“You’re late,” King said when I showed up ten minutes late at the address he’d sent me.

“Had some kid trouble, brother.”

His forehead wrinkled in a frown. “What happened?”

“My kid showed up on my doorstep this morning. She wants to stay with me for a few days or so after having a fight with her mother, which is good, but we got into it just before I was about to leave.”

“You got it sorted?”

I blew out a breath. “Fuck knows. I’m drowning here, man. Got no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I managed to calm her down enough to know she’d be at my place when I get home later. Now I’ve just gotta figure out how to get through to her that I want to be in her life.”

“Talk to her mother and find out what shit she likes to do and then spend time doing that with her. It’ll be a start. Time’s what you’ve gotta give.”

King never failed to surprise me with the shit he knew. He’d never had kids, but he’d spent a lot of time around them, so I figured he was probably onto something here.

Changing the subject, I said, “How’d you evade the feds?”

“Devil and Nitro caused a scene outside the clubhouse. Distracted Ryland enough for me to leave.” He nodded before casting his gaze towards a house down the street. Jerking his chin at it, he said, “That’s Dean’s house.” The asshole we’d been told could help us find Jacko’s murder. “I did some digging on him and he deals in stolen cars. Recently took up a heavy coke addiction and gets it from Marx. We’re not leaving here today until we get something out of him.”

“Agreed.”

We made the short walk to the house, and King took the front while I took the back. The place looked abandoned and filthy. The person who lived there didn’t appear to care about their surroundings. Overgrown grass and weeds filled the yard, peeling paint and dirt made up the outside of the house, and the backyard was a mess of old tyres and rusted car parts.

Finding a back door open, I easily entered the house and headed towards the bedroom where I could hear someone talking. Dean was on his phone. As I came into view, his eyes widened and he muttered, “Fuck, I gotta go, babe,” before dropping the phone and demanding, “What the fuck?” Yanking his gun out, he pointed it at me and pulled the trigger.

I ducked and narrowly avoided getting a fucking bullet in my chest. King was right behind me. Without hesitation, he entered the bedroom, taking purposeful strides towards the asshole. Dean shifted the aim of his gun and shot at King who took a bullet in his arm. That didn’t slow him down, though.

He grunted through the pain and bellowed, “Welcome to your worst fucking nightmare, Dean,” right before he punched him so hard in the face that it almost knocked him out.

By the time I joined them, King had the guy down, flat out on his back. He’d straddled him and pinned his hands to the floor above his head. No amount of fighting King helped the asshole; he was stuck beneath him, caged in by King’s legs that refused to budge. King had strength and grit that not many men I knew possessed. When he set his mind to something, nothing stood in his way.

“You good?” I asked King as I took a look at his arm where the bullet hit.

“Yeah, it just grazed me. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

I bent to get a better look at Dean. Eyes full of hatred stared up at me, and I wondered how long and what efforts we’d have to go to in order to change that hatred to fear. And whether we’d have to introduce some horror to make that happen. After being shot at, I was itching for some of that, and I figured King would be too.

“Next time you wanna shoot a man, make sure you know who the fuck you’re shooting first,” I barked. “King here doesn’t appreciate bullets in his body.”

Dean spat up at King. “Go fuck yourself.”

His spit landed on King’s face, and I felt the energy change in the room as King reared backwards, a look of absolute rage settling over his face. After he had wiped the spit away, he spoke, his tone low and murderous. “You’ll regret that.”

Without pause, he swiftly stood, bringing Dean up with him. Grabbing him by the shirt, he pulled him out of the room, down the hallway and into the small, dirty kitchen. Yanking out a chair at the kitchen table, he shoved him down onto it. He then took both of Dean’s hands and bound them together tightly with a large tea towel he found next to the kitchen sink.

Gripping Dean’s hair, he wrenched Dean’s head back and demanded, “Tell us everything you know about Marx and the drugs he’s dealing. And once you’ve done that, tell me who killed one of my men this week.”

Sweat beaded on Dean’s forehead as his eyes met King’s, but he refused to give up what he knew. “Like I said before, motherfucker, go fuck yourself. You’re getting nothing out of me today.”

“We’ll fucking see about that.” King slammed his face into the table and then jerked it right back up again.

Blood streamed from Dean’s nose, and I figured King had broken it with the force he’d used. Dean glared up at King as he kicked and thrashed his legs in an attempt to move off the chair. I reached down to grab his legs to prevent him from breaking free.

“I’ve got all fucking day, asshole,” King said. “Longer if needed. And I’m in the kind of mood to inflict some pain, so I suggest you stop fighting us and start fucking talking or this isn’t gonna go well for you.”

