The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(27)

I’ve never had meaningless one-night stands before. And would have never dreamed of sleeping with a cheating woman. Something came over me that night. I was depraved,

and the only thing worse than the way I behaved was how much I enjoyed it.

Not to mention how flippantly I treated her, leaving just after I came and never putting her pleasure before mine. I used her.

God, I’m no better than my father.

Fuck—do I want to be?

These thoughts circle round and round as I reach my building, taking the elevator up to the third floor. The moment I step off, I pause in my tracks as I find myself standing face-to-face with the man himself.

Instantly, my blood starts to boil.

I haven’t faced my father in three weeks. Not even for church or Sunday dinner. Just the sight of him now proves I’m not ready.

“What are you doing here?” I mutter darkly as I try to pass him by to get to my door on the other side.

My father grabs my arm and gets in my face. “We’re going to have a civil conversation. You understand?”

“Fuck you,” I reply, seething with hatred as I stare into his eyes. I’m still wearing a light bruise under my eye and a scar where he split the skin of my cheek with his fist.

“Open the door, Adam.”

I yank my arm out of his grasp as I plunge the key in the hole, turning it with a click and opening the door before marching inside. He’s behind me, shutting the door so we’re suddenly alone.

“I have nothing to say to you,” I call with my back to him as I head toward the kitchen. I need a fucking drink.

“Too bad. You’re going to listen anyway.”

I spin on him with my brow furrowed. “You think because you’re my father, you can talk to me like this? Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

He scoffs with a smug grin that I’d like to punch off his face. “The apartment I bought for you.”

Something in me snaps. “I’ve worked my ass off for you.

I’ve dedicated my life to your church. Your message. Your career.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re still throwing a fucking fit over the writing job. Jesus, Adam. Grow up.”

“Does Mom know?” I ask as I pull a bottle of vodka out of the freezer, pouring it directly into a glass and shooting it back with a wince.

My father ignores my question, staring at me with a blank expression.

“Does she know you fuck twenty-year-olds every night?”

“Are you done?” he mumbles, looking bored.

“Get the fuck out.” I toss back another shot as my eyes narrow at him.

“The reason I came here is to make it perfectly fucking clear that you will come to Sunday dinner tomorrow, and you won’t utter a word of this to anyone, Adam. Not your mother, brothers, or anyone at the church.”

“Or what?” I reply with a scoff.

His eyes meet mine, and there’s something calculating and cold in the look on his face.

Suddenly everything I debated on my walk becomes crystal clear. About how good of a man I am if I’m truly like him, and for the first time, I realize—if he’s a good man, then I want nothing to do with that.

It feels as if my shackles are released.

I can be as bad as I want.

“Son,” he starts with a sigh. “I don’t want to see you hurt or struggling. But if you try to ruin everything I’ve built, I’ll have no choice. If word gets out, the ones you’ll really be hurting are them. Your family. Our congregation. So from now

on, you’ll come to family dinners and events for the church, but you’ll never speak another word about this.”

My teeth are clenched so tight my jaw aches. I hate him.

I want to punch him again, but I can’t. Sage was right.

He’s too powerful, and I believe him. If I try to mess with his place at the church with rumors, he has enough power to make my life hell. I know he’d do it.

So without another word, I waltz straight to the front door and pull it open. Then I stare at him with my chin up. “You’ve said what you wanted to say. Now get out.”

“Do we have a deal, son?” he replies without moving.

Looking at the floor, my jaw clenches again. “Yes,” I say, seething with hatred. “I won’t tell anyone about the club or about who you really are. But that’s it. You and I are done.”

“The apple didn’t fall as far as you think it did, son. We do our job, and we help the people. Stop worrying about everything else.”

He presses his lips into a tight smile as he walks confidently out of my apartment.

I don’t wait until he’s in the elevator before I slam the door closed. My mind is racing and my blood is pumping, boiling with my hatred for him, and I’m far too restless to let it rest now.

So I pace my apartment for fifteen minutes, waiting until I’m sure he’s gone before I snatch my keys from the counter and bolt out the door.

I’m too hyped up to walk and too buzzed to drive, so I order myself a quick ride before I reach the street level. Then I pace anxiously as I wait for it to pull up. Within about five minutes, it’s there and I climb in.

The entire conversation replays in my head the entire way over. This new energy surges through me, and the ideas that burn in my mind feel like gasoline on the flame.