Chapter Eighteen

Night stalked into the neighborhood bar, his scuffed and worn boots making not a sound as he stepped from the doorway up to the serving counter, despite wet soles from the many puddles outside. He turned to face the room, a habit he couldn’t quite leave behind from his years of military training. The deep red windbreaker splotched with rain easily covered his concealed handgun while a knife rested in a sheath around his lower leg. He glanced over the area, sizing up each man and their level of intoxication.

Few patrons inhabited the establishment at that time, just after opening. Most of the crowd presumably would show up a bit later, after work and perhaps a bit of time at home to clean up.

He picked out his target easily and immediately, the black hair, so like his own stood out amongst a crowd of men with lighter locks. Although the older man kept his cut short, the blue hue caught in the dim light as he sat nursing a small glass full of dark liquid at the end of the same bar.

“What will it be?” The gray-headed bartender inquired, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

“Nothing yet.” Night didn’t bother to look at the barkeep, instead he stared at the guy who stood responsible for so many of the negative things in his life, up to and including the events of the last few days.

Night strode closer, fighting down the growing rage he held for this man. His father. He never remembered him or being struck by him, but his mother’s expression when she spoke of the incident told him more than enough. To this day, she still feared him, an innate terror created by years of threats and abuse. How she’d pulled together enough strength and courage to leave in the first place, he’d never know. He thanked the powers that be every day that she had. The alternative would have been a violent death at the hands of her husband way before her time.

He fingered the solid gold nugget in his pocket, an heirloom passed down generation to generation from mother to daughter and father to son after being found in the Black Hills centuries before. He marveled at its smooth texture. His great, great grandfather had fashioned the chain attached to the rock, transforming it from a simple chunk of precious metal to a piece of priceless jewelry.

For years he’d imagined this moment, practiced what he would say to his father, who’d caused so much pain and havoc in his and his mother’s lives. Then he’d realized how much time he’d spent planning and plotting, giving energy and power to the father he wished to never know and promised himself he would rise above, becoming a much better man than the one that sired him. He’d done just that and more, thanks to his mother showing him the unlimited potential he carried, challenging him to step up and be the man he dreamed of being, molding him into what he was today.

Summer. After this final stop, he planned on rushing home to her, holding her tightly in his arms, and telling her how he felt about her. His mind replayed her smiling face, the warm affection, and inner strength she carried. He missed her and couldn’t wait to see her again. Not to mention, he still worried about her suffering emotionally from her abduction and needed to return and judge her health for himself. She might be resilient, but he hated to leave her at such an inopportune time. Once he’d finished this circle, he could be there for her. As long as she needed him.

Get this unsavory task over with and I can see her again.

Sliding onto the bar stool next to his father, Night took a deep breath. “Whatcha drinking?”

“Whiskey,” his father answered flatly, staring straight ahead as if living in his own world.

“How many have you had?” If the man already leaned toward intoxicated, confronting him at this time might prove an absolute waste of time. That was why he’d arrived early, hoping to catch him in some semblance of sobriety.

“Not enough.” His father turned to pin him with his deep blue eyes. Eyes that matched his. “What business is it of yours?” His gaze flicked from the bar to Night’s face, narrowing in concentration. “Do I know you?”

“You should but you don’t. Mother and I left you twenty-eight years ago.”

Tom’s eyes widened as he sucked in a breath. “My son. Could it really be?”

“I may be your biological child, but nothing you’ve ever done makes you my father.” Years of resentment broke through. “You did nothing but drink and abuse mother and me. Hell, you didn’t even bother to try to find us, support us, or face up to your obligations. You’re not my father, just another man who refused to stand up to his responsibility.”

His father flinched but remained mute, not bothering to explain or counter the accusations.

Night reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the gold nugget necklace. Resting his hand on the bar in between them, he slowly opened his fingers, watching his father’s face intently for a reaction. It took several moments before stunned shock registered on Tom’s face.

