“Then how about this. Sort your shit out or your both cut off. No inheritance, for either of you. You don’t care what happens to you—that’s fine, so do it for her. Because one more fuck up, and you’re both done,” he snarls.
I shake my head, the anger surging through me making me shake. “You fucking piece of shit!”
I grit my teeth and keep my features blank. I’ll never give him the satisfaction of letting him know when his words get to me.
He steps back, looking me up and down before straightening his suit. “It looks like this is one fight you won’t get to win, son.”
I squeeze my hands into fists and bite back the words I want to unleash on him. My rage flares to life like fireworks. I take a deep breath, letting my chest rise as it fills with air, then slowly let it out. He wins? I’ll show the sorry son of a bitch who wins.
His hard gaze holds mine. “This is the very last time we have this conversation,” he says, then turns to leave.
I step away from the wall. “Hey, Dad?”
He turns, a frown on his face at my choice of words. He raises an eyebrow at me. “What?”
“Go fuck yourself,” I snarl.
Shock quickly turns to disappointment before he turns away with a shake of his head, leaving me alone.
“Go motherfucking fuck yourself!” I roar, kicking the chair and table, enjoying the screech as they clatter across the floor. “Fucking prick!”
I drag my hands through my unruly hair and take a couple breaths as I try to calm myself down. It’s no good. I need to fight or fuck or I’m going to explode. The inferno within me blazes. All I can think about is chasing my sack of shit father down the street and tearing him apart, piece by fucking piece.
I leave the room and head to the front desk to grab my stuff. The female officer is behind the desk with her head down, but she looks up as I approach before reaching down to her side and lifting a brown leather duffle bag.
“You need to sign here for your belongings,” she says, pointing to a sheet of paper in front of her as she passes me a clear bag with the few things I had on me when I was brought in. “And your father left this for you,” she says, her gaze roving over my bare chest as she hands me the duffle bag. Despite her job, she’s eye-fucking me like I’m a stick of cotton candy and she wants a lick of my sugary goodness. I’d fucking let her too. Pussy is pussy.
“You should probably get changed before you head out,” she says with a jerk of her chin toward the male bathroom. “We don’t want to be arresting you for indecent exposure.”
“Care to join me?” I reply bluntly. She scoffs and shakes her head, and I smirk, casting a casual glance around us. “There’s no one here to stop you, officer.”
She shakes her head again, her jaw hanging down. “Are you serious?”
“About fucking you? Yeah.” I nod.
“I’m a police officer, Mr. Gunner, and you are a criminal, in case you’ve forgotten,” she says with disbelief.
My smirk widens, and I lean in. “That’s what’ll make it feel so good.” I take a step away from the counter, grabbing the bag as I do. “Your loss.” I shrug with a chuckle and head to the restroom to change.
Good old Dad can’t have his son embarrassing him anymore than he already has by walking out of the police station half naked. Clearly, he stopped on his way over to pick them up for me because everything still has tags. I snort a laugh as I slide on the dress shirt, ignoring the stupid as fuck tie he got me. Fucker has dressed me like I’m a lawyer getting ready for court. Actually, maybe that’s appropriate after all.
Once dressed, I leave the bathroom and head back out into the station, winking to the officer behind the desk as I leave. Shame she’s such an uptight bitch. I could have had a lot of fun with her.
Back outside, early evening has turned into night, my favorite time, and the streets are coming alive. My car is parked just around the block thanks to Sy. He’s a good friend and a great trainer. It’s a damn shame he’s heading out to LA in search of greener pastures. I’ve always been able to rely on him for just about anything. I’m going to miss him. Still, if things go how I expect them to, I’ll have a whole band of brothers by my side soon enough.
It’s late. So late, some may say it’s early. The party I’m at is still going strong, despite the lateness. I didn’t really want to party after the day I’ve had, but Daniel insisted this wastheparty to be at. It’s being held in the French Quarter in a beautifully restored apartment building. The whole place stinks to high heaven of wealth and excess. Daniel and one of his friends crashed the gym earlier, fucking around on the high-tech treadmill and almost dropping the heavy weights on Daniel’s foot. They’d almost gotten themselves kicked out of the party. Apparently, that’s the only room in this place that’s a no-go area.
Whoever lives here must be a real boring fuck if the gym is his special place.
The music’s still banging. The people who remain sway to the heavy beats booming from the huge floor-standing speakers in the large living room. The lights pulse, giving everything an almost ethereal glow. Or maybe that’s the effect of whatever I took earlier. This isn’t the sort of party Daniel usually goes to, where red cups and cheap beer prevail. This place is classy as fuck. Expensive liquor bottles line the large kitchen island, and I snatch a glass from the tray on the table and tip some whisky into it before grabbing a handful of ice from the champagne bucket, dropping them in my drink with a splash.
I take a swig of it, humming in satisfaction as the liquid slides down my throat. Fuck, that’s good stuff. My appreciation for good whisky is the only thing Maxwell and I share, so I’m used to drinking decent stuff, but this is so much better than even the most expensive whisky I’ve imbibed.
I pull my cell from my pocket and stare at the twelve missed calls from Sabella before pushing it back into my pocket.
I’m pissed off.
Pissed off and high.
