Page 6 of My Craving

My attention leaves the mat again. Very few people in this family I can intimidate into dropping a subject. Unfortunately, Ronan isn’t one of them.

“You changed your entire fucking life for Colton and Ollie. I eat lunch in my office. Don’t make it more complicated than it is.”

“I’m not.” Ronan finally looks at me. “But you asked me once what changed when I met Colton. My routines changed before I understood why.”

I stare at him. “Are you trying to tell me that eating lunch at my desk means I’m about to rearrange my entire fucking life for someone?”

“No.” He turns back toward the match. “I’m saying you’re doing something differently. You’re the one getting defensive about it.”

Fucking Ronan. He’s closer to the reason than I want him to be, and I have no intention of helping him get the rest of the way there.

“All right, Uncle Duncan, you’re up. You’ve got Declan.”

I suppress the urge to sigh as Declan steps onto the mat. He’s the most skilled fighter in the room, and I’ve seen exactly what my son can do to a man who underestimates him. None of that stops me from seeing a five-year-old boy slumped over a dining room table when I look at him at the wrong moment. I know exactly what the grown man in front of me is capable of, but sometimes the memory of how small and still he felt in my arms gets there first.

Declan settles into his stance across from me with a smile. He wants me to come at him the same way I would anyone else in this family, and I intend to give him what he wants. Conor calls for the start of the match, and Declan shoots forward. I catch his wrist and redirect his momentum, but he pivots and counters before I can take advantage of it. I step inside his guard just as his footing slips, and for one fucking second, the grown man in front of me disappears.

My hand shoots out to catch him. Declan recovers before I even touch him and takes advantage of the opening, forcing me to twist sharply to regain my position. Pain tears through my shoulder and into my neck, and I release him with a curse.

“Dad…”

“I’m fine.” I roll my shoulder carefully. I’ve strained enough muscles over the years to recognize one, and everything still moves the way it should.

“Showing your age, old man.” Liam grins.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if I’d drawn your name today.”

“No, I’d be saying it from the floor while trying to remember my own name.”

A few laughs ripple through the room, but Declan and Ronan aren’t laughing.

“You reached for me.” Declan folds his arms across his chest. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that? I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I strained a muscle. I’ll survive.”

“That isn’t the point. I’m twenty-seven years old, Dad. I’ve been training my entire life, and you know I can handle myself. You don’t have to protect me from losing my footing on a mat.”

He’s right, but knowing what Declan is capable of has never stopped the instinct to reach for him before I think.

“I’ll work on it.”

Declan snorts. We both know that’s the best promise he’s getting from me.

Chapter 3 Nash

Monday morning, and I’m exhausted. My latest prey lived nearly two hours outside the city, which meant four hours in a fucking car over the weekend. I hate driving. It’s one reason I love living in the city. Everything I need is within walking distance, a quick train ride, or an occasional rideshare away. Unfortunately, monsters don’t organize themselves around my preferences. Inconsiderate bastards.

This particular fucker wasn’t very cooperative about his impending death either. He expected his victims to endure everything he inflicted on them, but the moment the tables turned, he begged me to stop and promised to change. Mercy apparently mattered a hell of a lot more when he was the one asking for it. Having to beat the shit out of him before he stopped fighting was irritating, mostly because it took far more energy than I wanted to waste on him. At least his victims might sleep a little easier now.

I need to find another support group soon. Finding one won’t be difficult when there isn’t exactly a shortage of them around here.

After Joey died, I wandered into my first meeting because I didn’t know what else to do with all the anger. Instead, I found rooms full of people carrying their own versions of it, some barely able to speak while others talked enough to fill every silence. Joey wasn’t the exception I’d wanted to believe he was, and the more meetings I attended, the more names and stories I heard.

I couldn’t change what happened to Joey, and I can’t undo what happened to the people in those rooms. What I can do is make damn sure the people responsible never get the chance to do it again.

I arrive at Murphy Enterprises just after nine. The reason I took this job is no longer breathing, and I should’ve left weeks ago. That’s how this normally works. I find the person I’m looking for, do what I came to do, and move on before anyone has enough time to remember much about me. Instead, almost six months after walking into Murphy Enterprises, I’m still clocking in every morning, and the reason has nothing to do with Bruce Davis.

Duncan fucking Murphy.