The Irish Tattooist

Chapter 42

For those DMing me angrily about how stupid Corin is being:

Fuck off. 

Some of ya'll are so rude and nitpicky. Go and write your own story if you're gonna be so downy on my own, jeez.

On another note, thanks for reading! We are nearly at 100k, and I was surprised we even passed 4k tbh. Lovu lovu. 

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I sat on my new, temporary bed, scrolling through my phone. Gervais needed me to find specific names and dealers for their arms and gun trade, and provide him either the tangible evidence or photographic proof of what my parents had been doing. 

Which meant I had to go even deeper into the Lion's den to get it. 

A knock sounded on my door, and Warwick stood in the frame, giving me a soft, inviting smile. Uneasiness lanced through me and I stiffened, moving to the side a bit. 

"How are you settling in?"

Better, before you came. "Fine." 

Warwick didn't get the message, even when fine was universal girl talk for 'don't fucking talk to me.' Or, 'I'm fine.' Usually the former though. 

"I'm so glad that you chose the right option- now we just have to make sure you get over that savage you called your boyfriend."

It took everything in me not to snarl at him in that moment, but my face darkened and my voice lowered icily. 

"Don't talk about him like that. You don't know a single fucking thing about him."

His face froze, that facade of graciousness snapping into prideful impertinence. "Well, you're going to be marrying me, sweetheart. I'd lose all thoughts you have of other men, even ones as primitive as that ape." 

"I may be marrying you, but I don't have to marry you right now. And judging by the way you grease up to my parents, you have more to lose than I do- so don't fuck with me, Warwick. I've got more Carlos in me than I'd dare to admit, and you won't like it when that side of me comes to play." 

My face switched, turning slowly into a sickly sweet smile. "Plus, you want to get along with me, don't you?" 

Warwick's jaw clenched, and he stood up abruptly, stalking out of the room with barely a nod before he disappeared from sight. That was one problem dealt with, temporarily. 

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A few hours later, my parents told me they were leaving to have dinner with a friend, but they'd let me settle in and explore the house first. Exploring the house is something I'd definitely do. 

I tapped Father on the shoulder before he left, pulling him to the side. "Do you still have those baby photos of me?" 

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing a bit. "They're in my study. Why?" 

I made my face subtly sad, avoiding his gaze and looking at the ground. "I want to copy them and put them in a scrapbook. Just you know, so I can look back at them later. It would make me feel more...at home. Since I was adopted." 

Father's gaze flickered with uncertainty before he sighed. "Here's the key. Don't look at anything else. But just know, you're always at home here. I'll see you later." He moved as if he wanted to hug me before deciding against it. 

Father was always the nicer parent, and seemingly the head of the household. But it was really his wife that was the real conniving bitch. It didn't stop me from blaming him for not realizing I was a person and not just a thing he could sell, simply because he was a bit afraid of his wife. 

He was the one that had given me money for my travels. 

I took the key and sighed, shaking my head. If I let my heart get more involved, this would be harder than thought. 

I walked around the large estate, walking to his study on the east end of the mansion. The key opened a series of locks on his door, and I pushed through into the huge room he called his study. 

When I still lived in the house, he had let me come in here sometimes. I would sit on the bear skin rug, by the fire and read some books or sketch pictures of him. I never knew what happened to those pictures, they just disappeared whenever I came back. 

I shook my head, walking to his desk and pulling open his drawers, taking pictures of how they were set out so I could put them back to normal after I went through them. 

My fingers stopped short, my breath halting in my throat. 

There was a thick stack of papers, all of them with every single drawing I had ever done. Even pictures of murals I had done in different countries, right down to my first painting when I was three. 

I steeled myself, blinking away my tears. Taking a deep breath, I ruffled through all his drawers, pushing whatever those papers meant to the back of my mind. It didn't change anything. It didn't change anything. 

A small sound of triumph escaped my throat as I found a bank statements, all with shady looking numbers paid to well known dodgy people. I quickly took a photo then rearranged his desk to how it normally looked, making every meticulous detail perfect. 

Father was always sharp eyed, and knew when people had touched things that were his. 

I shoved my phone into my back pocket, then something caught my eye in his 'valuable case.' It was a case full of antiques or highly priced items that meant a lot to him, or had some special significance. 

I was never allowed to touch it as a child, but now, I walked towards it, heart beating rapidly. 

And there, in the middle of all the priceless gems and trophies, was my childhood scrapbook, filled with photos of me. I took it from its place and took a few photos, putting them into my pocket. 

This changed nothing. 

He had been a part of a scheme to hurt my real family, and a photobook wouldn't change that. Especially when I had come face to face with his deciet and superiority more than once. 

And if he did care about me? 

Sometimes one person had to be sacrificed to save the rest. And it wouldn't even be a decision as to who I would choose. 

"What are you doing in here?" 

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Sorry, just got back from holiday. 

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