So I totally get that after 14 chapters, I finally got them together and I haven't done a big lovie-dovie chapter yet. I'm sorry L Its just that without the GSE history, its kind of hard to get them moving anywhere. So here we go with your first step to a BIG lovie dovie chapter…you SO know the one I mean ;)

Thank you guys as always for your kind words and eternally loyal readership, its all kinds of badass and I heart you for it. Read, enjoy, review and uh…bombshell alert for this chapter. As a famous and oddly attractive Disney lion once advised you…be prepared….

The interior of West Barking police station was a stark contrast to the Harding household. In fact as Pete Dunham stepped inside and blinked painfully into the overzealous florescent lighting, he found himself wondering if the half hour journey across town had been a dream and Allie had knocked him out when she had pushed him off of her bed.

Reaching behind him to feel the bump already developing on the back of his skull and then hearing the high pitched, two fingered whistle he knew all too well, he realised that no matter how much he wished, he likely wasn't imagining this.

"Fuckin' state of you," Steve shook his head, standing up and walking over to his brother with a smirk.

"What?" Pete frowned, glancing down at his hoodie and jeans and wondering what was wrong with him.

He got his answer when Steve tapped a finger against what he supposed was a faint red mark on his neck. He cringed and shook his brother off, rolling his eyes at his laughter as they sat down together on the unfathomably uncomfortable seats lining the hallway.

"So do you know why we're here?" Pete asked, nodding to a police officer who breezed past them.

"Fuck if I know," Steve shrugged. "I was just getting' in from the boozer when the old bill walk up the garden path behind me. Luckily mum's in bed so she don't know we're here."

With him, Pete finished silently. Moira would go mad if she knew that Michael was within a foot of either of them and as much as Pete had no desire to take on his father in a fight, he'd choose that a million times over going toe to toe with their mother.

"This is gettin' serious, Pete," Steve lowered his voice, mimicking his brother's body language and leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting against his knees. "Words getting' out about the old man losin' his fuckin' marbles in the pub and throwing out threats. People…they start seein' this, start thinkin' we're weak. That we're backin' down." He turned his head and met Pete's gaze full on.

"We can't let that happen, Pete." He spoke quietly, yet firmly. "Me and you and Pat, we 'ave to keep the Firm movin'."

Pete stared back at him, not certain of what to say. Pat had spoken to him at length that day they left the stadium about the firm, confirming all the suspicions Pete had had about his family growing up and all of his mother's worst fears. There were countless firms in London but a small few had such a reputation that even abroad, their status was recognised…revered even.

The GSE was one of them.

It had started with the Dunham's back in the thirties down on the docks and had carried through the rampages of the 70's and 80's to now…to this moment here. Pat and Michael Dunham had been as notorious just a few years ago, West Ham's answer to the Kray twins, Pat had said without much humour in his voice. The Dunham boys were a force to be reckoned with, the one firm most would shy away from.

Except Millwall.

Remembering how Pat had snapped and reached for his drink when Pete asked why them, he frowned and despite the million and one questions running through his mind found himself unable to do anything but nod.

"What do you need me to do?" Pete asked him, his eyes darting about the hallway.

"Not here," Steve shook his head as though reading his mind. "This ain't really the place, I just need to know you're on board. Whatever goes down?"

"On my word, mate," Pete nodded. "Whatever you need me to do, I-…"

"Boys?"

Both men stood at the same time, looking at Officer Gould as he stood at looking at them, cocking his head towards the door next to him which was kept slightly ajar by his foot.

He cleared his throat and leaned his head down, catching Pete's eye as he did so.

"He makes a move," Gould told him, his voice low. "You knock on this door. We know about what he did to you…to your mother,"

Gould watched as something hardened in the younger man's eyes and felt the same hatred ebb through his own veins.

"There isn't a copper in this building who wouldn't want a pop at him." Gould nodded. "So I mean it. He so much as blinks at you in a way you don't like…"

He knocked on the door to demonstrate and smiled tightly as Pete clapped him on the shoulder and then followed his brother through. Contrary to every television show Pete had ever watched, the room his father was sat in was light, airy…clean even. The token two sided mirror lined the back wall and a small water cooler sat bubbling in the far corner but other than that, it was just a room.

The being sat in the middle of it however was far from being just a man.

