I ignore him and dart out the door.
What the hell am I doing?
I stalk across the parking lot and hop in my Jeep. Nix grabs the door before I can shut it. Dee hovers at his rear.
“You okay?” Nix asks, concern in his voice.
“Yeah.” I start the ignition.
“Dude, no you’re not,” Dee scoffs. “Talk to us.”
“I’m cool,” I growl.
“What happened to your lip?” Nix nods at my mouth.
“Accident,” I reply sharply.
“You and Cocoa disappeared for a while,” he states knowingly. “Your fixation on her is becoming dangerous.”
I glare at him. “Let go of my fucking door.”
“Lately, you’ve been more hotheaded than usual.” Nix leans in close. “The last time you spiraled out of control—”
“I need to blow off some steam, that’s all.”
A year ago, I got wasted and crashed my car. For some reason, I was spared and walked away with a few scrapes and bruises. Why did I live? That’s a question I’ve asked myself repeatedly. I should’ve perished in the wreckage.
“For Christ’s sake!” Dee yells in exasperation. “Just fuck her already!”
“Nix, let go of my goddamn door before I lay you the fuck out.”
He takes a step back. “Just chill, Mav, and don’t do anything dumb.”
I slam the door and zoom out of the parking lot.
Fuck!
Twice I almost fucked her raw—something I’ve never done. Avoiding teenage fatherhood is a top priority, so I’m a stickler for using protection, but Cocoa makes me throw caution to the wind. I’m desperate to have her dripping goodness cradling my cock.
She challenges me at every damn turn. Why does she continue to fight? Why can’t she fear me and cry like everyone else? If she did, I could forget her and move on. I park in my driveway with no recollection of the journey home. My thoughts were too focused on the girl who’s fast becoming an addiction. I go inside the house and John’s raised voice reaches my ears.
“This house is filthy!” he shouts.
“I’ll clean it again,” Maria cries.
“Maybe I should call immigration and have a conversation regarding your citizenship status? Do you want to be deported?”
“No,” she sobs. “I’ll do better.”
“All I ask for is a spotless home, but you’re too fucking lazy to do what you’re paid for!”
“Please forgive me,” she weeps.
“Go to the room, Maria,” John says in false regret. “It pains me to punish you, but it must be done.”
The house is always pristine, not a dust particle to be seen nor dish in the sink. John wants an excuse to torture Maria. He’s held that threat over her for five long years.
“Please—” There’s a loud slap, then a bang.