“Where’d you get that?” The low words panted out between excited, nearly agitated breaths.

“That’s not important. A few days ago you blabbed to a hardened criminal, a man in hock to the drug cartels about this very necklace. Not only did you tell him it existed, but how much it should be worth, the name of its owner, and where to find it. He showed up at the house, broke in, and took a woman hostage in order to get his hands on this.” Night bit off each word, struggling with the fury the event incited.

“I didn’t. I couldn’t…” His father shook his head, his hand on the whiskey glass trembled. He paused as if trying to sort out a puzzle in his head.

“You did. Drunk up to your gills, you sat at this very bar, and spewed all kinds of stuff to the wrong fucking man. The man who prodded you for answers got everything he needed out of you. It’s a miracle the women are still alive, considering the guy’s past and his desperation.”

A flicker of remorse flashed across Tom’s features before he took a big swallow of the amber liquid. “But nothing happened?”

Night clenched his fist, shoving the gold back into his pocket, concealing it from any prying eyes. Anger raced through his blood at the apathy shown by his own father. “I guess you didn’t hear me. He broke into the house, threatened Mother, and kidnapped another woman, nearly raping her before she was rescued and the bastard locked up. I would call that considerably more than nothing.”

“They caught the guy. So, it’s over.” He swished the whiskey in his glass before emptying the contents into his mouth.

Night glared down at his father. He’d expected concern, perhaps regret and remorse, an apology or questions about the health and well-being of his mother. Instead, he’d received barely any reaction at all. As if Tom truly didn’t care what happened to his ex-wife and child. Maybe he blamed them for the lot in life he’d created for himself? That might explain his nonchalant attitude. But to literally wipe them from his life and not care if they ended up brutally murdered in their own house? That smacked of deep down hate or abject selfishness. How his mother could’ve loved this man, he would never understand. Time must have changed him greatly because this empty shell didn’t qualify as human.

As a boy, he’d bounced between hating his father and wishing he would return, become a part of his life, admit his mistake and transform into the father of his dreams. Now, as he sat there, those old feelings welled up, cementing once and for all that the dream relationship had proved to be an illusion all along. It took a strong, caring person to push past his struggles in order to place his family at the top of his priority list. The man he looked at didn’t possess the courage necessary.

Grinding his teeth, Night glared. “You gave him the information, making you just as responsible for the break in and whatever other consequences followed.”

His father blinked, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You won’t be pinning some piddly crime on me. I didn’t steal nothin’.”

Leaning in, Night got right in Tom’s face. “You’re an accomplice. Running at the mouth, even when drunk, makes you liable for what happens. This is your one warning. If anything ever happens again, I will hold you personally responsible.” He refused to release Tom’s gaze. “I’ll hunt you down and make you wish you had disappeared when you could.”

“Who in the hell are you to threaten me? I’ll kick your arrogant ass for daring to speak to me like that. I didn’t do nothin’, you bastard!” Tom stood on not quite steady legs, taking an extra moment to gain his balance. “Here. Now. I’ll teach you. No one talks to me like that!”

“I just did.” Night lifted his chin, throwing out a challenge. He might have been a scared three year old the last time he’d felt his father’s fists but he was a man now, one who could take on an abuser and a child beater and win easily.

“Gentlemen. Take it outside,” the bartender ordered, his gruff voice matched the frown on his face. “That or I call the cops right now.”

His father glared at the barkeep before sitting back down. “Give me another whiskey.”

Night leaned in to whisper in Tom’s ear. “I have the ability and free rein to take justice into my own hands whenever and wherever I see fit. Anything and anyone that threatens my family will find their way to hell…eventually.”

That said, he spun on his heel, long strides leading toward the front door of the bar. He glanced back once to see his father just as he found him, sucking down yet another drink as if nothing ever happened. With a shake of his head at the sheer waste of life, he stepped back out into the wet night.