In his blood splattered and torn shirt, Michael Dunham looked every bit the monster. His eyes were glazed and darting between his two sons as they stood in the door way, staring him down like the dangerous animal they knew him to be.

"My boys," his voice slithered through the room, a sickening slur to it that Pete could feel even made Steve recoil somewhat. "Good of you to come at such short notice,"

He grinned at Pete, a mass of bloodied and missing teeth as he tapped the side of his neck.

"See you been keepin' busy," he laughed. "How is little Allie?" his eyes narrowed and he smirked, seeing Pete's fists clench. "Nice and tight, I bet,"

Steve wasn't sure who moved first but he refused to let himself shout out in pain as Pete rammed forward, ignoring the shout of warning he gave as he hurled himself towards the table.

"Pete!" he snapped, sending a dark stare towards their father who was still laughing. "Don't give that piece of shit what he wants," he lightly slapped his brother's face, pulling him into something between a hug and a restraint hold. "Oi, fuckin' look at me. Do not react to the shit comin' out of his mouth."

"Always was the sensitive one, wasn't ya?" Michael rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he watched them.

Pete kept his eyes trained on him, not letting up on Steve's hold around his chest but silently thanking God it was there to begin with. If he was let lose right at the second, he would murder Michael Dunham, it was that simple.

"See now it used to piss me off, you bein' a little bitch about everythin'," Michael continued, lacing his hands together neatly on the table. "Steve would always scream and shout, let me know where I stood. But you," he narrowed his eyes. "Whatever I hit you with, my fist, the wrench, that night with the brick, you remember that one, don't you Petey?" he smiled and leaned forward. "You never did nothin' to stop me. And I always thought that you were weak because of it,"

"Now I reckon I might 'ave been wrong," he pointed at him. "You're the dangerous one. Because you can take it…to a point. And when you reach that point, I reckon you're capable of just about anything."

He shook his hands in a 'ta-dah' gesture as he leaned back in the chair.

"Now am I right or am I right?"

"Why are we 'ere?" Pete demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"I wonder what it would take for you to snap," Michael carried on, his voice taking on a sing song quality as he shrugged emphatically. "See you, you're strong, you can take the pain but if it's someone you care about. Like Stevie, here," he gestured to the older man who stopped for a moment and stared back at him, his lips curling up in a snarl.

"You'd kill for him, wouldn't ya, boy?" Michael jerked his chin in their direction. "Same with your mum." He chuckled. "And I dread to think what you'd do if I touched a hair on the head of your little piece of west end pink,"

Pete swallowed hard and grabbed his brother's fist which was still locked around his chest hard enough to make Steve hiss out in pain.

"You're just like me, Petey," Michael told him. "And that kills me as much as it kills you,"

"I'm gonna give you one more chance to tell me why we're here," Pete told him, his voice cold but his eyes were wild, the azure depths flashing a frightening black almost like a storm. "Or so help me God, pigs or not, I'll reach down into your fuckin' throat and pull the words out myself. And if any internal organs happen to come with them, then all the fuckin' better,"

Steve glanced up at the noise behind him and saw Officer Gould peering through the door, one hand on his belt as he glanced between Pete and Michael. Shaking his head, Steve cleared his throat and with all his strength pulled Pete back a few steps further, distancing the two men.

"Easy, mate," Steve told him, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing despite being as ready to rip their father's throat out as Pete was. "The last thing I want is to end up in a fuckin' cell with you all night. You snore like a right twat."

Against his will, Pete smirked and turned to look at him, seeing the pleading look in his eyes and relenting somewhat. He knew deep down that whatever Michael Dunham brought them here for, this wasn't it.

"You need bail, don't ya?" Steve turned to look at their father and felt nothing. Not even hatred. He mattered that little. "Well we ain't interested. You wanna go about smacking coppers and being a cunt, then power to ya, old man. But we ain't here to clean up your mess,"

Shoving Pete forward he moved to follow when Michael's voice stopped them.

"We missed one, didn't we, Petey?"

Hating himself for it, Pete froze and turned ever so slightly, needing the old fucker to know that if nothing else, he couldn't hurt them anymore.

"You still fuckin' yappin'?" Pete narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "We're done 'ere, old man."

