Chapter 23 Jagger #2
I know the one. I’ve only seen it twice, but somehow, Ford’s words cut through the haze of contempt surging through me. I pick up a few cans of beer from the coffee table, searching for a half-empty one. When I find it, I pour the contents all over Violet’s dad’s head. “Rise and shine, Virgil.”
He splutters to life, jerking and twisting, his gaping mouth reminding me of a fish.
A pathetic fish so far out of its element, I could just hold it there.
Watch it take its last breath, struggling for life until it stops moving altogether and dies.
But the best part? No one would know. Not a single soul.
“What the fu—”
I slam my fist against his face, and his head ricochets off the cushion from the force. Damn, that felt good. Tumbling to the floor, Violet’s father struggles to his feet, his arms raised as if he has any infinitesimal chance of defending himself.
Not. Fucking. Likely.
Scraping echoes from the kitchen as Roman drags a folding chair across the small living area and motions to it. “Take a seat.”
Rubbing his tired eyes, Violet’s dad collapses into the chair, and Roman stands behind him.
“Listen,” her dad says. “I already paid—”
I deck him one more time, and his head swings to the side, his body following suit from the force. Roman catches onto the asshole’s T-shirt before he can completely tumble out of his seat while my brothers continue moving in and out of the house like it’s business as usual.
“You should probably stop talking,” Ford suggests with his arms full of Violet’s belongings. Then, he walks out the front.
“Might want to listen to him.” I sweep a few empty cans from the coffee table. They scatter onto the ground, and I take a seat on the edge, careful not to sit on any spilled liquor or sticky residue.
“I didn’t do anything,” Violet’s dad grits out.
Gotta give the bastard credit. Now that he’s awake, he’s not some sputtering coward.
Nah. This man has faced plenty of heavy shit in his line of work, and he clearly thinks this is a simple, run-of-the-mill house call.
Maybe it would’ve been, if he had touched anyone other than Violet Reeves.
Don’t get me wrong. It's not our standard practice to show up at random houses under the guise of protecting the innocent. Maybe it should be, but I’m no knight.
Nah. This shit? This shit is personal, and it’s time Virgil Reeves knows it, too.
“You did do something, though.” Resting my forearms against my knees, I shift closer, crowding him until he leans further into the folding chair as if searching for some breathing room. “You touched what’s mine.”
Roman pulls back slightly, trading a look with my brothers walking back inside.
They’re not the only ones surprised by my words.
Hell, I’m not sure where it came from, either.
If I’d known I was gonna say it, if I was going to claim Violet as mine, I would’ve given them more of a heads-up in the car.
I don’t even know if it’s true. But I do know that if my last name can protect Violet from this motherfucker, even if it’s under false pretenses, then I’ll do it again and again.
I shift even closer, invading Virgil’s space until he can do nothing but flounder in his chair.
Sensing the same shift in the room, Violet’s dad looks around the room, his cagey gaze flicking from one person to the next. “I don’t know what—”
I slap him across the face like the little bitch he is.
The sound of my open palm connecting with his cheek reverberates through the air, and my mouth lifts in a smile.
“Fuck, that felt good. You know when you get the tingle in the palm?” I clench, then unclench my hand. “Haven’t felt it in a long-ass time.”
Gotta give the asshole credit. When his head sweeps back from my slap, he doesn’t appear confused or scared out of his mind like I expect.
He looks…pissed off. Lips pressed together, he watches my brothers continue walking in and out of the broken down house with boxes in their arms. “Take whatever you want,” he grits out.
“You can have it. Whatever you want, it’s yours. Take it and leave.”
Clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I wipe my palms against my jeans and sit up a little taller. “That’s not very nice, Virgil. Giving away your daughter’s things without her permission.”
His eyes widen, then narrow into slits.
Yeah, asshole. You surprised I called you out for giving away your daughter’s shit? What a prick.
“I will be taking what I want,” I add. “And you won’t say a thing.”
Something else appears in his eyes. It isn’t fear.
It isn’t even the anger I glimpsed seconds ago.
No. It’s hatred. The asshole hates me. Good.
He should. Maybe he still has some fight in him.
From what I heard from Roman’s and Hawke’s digging, he was a pretty good cop.
Okay, good is a bit of a stretch. Competent doesn’t fit, either.
He was a dirty cop, the worst of the worst, but at least he knew how to hold his own until the alcohol took over his life.
When it did, he tracked down Violet’s mom and dragged her down with him.
“Where’s Violet’s money?” I demand.
He grits his teeth even more, so I slap him again.
“I can do this all day,” I add, throwing a quick jab to his nose.
Blood pours from the wound, painting his lips red.
“All day,” I repeat. Roman threads his fingers through the bastard’s head, forcing him to hold it up so I can look him in the eye. “Shall we keep going?”
“Couch cushion,” he spits. “It’s under the couch cushion.”
Roman’s grasp disappears, and he lifts the cushion, revealing a worn envelope. It’s the same one I handed to Violet after putting my ass on the line. Roman tucks it into his pocket and gives me a look. I know what he’s asking. What now? We got what we wanted. Time to wrap shit up.
My attention flicks back to Violet’s dad.
“You’re also to stay away from Violet.” I don’t ask him if he understands.
Instead, I push to my feet and slowly circle him.
His eyes follow my movements, but he doesn’t open his mouth.
Maybe he’s a better listener than I gave him credit for.
“Because if you don’t…” Grabbing his trapezius muscles, I dig my fingers in and squeeze. “I’ll kill you.”
Ford reappears with Hawke, each of them holding opposite sides of a stained twin-sized mattress. “We’re done,” Hawke announces.
Taking in the stains, I question, “That hers?”
Ford nods.
“Leave it. We’ll get her a new one.”
The mattress falls to their feet with a quiet thump. They step over the tattered rectangle and disappear out the front door.
“You don’t mind picking it up, right, Virgil?
” I challenge. His body vibrates beneath my palms, proving how pissed he really is, but he doesn’t curse me out the way he wants to.
Good. Maybe he’ll heed my warning and actually stay away.
If not, I’ll kill him. I squeeze his flesh a little harder, proving a point before letting him go. “Goodbye, Virgil.”
I head toward the door. Roman follows. When we climb into the truck, the bed is barely a quarter full. I’m pretty sure we’d be able to pack all of Violet’s belongings in two boxes, max. Dammit, the girl’s even more destitute than I originally assumed.
“This is it?” I ask.
Ford nods. “That’s it.”
Roman looks out the windshield, checking both sides of the empty gravel road. “Let’s get out of here.”