arguing with him anymore about Dean being mine. There’s no use. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be here. If he can’t learn to control his fucking temper, though, we’re going to have a problem. Do I want to punch most people I come across? Yes. But I don’t. Was it hot as hell to see him jealous? To see that lack of fear as he approached someone bigger than him and didn’t hesitate to make a move? Fuck yes. I’d wanted to fuck him right there in front of everyone, but this business doesn’t work if you can’t control yourself. That’s how we make mistakes, how we get caught.
It’s how we die.
I unlock my bedroom door, expecting to find him there, having used the key I gave him, but my bed is empty, the covers still made, telling me he hasn’t been here at all.
Where the fuck is he?
I jerk my phone from my pocket and text him.
Where are you?
My feet refuse to keep still, pacing my room as I watch my phone for his reply. One minute, three, five, eight minutes pass, but there’s no answer.
Did he leave? Was he so fucking pissed that I didn’t talk to him enough today or that I let a couple of losers flirt with me to get what I wanted that he bailed?
Fuck that.
Fuck him.
Why did he go?
I don’t need one more thing causing stress in my life, but I told him I wanted him here. Can’t I have a bad fucking day without him taking off?
My feet eat up the floor as I make it to my bedroom door in three quick strides. If Dean wants to play games, fine, we’ll play games. If he wants me to bring him back, I will.
The second I’m in the hallway, I notice the lights on under Aislin’s door. She didn’t come down to the party tonight. She told me she’d be staying in her room. Maybe Dean is in there with her?
I knock gently in case he’s not there, but no one answers. Hand on the knob, I slowly push the door open, gaze immediately landing on them—Dean and my sister, asleep in her bed. She’s curled up close to him the way she does me when she doesn’t want to be alone. A burning sensation crawls up my stomach and into my throat. It’s not jealousy. It’s shame. Because she needed me, and I wasn’t there. Because she sat alone during this party, and I didn’t understand why, and when she needed someone, again, it was Dean who was there to take care of her.
Dean, who is protecting what’s mine.