"Pat," Michael laughed, slapping his forehead in an exaggerated 'duh' gesture. "The great and wonderful Patrick. How could we 'ave forgotten him? You'd do anything for him, wouldn't ya? Both of ya. Even when you was kids, the sun somehow shone out of his arse."

Michael shook his head in disgust, a few strands of greying hair falling into his eyes that once upon a time had been identical to that of his youngest sons. Unlike Pete's however, Michael's had long since been robbed of their youth and charm. All that was left were ghosts and hatred. The man was a walking void. A sum of nothing.

And there was nothing more frightening that a man with nothing left to lose.

"Unconditional that kind of love is," he snorted. "Nothin' else like it in this world. You wished it was your old man, still do probably. Not that I can blame ya," he lifted his hands which were still cuffed and shook the chains for effect. "I ain't winnin' no prizes, am I?"

"I dunno," Pete shrugged. "You seem like you might be in for a shot with cunt of the year,"

"Always were good with words, weren't ya, Petey?" Michael laughed. "Always a smart lad. So let's 'ave ourselves a brain teaser, shall we?"

He leaned forward and squinted at them, licking his lips manically and then smacking them loudly.

"What do you call a man who leads a firm, one of the best firms in jolly old and then buries it with one fuckin' mistake and let's his brother pay for it?"

Both Pete and Steve glanced at one another and then back at their father; a sickening feeling came over them both. There was something different about the way their father was talking, a darkness in his eyes that wasn't there purely to taunt them but to warn them.

"What do you call a man who finds out his wife can't 'ave kids so he fucks about and gets another bird up the duff?"

Pete turned and felt Steve's hand slip from his shoulder, only this time it didn't come back up to restrain him, both of them too caught up in what their father was saying to worry about anything but.

"What do you call a man who has an affair with the wife of the head of a rival firm, gets her pregnant and walks away from the kid, secretly goin' to his footie games every Sunday until one mornin' out of nowhere, he watches the son he's never admitting to 'aving get mown down by a car and sees his brains gettin' smeared across the road like Sunday mornins' jam on toast?"

Pete felt a chill unlike anything he'd ever known fall over his body; his throat clenched reactively as his eyes widened and he found himself unable to breathe, wanting desperately to gulp at the air he knew was all around him but couldn't even blink.

No, oh please fucking God, no.

"Come on, Petey," Michael taunted, his lips twisting back into that same sickening smile. "You're a smart lad, you should have worked this out by now,"

Pete shook his head and turned to look at Steve who was staring at an invisible spot on the floor, his eyes brimming with tears as his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides.

Pat Dunham had been Dylan Hatcher's father.

Tommy Hatcher, the head of Millwall had knowingly raised a son that wasn't his, that in fact belonged to the name Dunham. Had Nancy known? Did their mother know? Everything Pat had told Pete after the match seemed to fall into place in that moment. He had known about the childhood friendship between Tommy, Michael and Pat but that it had divided once the firms had come to the forefront…but this…this made more sense. Pete had thought about the lads, about Bovver, Swill and Dave and if them running with another firm would be enough for him to write them off. Not in a million years. But something like this…this could and would destroy even the strongest and oldest of friendships. This was the ultimate betrayal.

"You're fuckin' tellin' me," Steve pointed, his eyes wide as he shook uncontrollably. "That Pat was Dylan Hatcher's old man?"

"Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!" Michael shouted, clattering his handcuffs against the table loudly, loud enough for Pete to close his eyes briefly and cringe. "Come the fuck on, Pete. You're meant to be the smart one here!"

He saw his son mutter something and leaned forward, using both hands to cup his left ear.

"Once more, I'm a little hard of hearing these days,"

"I said you're fuckin' lying!" Pete shouted, lurching forward and slamming both hands down on the table. "You're a sad, washed up piece of shit who has nothin' better to do with his time than try and fuck other people's lives up. Bring 'em down to your pathetic little level. Well I ain't buyin' it. So go fuck yourself, Michael." He spat in disgust. "I don't care if you rot in here, I just hope you fuckin' suffer while you do,"

Pete laughed and shook his head, throwing his arms out as he stared down at the man he had once been so desperate to please.

