“Vic?” I gasp as he grabs me by the front of my shirt, several buttons popping open. I grab his wrist and twist. His fingers pull off my shirt, but just as I’m moving back, he grabs the back of my shirt and my hair.
Jackson pulls me over the desk, and I slide over the top, causing several other papers, and my phone, to go clattering to the floor.
“You stupid fucking—” I hiss, but my words are cut off when I land on the floor and my breath goes flying out of my lungs.
“What the fuck were you doing with Victoria? I know she was here. I know you were here, you disgusting fag,” he growls at me.
“Oh, you motherfucker, get the fuck off me,” I kick upwards and hit his knee. He does down onto the floor, and I slide back away from him. My goal is to get as much distance between us as possible, not fight him hand to hand.
The alcohol I’d ingested over the last hour is starting to really hit me. My vision is slightly fuzzy, making him look out of focus, and I struggle to stand up from the floor.
“What did you do with her?!” he asks. “She’s my wife. Mine.”
Before I can get up fully, Jackson grabs my ankles and I go slamming back down to the floor, head cracking against the tile.
“Ah! Shit!” I huff this time, and kick him in the face. “If I’m such a fucking fag, why do you think I did anything with that bitch?”
My insulting his wife only seems to anger him further.
“Tony! Greg! Where thefuckare you?!” I shout. Beyond frustrated. What is the point of guards if they don’t show up when you actually need them?
“You keep her out of this!” Jackson slams his body on top of mine, straddling me, and punches me in the face. My head goes static for a second, and I grab him by the shirt. My hands aren’t working quite right.
I didn’t think I drankthatmuch.
“You’re the one who—” before I can get those words out, Jackson has his gun pulled out and pointed at my face. Barrel straight between the eyes.
I suck in a breath and put my hands to the side, glaring at him between pants.
“Are you serious?” I ask him. “You’re going to get my entire family to put a hit on your head, all because of Vic?”
His sweat is dripping down his forehead. His hand is slightly shaky. I could try to get his gun.
Maybe.
Except my hands are even more shaky.
“I know what you did the other night, fucking raw with some sluts in the back,” he spits at me. Specks of his spit flying onto my face, smelling like old cheap tobacco and shitty liquor. “Vic’s got pics too,” he tells me.
“If she’s got pictures then you know she wasn’t involved, you fuckhead!” I squirm underneath him and grab him by the wrist. He slams the gun against my forehead and his other hand grabs me by the throat.
My heart is racing.
“How do I know you ain’t get on with her anyway? Before all that?” he asks, his voice louder. “How do I know you didn’t try? Maybe you tried, huh?”
Jackson’s other hand reaches downward, sliding away from my neck.
“I wouldn’t fuck her with a condom made of steel,” I spit back at him. My hand still grasps his wrist tightly. But the gun is still against my forehead. One click, and I’m done.
Just like my father.
Just like my mother.
Where the fuck are my guards? I’m going to kill them. If I make it out of this, they’re dead.
“Fuck you!” Jackson grabs me by the dick. “Like you wouldn’t fuck anything that moves.”
“Don’t fucking touch me.” If my eyes could burn, his entire body would be on fire.
