Page 87 of Misguided
“What the fuck, old man?” I try to pass him, but the solid fucker moves right in my way.
“My house. My things.”
Is he for real?I narrow my gaze, tilting my head to the side. “I earned that shit; paid for it with my own money.”
He shrugs. The motherfucking asshole just shrugs.
“Move.” I stand toe-to-toe, shoulder-to-shoulder. And yet, he could be a whole three feet shorter than me and still retain that dominance he developed as his unique parenting style.
He pushes back. “Leave.” Rollan’s filthy gaze drifts right.
I know what he looks at, and I don’t like it, one fucking bit.
“I’m over here, asshole.”
He jerks his chin toward Mel. “Did you honestly bring your filthy disease ridden whore to my house?” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he sizes up Mel.
“Watch what you say next, old man,” I warn. “I’m not feelin’ much in control right now.”
He slides his gaze back to mine, sneering. “Found yourself one you like, have you? Took enough failed attempts to get it right.”
The buzz, it’s a feeling I loathe because it usually means I’m either about to do something really fucking painful or stupid. Prickles that dance across my flesh, a heightened awareness of every follicle on my body. It’s the adrenaline as it courses through my body like a couple of hunting dogs on the scent of a rabbit.
I shove the fucker with my shoulder first, taking him by surprise and putting him off balance so that he’s distracted from my end game: throttling the bastard to death. My palms wrap around his thick neck, and he retaliates as predicted, by punching me low and hard in the gut.
“Atta, boy,” he grinds out around my hands choking him. “Show some fucking dedication for once.”
Oh, he’s spot on—I’m dedicated all right. My thumbs ache as I dig them in against his windpipe, the red bloom throughout his face a sensory delight.
“Dog!”
Fuck it.Mel bolts up the path, her brow pinched, hair flowing out behind her as she hauls ass to where I’m trying my damnedest to at least knock the fucker out, if not kill him.
“Let go. This won’t fix anything.”
Rollan grins, his teeth gritted as he crushes my elbows in his vise grip, trying to break my hold. “Listen to your whore, boy.”
Mel’s frown grows deeper, the lines severe as she swings her attention to my old man. “Excuse me?”
I can’t help but snort at the cute as fuck chin tuck she has going on. All she needs now is the raised finger waving side to side.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
“Whore,” Rollan chokes.
Got to give it to the guy—he’s persistent. A lesser man would have submitted by now, and yet here he is poking the bear.
“Get out of the fucking way,” Mel grumbles at me, shoving me in the chest to break us up.
I back off, handing him over. I was getting bored with it all anyway. The old man is a stubborn bastard; I should have known he wouldn’t go down easily.
“Do you even know what a whore is?” she sasses. “Oh, hold up. Of course you do. An abusive, ugly-hearted asshole like you probably struggles to attract women of any caliber to him through his ‘magnetic’ charm, so you more than likely pay for the services rendered on your vastly undersized member. Am I right?”
The old man simply stares at her; slack jawed. It’s glorious. I should probably take a photo to savor later.
“Therefore you probably realize then that I’m not a whore. I mean, what self-respecting woman who actually wanted to earn a living would get around in a pair of jeans and baggy sweatshirt if she were trying to sell her wares. Huh? I’d probably have something, uh, I don’t know, more revealing on, wouldn’t I?”
“What do I know about the bitches he keeps around that club of his,” Rollan bites having finally woken from his stupor. “For all I know this is how you biker cunts dress.”