I step forward, rearing back with my right fist and delivering a blow to his nose. The feeling of his bone fracturing and the crunch that fills the air draw a smile on my face.
“God, I’ve been wanting to do that for so fucking long. That feels so damn good.” I grin at him.
Ben quivers in fear, his lip trembling as blood gushes from his nose and drips down his face.
“I mean it. I’ve punched a lot of guys in the face, but hitting you? Feels better than almost anything.”
I’m aware that I sound like a sick fuck right now. I would never let Dolly hear me talking like this, but after watching him take her out on dates and try to kiss her, and then he turned out to be involved in making her fear for her life, it opened up something vicious in me. He was going to hurt her.
And now she’s in the hospital because of the stupid plan to flush him out. I had to leave her side to make this piece of shit talk.
Holden and I were the only two who could see Ben’s face when Dolly toasted to Cain. He turned as white as a sheet. I should’ve trusted my instincts with him, but my twisted-up feelings for Dolly made me doubt myself.
He whimpers, letting his head fall and face the ground. I pause, wiping his blood onto my jeans. I could go for hours, but if he passes out, we can’t get anywhere.
“He was my dad,” he mumbles.
I reach down and grab his hair, forcing his head back. “What the fuck did you just say?”
His eyes darken with rage, face twisting. “He was my dad!” Blood spatters across my shirt as it spews from his lips.
No fucking way…
Holden steps forward again. “Cain was your father?”
Ben’s chest is heaving with his attempt to breathe. “I think I might die. I can’t breathe. I need a doctor.”
“Answer the fucking question,” I bark.
“Yes! He was my father. I only met him once, but we were planning to go on a camping trip, and then you killed him! You took my last chance to ever have a dad. So, fuck you! Fuck all of you!”
He’s shaking and bleeding, tears streaming down his face. My mind is whirling, trying to process how this is possible.
“How could he have been your father? Aren’t you twenty-five? He would’ve been, what, ten years old when you were born?”
He spits blood into the dirt. “I’m nineteen.”
“Whoa,” Duke says.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, shaking my head. “How is that possible?”
He looks like he’s in his mid-twenties with a full beard on his face. He’s not especially muscular, but he’s not scrawny like a kid either.
“I use a fake ID. My name isn’t Ben.”
“Then what’s your real name? And don’t piss me off and say it right away. If you refuse to talk, I get to hit you more.” I pop my bloody knuckles, and he shudders.
“It’s Stanley. Stanley Harken. I was raised in foster care.”
It feels like a rug is pulled out from under my feet. My head spins, flashbacks spinning around in my memory.
“This iswhy I never take babies. They won’t shut the fuck up. You! Yes, you. Get a goddamn diaper! Change his shit so he’ll shut up. I need a drink.”
My foster mom thrusts the crying baby at me. I’ve never held a baby before, much less changed a diaper. I gently lay the little boy on the couch.
“Not on the couch, dumbass! Lay him on the floor so you don’t get shit where I sit. Idiot.”
I quickly move the baby to the floor. His face is red from crying, and he has a sticker name tag on the front of the dirty onesie. It says his name—Stanley Harken. The other kids in the house made themselves scarce when he started crying, and now I know why.
