Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Tommas tipped his head to the side, taking in his father’s words. “Was that why you did it?”
“What?”
“The shooting at the restaurant. Messing around with Joel Trentini even knowing he’s a damn snake that you can’t trust if your damned life depended on it. Was that why you did it? To further yourself by furthering me?
Laurent shrugged, smirked, and took another drink.
Like it didn’t even matter.
His father couldn’t possibly know what he had done. That by trying to help Tommas for his own selfish fucking reasons, Laurent had almost taken away the very thing that Tommas wanted, needed, and loved more than anything.
Because Abriella was his heart.
His breath.
His life.
His fucking soul.
And Laurent didn’t understand.
He wasn’t a good enough father to understand. He wasn’t someone Tommas loved or trusted enough to be able to tell his father exactly what he had done wrong, and how badly it hurt Tommas. He had never given his son—his own blood—a good enough reason to trust him.
Laurent was nothing while Abriella was ...
Everything.
Fucking hell.
Tommas’ anger exploded in that moment.
It wasn’t even anger.
It was fucking rage.
Pure, unaltered fury.
Tommas had only felt that maybe twice in his thirty years. But this one was the worst—it had to be. It soaked through his body like a tsunami of heat and blinding, blistering emotion that he could barely stand to feel.
He reacted before he could stop himself.
Tommas grabbed the dishcloth that had been discarded to the table, and used it as a buffer between his fingers and the beer bottle when he wrapped it around the neck and picked it up, too. His fingerprints wouldn’t be left behind. He swung without thinking, feeling a sickening sensation of satisfaction rush through his bloodstream when he smashed the beer bottle across his father’s face.
Laurent fell back from his chair, toppling to the floor, with a loud shout of pain. Tommas enjoyed the sound of that, too.
Moving from his chair faster than he could blink, Tommas kicked another chair out of the way so he could move down above his father. He grabbed Laurent’s shirt, ignoring that it was damp with sweat and smelled awful as he pulled Laurent up a little from the floor.
“For me?” Tommas growled.
Laurent sucked in a hard breath, his glassy eyes wide. “Tommas—”
“You think you did that for me?” Tommas shook his father. “You selfish fucking bastard, you’ve done nothing for me except hurt me!”
“That’s not true, Tommy.”
“It is,” Tommas growled. “You know it is. You’re a fucking drunk, Laurent. You and Serena both. A goddamn shame. You couldn’t give two fucks about me or what I want, only what I could do for you. Some father you are.”
Laurent blinked up at Tommas, still seeming confused. “I don’t—”
“Understand?” Tommas asked. “I’m not surprised. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t have the first clue about what matters to me, or what I might want. You almost fucking killed me, Laurent. Do you understand that? You almost killed me when you caused her to be caught in the crossfire of your goddamn mess! And for what, to move me higher for your benefit?”
Silence saturated the kitchen.
Tommas had roared each and every single one of his words. His shouts bounced off the kitchen walls, echoing back to him. Laurent had stilled on the floor, bleeding from his mouth and nose. The bottle must have cut him, and broke his nose. Tommas didn’t know.
He didn’t care.
“Her?” Laurent asked quietly.
Tommas stiffened. “Shut up.”
“Her.”
It wasn’t even a question that time.
“Shut the fuck up,” Tommas repeated, growing the words.
He didn’t want Laurent to know about Tommas’ relationship with Abriella. He didn’t want his father to know because the man didn’t deserve to know those kinds of things about Tommas. He hadn’t earned the right.
“Are you talking about that Trentini—”
Tommas slammed his father into the floor, soaking up the shout of pain Laurent let loose when his head cracked against hardwood. “Shut your stupid mouth, Laurent.”
His father laughed—bleak and weak.
“What are you going to do, Tommy boy, kill me?”
Tommas had thought about it a lot.
He blamed his father for a lot of things.
Laurent would deserve it.
“I didn’t want to,” Tommas admitted, “but you did this when you hurt me.”
“A piece of pussy—is that it? You’re mad over a fucking useless piece of ass you could find anywhere?”
That was that.
It was all Tommas needed to hear to lose what little control he maintained. He pulled the gun he always kept safely tucked into a holster at his back. When he brought it around front and pointed it at his father’s face, Laurent’s eyes flew wide again.
Bloody mouthed and glassy eyed, Laurent stared down the barrel of the gun.
Tommas slammed the gun into his father’s mouth hard enough to break teeth. Laurent choked on blood and bone, spitting when Tommas pulled the gun back. He only let his father breathe for a second before he was slamming it into Laurent’s face again.