Widow's Undoing (Ruthless Sinners MC 4)

“It’s time to face the facts, Frankie. The boy’s just a bad seed. No counselor or any amount of guidance is gonna change that.” The angry tone in his voice had suddenly been replaced with disgust and resentment. “We’ve just gotta do what we can to keep him from screwing up Sean.”

“Corry isn’t a bad seed, Marc. He’s a good kid who made a bad mistake.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that shit. Your naïve bullshit is why we’ve found ourselves in this fucking mess in the first place. If you’d laid down the law and made those boys do right around there then none of this would’ve happened.”

And just like that, we were right back where we started. The blame fell back on my plate once again. I wanted to turn the tables on him and remind him about the years of abuse he’d put us all through and all the vile and malicious things he’d said, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Marc had never once taken any responsibility for the things he’d done wrong.

I was used to it. When we were married, he’d beat the hell out of me, and in a matter of seconds, he would find a way to convince me it was my fault. So much so, I’d end up apologizing for the whole ordeal. It was sick. I knew that, but at that moment—when I was actually there and living it, I couldn’t see how insane it all was. I was too brainwashed. I let myself believe that if I tried harder I could make things better, but there was no making it better.

Sadly, it took Marc punching Corry at one of his baseball games for me to see that. It was one thing to hit me, but there was no way in hell I was going to let him hurt my kids—not any more than he already had.

I was trying to think of my response to his slam on my parenting when he blurted out, “Those boys know how things are in my house and wouldn’t try this kind of bullshit under my roof. Time for you to make it clear that it’s your house, your rules.”

“Okay. I’ll be sure and do that.”

“You best hope that you do because otherwise...”

“I’ve got it, Marc. I’ll talk to them.”

“Good. I’ll be doing the same when they come to my house next weekend.”

I cringed at the thought. It was bad enough to send them there when things were going well. I still got late night calls and texts from both boys pleading for me to let them come home, but my hands were tied. The judge made sure of that. I cleared my throat before saying, “Okay. I’ll keep you posted on things here, and I hope you’ll do the same when they come there.”

“Um-hmm. Sure thing...And Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

“Hammer down on him. Seriously. I meant it when I said it’s your house, your rules. It’s time to prove it.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I said a quick goodbye and hung up the phone. I took a moment to collect myself, but I didn’t take long. It was time for me to have a talk with Corry. I hadn’t spoken to him since we’d gotten back from the police station. I was too upset, too mortified, to even speak, but I’d put it off long enough. After letting out a deep breath, I stood and headed to his room. I tapped on his door, and when I stepped inside, I found him standing in the middle of the room holding an armful of dirty clothes. His eyes were full of remorse as he muttered, “I thought I’d pick up a bit.”

“It could definitely use it.” I glanced around the room and was surprised to see that most of the trash had been picked up and all the dirty dishes were piled by the door. “I don’t see how you get it so messy in here so fast.”

“It’s a talent of mine,” he joked. While Sean looked more like me, Corry was the spitting image of his father. He was tall with dark hair and soft olive skin, and his beautiful, dark eyes could melt the coldest of hearts. Thankfully, his demeanor was nothing like his father’s. Corry was sweet and thoughtful, never wanting to let anyone down. “But don’t worry. I’ll get it all cleaned up.”

“I’d appreciate it.” I walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. “We need to talk about what happened tonight.”

“I know.” He carried his pile of dirty clothes over to the hamper and dropped them inside. “I’m really sorry.”

“What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes dropped to the ground—a clear sign he wasn’t telling the truth when he said, “I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“You didn’t think it was a big deal?”