When the rude man identified himself as Damon's father and I saw Damon's reaction, it might have been the right time to be confused.

Instead, I remembered our previous conversation over greasy burgers. We'd talked about turning into our parents. Damon's expression had grown dark. I'd asked him if his dad was the reason he'd left home.

"My father… is not a good man."

I backed away from the door. I didn't know exactly how not good was not good, but I didn't want to take any chances.

"I asked what the fuck you're doing here," Damon said again. That same darkness was back in his eyes.

My heart was in my throat, gaze darting back and forth between the two of them, waiting. Anticipating. I didn't know how awful this was going to get, but I knew it wouldn't be good.

"Can't I visit my eldest son without needing a reason?" His father wandered further into the apartment, walking over to the living room. He touched everything, trailing his fingers along the back of the sofa, picking up a magazine from the end table and pretending to flip through it. As if he had every right to be here.

He tossed the magazine haphazardly back on the table. Damon growled. His father whistled when he saw the collection of vinyl on the wall. "Impressive."

"How much?" Damon asked. I didn't know what he meant, but from the tired tone in Damon's voice, I could tell this was a question often asked.

His father turned his attention back to Damon. He ignored me completely, as if I wasn't there. I preferred it that way. Damon's father, with a sneering curl to his lip, made me apprehensive. As unpredictable as Damon was, I had a feeling this man could be set off by the slightest thing.

"One hundred," the man said, not pretending he wasn't aware of the meaning of Damon's question.

"Are you fucking with me?" Damon snorted. "I'm not giving you a hundred thousand dollars."

My mouth dropped open, aghast.

"You're going to give me exactly what I want," his dad said.

"And why would I do that?" Damon retorted.

"You're not the only son I can ask," the man pointed out.

Damon's eyes turned deadly. "You go near Ian and I'll kill you." Damon's voice was terrifyingly cold.

"More threats?" He narrowed his eyes at his son. "You've always been disrespectful, boy. I see time hasn't changed anything."

"Respect is earned," Damon spat. "And its not a threat. It's a warning. You go near Ian and I will beat the shit out of you."

A shiver went through me at Damon's words. It didn't sound like a boast or an exaggeration. In that moment, I had no doubt Damon was itching to do just that — put his fist through his father's face.

Damon laughed incredulously. "Get the out of my house or I call the cops."

The man smirked. "You tried that once already, remember? Didn't work out so well for you, if I recall."

Damon grunted, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "What is it now? Gambling? You in debt?" It was Damon's turn to sneer. "Or do you just need to support your addiction?"

"Does it matter?" he replied. "You give me the money and I'll go away."

"Right," Damon said. "And how many times have you promised that?"

"Do you not have the money?" His father raised an eyebrow. "Spending it all on fancy condos and cars?" For the first time, he looked at me. I shrank back, my skin crawling at the sinister look in his eyes. "Or all you spending all your money on whores?"

Damon sped across the room and grabbed his father by his shirt collar, cocking back one fist. He got right up into his face. "Get the fuck out of my house or I swear to god—"

"You'll what?" his father taunted. "You never learn your lesson, do you?"

With every muscle in his back and shoulders tensed, Damon slowly lowered his fist. His didn't ease his grip on the collar.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "But this is the last time."

His father put his hands up, conceding. "Last time," he promised.

With his grip still on his father's collar, he briskly walked him backward towards the door. Damon shoved his father through the doorway. "After I wire the money, I never want to hear from you again."

"You give me what I want, and this will be the end of it." He straightened his shirt and pretended to brush off his clothes.

Damon slammed the door. His breathing was rough and heavy, as if he'd been through a marathon.

The both of us were silent for long moments. Damon didn't say a thing. I approached him carefully. I laid a gentle hand on his back. He didn't turn.

"So that was your father?" I asked slowly.

Damon chuckled darkly, head bowed. "Yeah. That was Gareth Drake. Great way to meet the in-laws, right?" he said, voice hoarse.

My heart didn't even flutter at the implication. It just squeezed in my chest, aching for Damon.

"Has he been doing this for long?" I asked. "Asking for money?"

"Years," he said. "When we left home I thought I'd never see him again. Then we started getting bigger and more famous. The fucker appeared one day with an ultimatum. When Ian saw him…" Damon leaned his head back. "I nearly killed the bastard," he admitted. "Cameron and Noah had to pull me back. I don't know how I didn't end up in jail for assault. August took care of it somehow. Our father disappeared. For a while."

Damon finally turned. His green eyes were pained. "Don't tell Ian," he said. "I don't want him to know."

"He doesn't know your father is back?" I guessed.

"No. And I want to keep it that way."

It sounded like blackmail. His father threatened to go to Ian. Was that all it was? Damon protecting his brother? Just like I was protecting Faith? I could understand where Damon was coming from.

"Fuck." Damon exhaled noisily. He went quiet for a moment before shouting. "FUCK." He slammed his fist against the door. I jumped and startled back a handful of paces.

"It's okay," I said quietly, shaken.

"It's fucking not okay." Damon stormed toward the kitchen, then stopped and stormed toward the living room, prowling back and forth like a jungle cat, agitated and on edge.

I hesitated, staying back. I'd never seen Damon this upset. His eyes blazed with fury. It was alarming.

"What if Ian were here?" His voice raised loudly, arms gesturing wildly. "What if he were visiting instead of you? What if that asshole showed up somewhere in public when we were together?"

"Your brother's a grown man," I said. "I'm sure he—"

"You have no fucking idea," Damon cut me off, seething. "None."

"Damon—"

He growled and whirled around, punching the wall. I jumped again, heart pounding, this time more frightened than startled. My stomach twisted, rising to my throat with panic. As passionate and impulsive as he was, I'd never seen Damon get violent.

"I am not going to let that fucker ruin our lives again," Damon shouted. His knuckles were red, bleeding. Before I could make a move toward him, to try and calm him maybe, he cursed again. "Fuck this shit." He marched toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" I didn't want him following his father. Who knew what he might do in this state.

"I need to talk to August," was all he said.

He stormed toward the door. I flinched back unconsciously. I didn't think he'd hurt me. Not really. But seeing him like that was scary. I didn't know what he might do.

Damon brushed past, not giving me a second look. He stalked out the door and slammed it shut, leaving me trembling and shaken.