Traded(15)

Dad’s head snapped up. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“The bastard offered me his wife for three months and made it clear she was to fuck me every night to pay off his debt.”

Dad knifed up, the force of his hands slamming against the desk causing his pen to jump and roll onto the floor. He left it where it was. “Motherfucker! I hope you had Brock follow his ass home and take care of him.”

“No.”

The muscles in his neck strained, the blue veins covering his skin like rivers on a map. “You sent her home with him, right?” My eyes dropped to my shoes and he growled. “Tell me you didn’t, Ashton. Tell me you didn’t take the girl in lieu of payment.” I lifted my chin and he got his answer. “Jesus, fuck.”

“I made him a deal,” I said. “I get Elena for three months, and he pays back half of what he owes.”

“Half? Are you crazy? Does she have a golden pussy or something? She must have. There must be a good reason for this . . . insanity.”

By this point my dad had rounded the table, grabbing handfuls of my shirt, pulling me flush against him, his face millimeters from mine as he shouted his displeasure. My fists clenched at my sides. At six-one I was a big bastard, but Dad was bigger. He could take me without breaking sweat. Even so, my voice was tight when I looked him straight in the eye and replied, “He abuses her, Dad,” the volume dropping slightly when I continued. “I don't know to what extent but she won't even look me in the fucking eyes when I talk to her. Can't make a decision on her own. Swear to Christ, she jumped six fuckin' feet in the air when I touched her hand. I have no intention of touching her, but I couldn’t let her leave with him. If I shot him down and let Brock rough him up a little, imagine what that would have meant for her.” I paused before saying quietly, “You of all people know what that would have meant.”

Understanding washed through his features and he lowered me to the ground, releasing my shirt from his grip, smoothing out the crumpled material. "She's staying with you?"

"Yes." I made the split-second decision to share my plan with him. "I've only got three months to repair what he broke. It'll be tough but I'll be damned if I don't give it a try."

Dad leaned back against his desk, his heavy sigh audible in the otherwise silent room. “I don’t understand why you didn’t kill the bastard.”

“Trust me, I thought about it, but you know as well as I do it wouldn’t do any good. Just like Aunt Veronica, she’d end up with some other loser to bully her. I can break the cycle. Show her she’s strong enough to leave him on her own. I just need the next three months.” I paused. “Then I can send Brock in.”

Dad nodded. “Interesting plan. Three months isn’t long, though. It took at least a year to repair what that cocksucker broke in Ronnie.”

Leaning back in the chair, I crossed my ankle over the top of my knee, my foot twitching as I thought out loud. “I’m starting with simple things, like having her make her own choices. She wouldn’t even choose from the menu at the ballpark last night. And today I sent her to the spa.”

He nodded. “Makes sense. Show her how she should be treated,” he murmured to himself.

“Exactly. I’m also hoping Mom can make a big dinner sometime next week and invite Aunt Veronica. I think a talk with her would do Elena good.

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” He clasped me on the shoulder and gave a squeeze. Then his voice lowered. “I’m proud of the way you handled that. I know you don’t always agree with the things we do, but no woman should ever be treated that way by a man.”

“No she shouldn’t. It’ll make us short, but I think it’s worth it.”

“It is. And half is better than nothing. I’ll call Ronnie tonight after you talk with Mom.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I stood. “I’m gonna get going. I know I’ll end up spending some time cooking before I leave.”

“Most likely.” He laughed and waved me away, returning to work on whatever he’d been dealing with before I walked in. That was my dad’s way: if you had an issue you talked it out. Things might get heated, but they’d also get resolved, then everyone moved on. Some might disagree with this approach, but it worked for us.

Back tracking to the kitchen, I found Mom, whisk in hand, mixing eggs. “Hey, Mom.”

Unlike many women involved in our lifestyle, Mom knew aspect of my dad’s business. She didn’t want to be kept in the dark, but she also had rules; rules that my father obeyed to the letter. He loved her too much to chance her walking away. Dad’s business was never allowed in the house. Obviously we had discussions, but only ever in his office. None of the men who worked for my father were allowed anywhere near where we lived. Mom wanted has to have as normal a life as possible. Another rule was that neither Miller nor myself were to have anything to do with the business until after we’d finished college. Finally, and most importantly, if either of us were ever investigated by any kind of law enforcement, it was Dad’s job to fix it—even if that meant taking the blame himself. Her sons were never going to jail for the family business, according to my mom.