Page 40 of Filthy Little Regrets
He nods at her and arches an eyebrow at Adalie. “You failed to mention you were having dinner at your brother’s house.”
My quiet sister lowers her gaze. “Sorry,” she murmurs, all the life that was radiating out of her only moments ago crushed with one simple reprimand.
I clench my fists but hold my tongue. If I try to say anything in her defense, he’ll only make her feel worse.
“Go inside,” Dad tells her, his focus cutting toward me. “Your brother and I need to talk.”
Melody glances back at me, chewing on her lip, but like me, she knows the path of least resistance is better for everyone. I can’t fault her for acting out of self-preservation. Adalie’s head is still ducked as they walk inside. I hate it.
“So,” he says, walking down the steps. “What’s this about you marrying white trash?”
I grind my teeth. “She’s not white trash.”
“When I said it didn’t matter, I meant it, but honestly, I thought you’d do better than some easy piece of ass.”
“Watch your fucking mouth,” I warn him.
He scoffs and stops in front of me, eyeing me. “You’re embarrassing the family.”
“How, exactly? You told me to get married, I’m getting married. Problem solved.”
“She must be good in bed,” he muses, sneering at me. “Maybe the slut would let me take her for a ride too.”
My fist catches him off guard, crashing into his face. He grunts and raises his hands, but I surge forward, knocking him to the ground and putting my foot on his throat.
“Mace!” Winston, my dad’s guard, shouts my name.
Dad holds up his hands, wheezing out a laugh. “There’s my monster.”
Ignoring his taunt, I dig my foot into his neck. “You might get away with treating me like shit, but if you call her aslutone more time, I’ll kill you,” I growl.
“You kill me and you go to jail.”
“Let him up,” Winston demands, giving me a wide berth as he circles us, gun pointed straight at my head. “Now, Mace.”
“You’re on the wrong side here, Winny.” I press my foot a little harder into my dad’s throat, and he grunts.
Winston scowls. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
A demented grin tears across my face, and I’m halfway to seeing how big his balls are when the door opens.
“Darius?” Mom’s soft voice rolls across the lawn. “What’s going on?”
My eyes fall closed, jaw clenching, and I relent, holding up my hands and taking two big steps away from my dad.
He clutches his neck and sits, coughing and giving me a bug-eyed look, his face tomato red. “You’re going to fucking regret that.”
Maybe, but no one talks about Cassia that way. Not him, not NYC Socialite. Not a fucking soul. As I back away, my eyes stray to my mom, who gasps and covers her mouth with her hand at the sight of my dad on the ground.
Guess I am a monster.
Frustration is vibrating through me when I get back to the house, and it grows when I spot a familiar pearl white Jaguar parked between my Range Rover and Valiant. Mygaze narrows at the empty driver’s seat, an unusual burst of anger running through my veins like fire.
What the fuck is Crue doing in my house with my wife?
I shove the front door open, scowl at the echo of Cassia’s voice coming from the den, and storm toward them. Normally, I don’t care if Crue comes inside unannounced, but knowing he’s with Cassia and how prone he is to flirting? Yeah, that doesn’t fucking sit right with me.
I cut into the den and they both look up. Cassia is sitting next to him on the couch, a whole cushion between them, but it could be an inch, for all intents and purposes. Crue has one arm slung over the back of the couch, his lips tipped into a cocky smirk. The amusement dancing in his gaze as he takes a long sip from his tumbler sets my teeth on edge. My heart jackhammers.