Dean didn’t reply. He simply sat there staring at King defiantly. I knew then that my itch for violence was about to get scratched. King did, too. His eyes met mine and he nodded at the knife block sitting on the kitchen counter. “Time for some Jekyll time.”

“You read my mind, brother.”

I selected a knife from the block and stood in front of Dean after King swung the chair around to face me. I undid the binding holding his wrists together and splayed his hands out on the table, holding them down in place with my free hand. I then dug the tip of the knife into the back of one of his hands. “You want that through your hand, Dean?”

When he didn’t answer, I sliced into his hand. Not too deep, but enough to give him a reason to start talking.

“Fuck!” His body jerked and he tried to pull his hand away, but I pressed my hand down on his harder keeping them there.

“I can go deeper if you want.”

His eyes met mine, and I saw some of the fear I was aiming for. “You’re fucking crazy! I don’t know anything that you want to know.”

I bent and pushed my face close to his. “Your reaction to us showing up here tells me otherwise.” To give him more incentive to start talking, I ran the blade of the knife along his throat, making sure to draw some blood there too.

His hostility intensified at that, and instead of volunteering information, he spat at me like he’d spat at King. “Fuck. You.”

Anger rolled through me, and the fine line I walked between surviving in this world with a touch of rage and sliding over the edge into full-blown madness was crossed. Slamming the knife down, I grabbed his shirt with both hands and lifted him out of the chair. The adrenaline coursing through me gave me the kind of strength that took over and achieved my goal. Barrelling him into the wall, I shoved him with enough force that he dented it. Not giving him a second to catch up with what was going on, I smashed my fist into his face. Again. And again. Over and over, until his face was a bloody, unrecognisable mess.

My mind ceased to process my actions. Instead, my rage controlled me.

I wanted to inflict as much pain as I could.

Misery and blood fuelled me.

To cause it and to see it.

I wanted to inhale his pain.

I wanted to draw it in to my soul and breathe through it.

All I lived for right then was his torment. It would match my own raging storm of pain. Being in the moment with him—with his agony—would ease mine for a brief time. I would be able to forget it. His suffering would wipe mine, even for just a moment.

“Hyde. Enough.” King stepped in and dragged me off Dean.

I blinked a few times as my surroundings came back into focus. I’d beaten Dean so badly that he’d slumped to the ground, covered in blood, half unconscious.

After he had pushed me out of the way, King crouched down and slapped Dean’s face a few times. “You still with us, asshole? Ready to talk? Or do I need to finish what Hyde started?”

Dean coughed a couple of times and attempted to sit up straight, but he cried out in pain and swore as he failed. After spitting some blood out onto the ground, he managed to get out, “I’ve never met Marx, but I’m pretty sure he’s tied to that murder. I overheard my dealer talking about it yesterday. That’s all I fucking know.”

King shook his head as he took hold of Dean’s throat. “No, you know something else. Keep fucking talking.”

Barely able to talk thanks to the unyielding grip King had on his throat, Dean choked out, “Whoever organised the murder is Italian.”

King grunted and let Dean go, shoving him hard as he did so. Standing, he looked at me and said, “Well that narrows it down.”

By my count, there were six major Italian players in Sydney. “Shouldn’t take us too long to go through them all.”

King pulled his phone out. “I’ve got something I’ve gotta do for the next couple of hours and then I want you, me, Nitro and Devil on this. I want to find that motherfucker and end this shit now.”

* * *

An hour later, I entered my house after leaving King and grabbing some food on the way home. I hadn’t restocked after being away in Melbourne, and I figured Charlie would be hungry.

The house I’d left a couple of hours earlier and the house I walked into were like two completely different places. I stood in silence at the living room entry when I found Charlie in there. I was silent, the room was not. She had rap music blaring from the speakers and was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room smoking and drinking what I was pretty fucking sure was whisky from my cupboard.

“What the fuck?” I barked loud enough that she heard me over the music. Any attempt at keeping my outrage in check would have been futile so I skipped that. The sight of my sixteen-year-old daughter smoking and drinking slapped me in the face with a level of shock I found confusing. I didn’t give a shit if people did those things—teens even—but not my fucking kid.

Her head whipped around so she faced me. After she had taken a swig of her drink, she said, “What?”

I stalked into the room and turned the music down. “You don’t smoke or drink. Not in this house. Not fucking ever.”

Her brows lifted and it appeared she was settling in for a fight by the way her shoulders squared and her back straightened. “Yeah, I do.”