"This why you brought us here at 1 in the fuckin' morning? To rattle some school yard rumour bollocks and hope we might give enough of a fuck about what you 'ave to say to do something about it?" he snorted. "You're actually lower than I gave you credit for,"

"You really don't believe me, do ya?" Michael raised an eyebrow, seemingly not bothered threatened. "Go ask him then. Your hero. Go see big man Pat and ask him if this is true,"

"And what makes you think I'd want to waste my fuckin' time doin' that?" Pete snapped.

"It ain't necessarily your time that's precious, Petey," Michael jerked his chin towards the hallway where he could hear the guards apparchaing to take him down. "Things 'appen in this life, accidents, misfortunes," he smirked. "You never know when you might get the chance to ask him again,"

Before Pete could ask him what the fuck he meant by that, two officers appeared, pushing through him and Steve, each of them taking one side of their father and leading him towards the door. As they passed him, Pete could smell the liquor on his father's breath, see the blurriness in his eyes and it turned his stomach.

"Just ask him," Michael hissed. "Ask him and see what he says. I might be a cunt, but I never lied to you, Petey. Either of ya," he craned his neck around to glance at Steve. "Still think he can do no wrong?"

His laughter drifted down the hall as they led him out, the door shutting slowly on the two remaining Dunham men as they looked first at each other and then at the floor, both of them wondering where the hell they went from here.

"The bloody police station! And at 1 in the sodding morning, I mean what am I meant to think?"

Allie felt her head jerk back upright as she glanced about the cramped kitchen, her eyes landing on Moira Dunham as she shoved her hands surreptitiously through her hair and stared desperately at her. Much like her sons, Moira's eyes were a stark almost unnatural shade of blue the intensity of which seemed heightened this morning as they shone with unshed tears.

With shaking hands, she lifted her coffee to her lips only to slam it back down again hard enough for some of the liquid to crash over the top and onto the table.

"Both of them!" she shook her head. "And no one will tell me a bloody thing!"

"Moira, its alright," Poppy breathed, placing a calming hand on the woman's arm, just as she had done the first night they met nearly eight years ago. "If needs be, I can send Richard down there, he'll make sure they're alright,"

Smiling at her mother, Allie remembered certainly not for the first time why she loved this woman as much as she did. Not five minutes after Pete leaving had she ushered Allie upstairs and informed her they were to get changed and head over to Moira's, that she deserved to know what was happening. The drive across London had been peaceful and quick at 1.40am, however now two hours later with the London sky still dark and brooding without even the hint of the first rays of sunlight, Allie Harding found herself wishing for her bed, preferably with Pete Dunham in it.

"'ere,"

She blinked as Moira's voice, now much softer and not edged with pure panic fell on her.

"Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep, darlin'?" she smiled gently at the blonde. "He'll need you when he gets back and I don't you'll be much use to him knackered,"

Allie was unable to help the giggle that escaped her throat and felt a blush that she was sure had nothing on the colour of Moira's cheeks make its way up her neck.

"That came out right bloody wrong," the older woman dropped her head into her hands whilst Poppy laughed and laid her head on top of Moira's, winking at her daughter and pointing towards the hallway.

"You heard her," Poppy laughed. "Get your mind out of the gutter and your arse up to bed,"

"Mum, I want to help," Allie shook her head, biting her lip lightly. "I can make us some more cof-..."

"I don't think caffeine is going to be any of ours friend right now," her mother countered. "Now why don't you make the most of this landmark moment when for the last time probably ever, I'm openly encouraging you to go upstairs to your boyfriends room and get into his bed,"

"I love that no matter how serious the situation, you find a way of making me feel horrifically awkward," Allie rolled her eyes but dragged herself to her feet regardless, walking over to Moira and standing behind her chair, leaning down to place her head on her shoulder.

"I work with the material you give me, darling," Poppy shrugged. "Social awkwardness is all part of the Harding charm. Throw raging teenage hormones into that and BOOM! I'd have to be inhuman to resist,"

"Why in Gods name did you allow this creature into your life?" Allie cocked her head at Moira who laughed in return. "You could do so much better. If its friendship you're looking for, have you considered Satan as a step up from my mother?"

"Oh Alyssa," Poppy sighed. "You still don't realise that we're one in the same?"

"You can pout all you like, you are NOT Elizabeth Hurley in Bedazzled," Allie kissed Moira on the cheek before leaning in and doing the same to her mother, briefly pausing to whisper her love and thanks into her ear. Poppy squeezed her hand and winked gently as she started down the hallway, leaving the two women to talk openly about their motherly fears as they wanted to without her there to either throw in her two cents or argue with them.

