“Why the fuck are you handing my boy over? Where’s Marissa?”
“She’s sick; not that my woman is any of your business. You’re here to pick up your son, not hang out with her. Besides,” Hawk adds when he spots Rebel inside my car, “you can’t ride two horses with one ass.”
His woman? I try my hardest to keep my panic to myself. “I’m just concerned. You seem to be hanging around my kid a lot.”
The asshole laughs. “That would be admirable if it were true.”
I bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look at your own wife, man, and then decide which one of us is more fit to be around kids.”
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” I say menacingly as I step towards him, but he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head towards Junior.
“You don’t wanna do that now, trust me.”
I wipe the spit from my lip and turn my back on him.
As I buckle my son into his car seat, I’m fuming.
How dare that motherfucker slander my wife?
The worst part is, his face was smug, like he knew things I didn’t.
“What are you doing with Hawk’s kid?” A concerned female voice behind me asks as I close the car door.
It’s Dumb and Dumber who used to hang around my house, pretending to guard Marissa.
“Fuck off,” I say as I flip them off with both hands, and the bitch clutches her stomach, laughing.
“What’s wrong?” Rebel asks me after I angrily slam the steering wheel.
I imagine hitting Hawk with my car, then reversing and running him over again, several times, but it doesn’t help banish the images of his hands on Marissa’s naked body from my mind.
“Marissa can find the time to party with the Chasers’ club girls, but not to hand her own son off,” I say spitefully, remembering our last phone call.
“Hello?” I squint, trying to hear anything over the loud music.
“Hold on, wait,” Marissa yells as the music gets progressively quieter. “Okay, I’m outside. What’s up?”
“I’m calling about this weekend. Are you at a party?”
“It’s girls’ night at the clubhouse,” she says happily, and something ugly twists my guts.
Oh, so now she likes going to the clubhouse?
“And where the fuck is my son while you’re out getting wasted?”
“He’s with his babysitter,” she says defiantly.
I don’t even remember why I called. I flip my phone shut and close my eyes as I seriously contemplate driving up there and dragging Marissa out of that clubhouse by her hair.
I think I’m losing my fucking mind.
I start kicking Bell’s clothes on the floor into a pile, which I then throw down the stairs.
“What the fuck, Slim?” She yells out.
“This place is a fucking pigsty!” I yell back. “Would it kill you to clean up after yourself once in a while?!”
