It just pissed Mac off even more.
His mother had never entertained another man.
Never stepped out on his fuck up of a father.
James could never say quite the same thing.
Mac’s father didn’t notice his approach until he was right on top of them, grabbing the stripper by her forearm, and yanking her backwards. The girl screeched, stumbling in heels that were far too high and looked a little wobbly. She cursed at Mac, but he was already focusing in on his drunken father.
Mac barely noticed the two bouncers coming up behind him, likely reacting to one of the girls being handled in a way that wasn’t allowed in the club.
Who gave a shit?
Mac sure as hell didn’t.
Besides, that’s what Enric was there for.
“Take another fucking step and I’ll blow your goddamn kneecaps out,” Enric warned the men. “Test me—I’ve got a hell of an aim.”
Mac held back his smile. He would never tell Enric, because it would only deter the kid, but when he got in one of his moods and talked like he did, he sounded just like his father. Luca would be all kinds of proud, surely.
“James,” Mac greeted quietly, staring his father down.
James Sr. blinked up at Mac like he was just seeing him for the first time. “Son?”
Mac almost laughed—almost. “Since when have I ever been that?”
“You’ve always been my boy.”
This was not the time for Mac to be getting into this old argument with James.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Mac asked calmly. “I thought I’d made it perfectly fucking clear that I didn’t want or need you around. Your mess is better left hidden away in whatever hole you’ve dug for yourself. You keep me the fuck out of it—and by me, I mean every single part of me, James.”
“I—”
“I might not be able to do much for Ma because she’s stubborn as fuck, but my wife. My wife is a whole other story.”
James sat up straighter in the booth, gaze flicking between Mac and Enric behind him. “Come on now, Mac. There’s no need for you to be going and making a scene in this establishment because of a woman. Besides, you know better—this isn’t your territory.”
Was that supposed to matter?
It didn’t.
“You’re sorely mistaken if you think I give a single fuck. One last warning before I put you in the ground like the dog that you are. Stay the hell away from me and mine. I’ve got nothing for you—I never have, and I never will.”
James stood, his mouth opening to say something as his hand rested on the wooden top of the booth’s table.
Mac didn’t give him the chance to speak a single word before his pocket knife was in his hand, the blade flicked out and gleaming, and then it was brought down too fast for James to react. The blade drove into the back of James’ palm with enough force to cut straight through and stick into the table. Blood welled instantly, spilling from the wound to the table.
James shouted, his immediate reaction being to pull his hand away from the cause of the pain, but that was impossible to do with it being embedded into the wood now.
Mac pulled his gun out of the holster at his back, flicked off the safety, and cocked the hammer. He pressed the barrel of the gun straight at James’ forehead.
“Breathe in my wife’s direction again,” Mac said with a cold smile, “and I’ll have your skull boiled and bleached so I can use it as an ashtray.”
James didn’t say a word.
Mac figured that was to his father’s best benefit at the moment.
When Mac walked out of the club without his favorite knife in hand, he heard the first thwack of the bat being brought down against bone.
Screams echoed. Female. A shout from a man. Glass shattered.
Another plea from James Sr.
Mercy, he wanted.
No other sound had ever been more satisfying.
Mac rolled up the sleeves of his bloodstained dress shirt as he rested back against a purple velvet couch accompanied on both sides by black leather chairs. He took a look around The Dollhouse, noting the changes that had been made since the last time he’d checked up on his wife’s progress.
It was almost ready for opening night.
Another week, Melina had said when he asked that morning.
He was proud of his wife.
The place looked hauntingly beautiful with an old world feel, dark colors, and a sexy appeal. The place was going to do just fine.
Mac, on the other hand, was still trying to swallow the rage on the back of his tongue. It’d been hours since he’d sent his father a very up close and personal message. He’d gone back to his warehouse office, taken a few swings at a punching bag, shouted at Enric for a while, and then he’d gone home.
He thought that would be enough to get rid of any lingering anger.
It hadn’t been.
It didn’t help that his wife wasn’t home.