Unlike her own home, the Dunham staircase was short and steep which for once she was grateful for as it carried her quickly up to the landing and straight onto Pete's room. Stepping inside, she smiled and took in a deep breath; everything smelled liked him, posters for various bands littered the walls, West Ham memorabilia scattered around and of course clothes thrown here and there.

Opening her eyes, she took a step towards the bed, stopping only when something moved by the window and she turned, letting out a small scream that thankfully didn't carry through the closed door.

"What the hell are you doing?" Allie panted, a hand clutching her chest as though trying to keep her heart from pounding its way out of her rib cage as she watched Pete raise his head to look at her from where he was perched against the window sill, his long legs stretched out before him.

"I was about to get into bed," he raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Getting in there first," she raised an eyebrow at him. "And if you're any kind of gentleman, you'll let me,"

"I thought being a gentleman was optional?" Pete grinned, reminding her of what she had said to him earlier. Catching the faint blush on her cheeks, he wondered if in that moment it was possible for anyone to love something the way he loved her.

"Only when I have my shirt off," Allie shrugged, smiling when he let out a laugh that although genuine, didn't even try to meet his eyes.

"What happened?" she half whispered, taking a step towards him, sensing the turmoil running through him and not wanting to crowd the poor guy.

Pete snorted and shook his head, glancing back up at her again and seeing the fear, worry and more than anything love in her eyes. Remembering the things his father had said about her, he gripped the window sill behind him hard enough for some of the wood to splinter and bury itself in his palms.

How the hell could he even begin to tell her about the things Michael Dunham had said?

"What would you do, right," Pete sniffed, meeting her eyes. "If you found out everything you've been brought up with, everything you thought you knew was based on a lie?"

Allie frowned, trying to make sense of what he was saying but finding it difficult to follow. She was too wrapped up in the anguish in his eyes, the usually bright blue was dark and tortured, his fingers twisting around one another as he fought to keep his calm.

"What if I'm like him?"

The words caught her off guard and she blinked, shaking her head as she looked at him hard. His eyes were shimmering with tears but his jaw was set in rage, his entire body screaming for control. He was on the verge of falling from a precipice from which she had no idea of how to pull him back. He was asking her if he was like his father. The boy who had defended her throughout their childhood, who had given her the actual shirt from his back when he thought she was cold, who had gotten four trains across London every morning for six weeks when she had broken her left when they were 13 just to walk her to school. The boy who had dragged his friends to see every stupid stage play she had been in, who had given her a piggy back home when she had the tiniest blister in history on her heel, who had shown up on her doorstep with flowers he'd stolen from his neighbours garden when her dog died.

That boy was asking her if he bore any resemblance to Michael Dunham.

"I used to think I was like Pat, y'know?" he told her, shaking his head lightly. "But what if they're the same? What if I'm the same?"

"Hey," Allie snapped, stopping him from going any further. Before he could blink, she was in front of him, standing between his legs, her hands cupping his face. Looking into her eyes, he felt his heart do that same weird jittery thing it had done the past seven years and fought the urge to smile. Fuck, his girl was gorgeous.

"You are a lot of things," she shook him gently. "Loudest drunk ever, terrible chooser of films...disgraceful dancer," she giggled when he snorted through his tears. "But you are not him. You never have been and you never will be."

Allie let one of her hands drop down to his chest and lightly tapped her fingernails over his heart.

"This is too big for that," she smiled when he leaned down and gently pressed his forehead against his. "I don't know what's going on, I don't know what weird, sick games your dad is playing and you don't have to tell me. I won't make you," she bit her lip. "But please, for God sake know if nothing else that you are not him,"

Pete stared at her for a long moment, his forehead still against hers as his hands found her hips, pulling her into him so he could bury his face in the side of her neck. She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and something exotic and flowery that was strictly her. He wanted so badly to tell her what had happened down at the police station but he didn't know how. After they had left, Steve had informed him he was heading back to Pat's to get some sleep but Pete couldn't follow him. Now that Michael was in prison, their mother was back at home and they were safe. Safer than he would feel at Pat's at any rate and that was something he never thought he would say.

