Breathless (Steel Brothers Saga 10)

“She gave up her rights to Henry,” Joe said. “Nothing to worry about. And if she tries anything, we’ve all got your back.”

“I know.” I signaled the bartender and ordered a bourbon.

“No beer?” Joe raised his brow.

“Had to grow up sometime.”

“So what’s up?” Joe asked. “Other than all the shit we’ve got on our plates already.”

I took a sip of the drink the barkeep had placed in front of me. “Harsh stuff.”

“They specialize in rotgut here.” Joe smiled, holding up his martini glass. “This isn’t exactly Cap Rock, but sometimes you need the harsh stuff. It reminds you that life can be…well…harsh.”

I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. Our conversations lately hadn’t exactly been Champagne and Bordeaux material. “I need the truth, Joe. About my dad. About what he was into and when.”

“You didn’t want to know at the time. Why now?”

“My mom all but destroyed her wedding photo today, and it got me wondering about him. He looked so happy in that photo. So innocent. So normal. So now I have to know. When did he become what he was? Or was he always that way?”

“I’m not sure of the timing,” Joe said. “All I know is that your father, Mathias, and Wade all went through extensive”—air quotes—“training to work for the trafficking ring. Training they were very well paid for.”

“Training? What do you mean?” Another sip left burning embers in its wake.

“You sure you want to know?”

Was I? Another sip, another flaming throat. “Yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

“During training, everything they ever did to another human being was done to them.”

“What?” I went numb. What? What? What?

“Surely you don’t want me to get into specifics.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Sorry, bro. You asked.”

“So my father…”

“Was tortured. Raped. Beaten. God knows what else. Probably starved too, but that would have been the least of his trials.”

“When?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure of the timing, but I could get that information if you really want it.”

Did I? Had he been going through this when he married my mother? When I was born? When he took Joe and me camping?

And why? Why in hell would he allow anyone to do such things to him?

“Why?” I asked quietly.

“For money,” Joe said succinctly. “It could only be for money. They were each paid millions.”

“Did they know what they were in for?”

He shook his head. “No

idea. Probably not, or they wouldn’t have done it. Or maybe they would have. Money had become God to the three of them.”