Shaking my head, I snapped, “No, you don’t.” I motioned for the glass. “Give me that.”

She held her drink close. “No. And you can’t tell me what to do.”

“Oh yes I can. This is my house and you are my kid. I make the rules here. Not you.”

Pushing up and onto her feet, she threw back, “If this is how it’s gonna be around here, I’m out. I can get this at home from Mum. I don’t need it from you too.”

I reached for her arm as she turned to exit the room, halting her. “You’re fucking sixteen, Charlie. Don’t fuck your life up this early by drinking and smoking. I can promise you that’s the last thing you’ll be happy about when you look back on your life as you get older.”

“So that’s why you’ve got a kitchen full of booze then? You are so full of shit.”

“No, I’m full of honesty. I want so much better for you than I have in life. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

She rolled her eyes as she shrugged out of my grip. “You and Mum must have taken parenting lessons from the same manual. That’s exactly what she says.”

I raked my fingers through my hair. I wasn’t sure if I was fucking shit up here or not, but no way would I stand back and watch her do what she was doing. “Do you know why we both say the same shit? Because we both came from families who didn’t give a fuck about us. They let us do whatever the hell we wanted and couldn’t care less what the consequences were for us. My mother was a drug addict from the age of fifteen and she died from a drug overdose when she was thirty-eight. She was a selfish woman whose only desire in life was to make herself feel good. Taking time for me wasn’t in those plans. And she sure as shit never worried about whether I was taking drugs or drinking. I’m not that kind of parent, Charlie. I will always care about what you’re doing with your life.”

Something I said hit a nerve with her because she took the time to process my words and think about them. “Your mum did drugs?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Coke mainly, but she didn’t discriminate when she was desperate.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you ever do drugs?”

“Yes.”

“What? When?”

“After I left you and your mum, I started on the coke. I did it for about a year, and it almost killed me.”

“As in you almost overdosed on it?”

“No. I was taking so much of the shit that it brought out my violent side. I was getting into fights almost every night, taking on anyone who pissed me off. If I hadn’t kicked my habit, I would have ended up killing myself in a fight.”

“So, what, now you just drink? No drugs anymore?”

“Yeah. I haven’t touched anything besides alcohol since then.”

She was quiet for a beat before blurting out, “I’ve smoked pot, but I haven’t tried anything else.”

Fucking hell. I was definitely not ready for this conversation. But, I had to be. And I had to keep my fucking cool or else I knew she’d walk. At least she wasn’t arguing with me anymore. “You still smoking it?”

“My boyfriend smokes, so sometimes I do it with him. But I don’t really love it. Usually it just makes me feel sick. I’d rather drink.”

I inhaled sharply. “Your boyfriend?” I should have been prepared for that. Charlie was a beautiful girl, so I really should have expected a boyfriend to be kicking around. The fact she’d chosen a fucking stoner didn’t impress me, though.

“Yeah, Jamie.”

“How long you been with him?”

“About seven months. Mum and Dad hate him, but he’s amazing.”

No shit her mother hated him. I did too, and I didn’t even know the little fucker.

“What makes him so amazing?”

A defensive look crossed her face, and I guessed that came from always having to defend him to her family. “He’s the one who gave me the money to catch the bus here, and he’s always there for me when I fight with Mum.”

“He works?”

“No. I guess his family gives him money or something.”

Or something. I bet the little shit was either dealing or stealing stuff. Jesus, it just reminded me how young and naïve Charlie was.

My phone buzzed with a text, and I quickly checked it.

Tenille: Everything going okay there?

Me: Yeah. She’s okay.

Tenille: Keep me in the loop. This is doing my head in.

Me: Will do.

Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I said, “Look, I know you’re gonna drink at your age. I don’t like it, but I get it. But don’t do it here, okay? And quit the smokes. That shit’ll kill you eventually.”

I wasn’t sure how I’d managed to do it, but all the fight had left her. She didn’t argue with me, but she didn’t let me have the last word. “We’ve all gotta die from something, Aiden.”

I pointed my finger at her. “Not in the house.”

She bent and picked her drink up off the floor. Passing it to me, she said, “Now go. I’m gonna watch some reality TV and I’m pretty sure you’d hate it.”

I took the drink and left her to it. I figured I’d won half the battle for now. The fact she was still talking to me was the biggest win of it all, but hell, I felt like I’d been to war and back with her today. My respect for Tenille leapt. If this was what she dealt with day in, day out, I had mad fucking respect for her. Which reminded me that I needed to find an ice-skating rink. I was going to take King’s suggestion and do stuff with her that she loved, in order to win her over.