"Baby," Allie whispered, pulling back just slightly. "Pete, look at me,"

Before she was far back enough to meet his eyes, Pete's mouth was on hers, hungry and demanding, borderline violent. Allie moaned into him and instantly wrapped herself around his body, more than willing to let him pour whatever it was that was bothering him into her. He was everywhere, his hands moving over her body, lifting her and pinning her against the wall. Pete gently pulled on her hair, urging her head back so he could run his tongue down her throat. He had never wanted or needed anything the way he wanted her at this second; it was as though every cell in her body was screaming to his, making him crave her, as though she was the only thing that could stop the pain.

"You're all that matters to me," he whispered against her lips. "Fuck, I love you so much,"

Allie swallowed hard, gently wiping a falling tear from his cheek with her thumb and kissing his forehead gently, feeling his grip loosen on her enough so that she could unwrap her legs from his waist and slide down his body, her bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud.

"I love you, too," she smiled. "But..."

"My mum and I'm assuming your mum are downstairs," he finished for her, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I'm in possibly number 3 of my top 5 un-sexiest pyjama ensembles," Allie gestured down to her burgundy flannel pj bottoms and grey sweater.

"I also have a single bed with West Ham sheets on it that I've had since I was eleven," Pete winced, gesturing over to the messy bed spread which was the same way he had left it the night he moved out and into Pat's.

"And it probably hasn't been washed in all that time either," Allie grimaced. "Dunham, granted I was never going to ask you to draw me like one of your French girls or expect doves to be let loose but no girl wants to lose her virginity in an emotionally frayed 3am quickie in decade old bedding with their mother downstairs,"

"Christ," Pete stared at her seriously. "You can be a right fuckin' diva when you want,"

She tried to keep a serious face when he grinned at her. His laughter, this time heartier warming her to the core as he lifted her and carried her over to the bed. The only way they could both fit was by her sleeping on top of him completely, his arms coming around her to keep her warm. Safe. Home.

"If you want to tell me," she mumbled into his chest, brushing her hands up his muscular arms to curve around his neck. "You can. You know, if you wanted,"

He smiled into her hair, remembering the first time she had told him that on the very night they met. How could he tell her what he knew? That his family was born with rage and violence in its blood? That his father and uncle had dominated London through intimidation and gang violence and that he and Steve were on the verge of following in their footsteps? That Pat, the man who had kept him on the straight and narrow his whole life had lied to them constantly? That his father was descending into a madness even Pete feared?

Staring down at her as she laid her chin on his chest, Pete smiled gently and ran his fingers through her hair, his heart racing when she turned her head and kissed the tips of his fingers. Could he risk telling her all of this? What if she suddenly realised in that moment when he already knew? That she was better than this bullshit? That she could do better. That she would do better, all she had to do was blink at any man in London and he'd be at her feet? That she didn't need to inherit his family's bullshit.

"Can I tell you later?" he asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You can tell me whenever," Allie smiled sleepily, her eyes growing tired. "I'm not going anywhere,"

Pete took a deep shuddering breath as she snuggled into his chest and he tightened his arms around her, trying to make himself feel as sure as her words had sounded.

"You promise?" he kissed her hair, staring out of the window as somewhere far in the east, the first rays of amber broke through the still cloudy skies of London.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Allie giggled, closing her eyes.

For whatever reason, those words turned Pete Dunham's insides to ice as he recalled his father's words from earlier. What would he do if anything happened to her? To Steve? To Pat even now?

Michael Dunham was right in some respects, there were parallels between he and Pete but they started and ended with the madness they both possessed. An inability to know when to stop when it came to defending what they loved most. The only difference was, Michael didn't have anything to love anymore and Pete did.

And no matter what it took, he would protect it. His father was waging a war and there was nothing more dangerous in a war than civilians; innocents who were dragged into the bloodshed no matter what their stance or understanding of the battle itself.

Pete had thought that it was the man with nothing to lose that you feared the most, but quite the opposite. The man with something to lose had that thought to keep the fires burning, to keep him fighting, bleeding for and through whatever it took.

If there was a war here, he would be ready. Fuck, he already was. He just needed to know who was on his side.

Staring...with Pat Dunham.

So the Dunham family secret is out. Pat isn't the one stop hero we all thought he was. Come on, when do I ever write a character THAT clear cut?! Aiming to have a new chapter up for you at the weekend :)