Aced

“Something funny?” I ask, fists clenched, curiosity piqued why this is so amusing to him.

“I should have known,” he says with a shake of his head, his body visibly relaxing.

Give me a reason, you fucker. Just one.

“Were you expecting somebody else?” I know my threat is nothing compared to the others he will face. That unexpectedly works in my favor.

“Yes. No.” That taunting smirk is back front and center. “Your pretty little wife, perhaps.”

Bingo.

I’m across the room in two seconds. Arm cocked. Fist flying. The give of flesh against my knuckles. The thud of bone connecting against bone. The crunch that is nowhere near satisfying enough after what he’s done to my family.

The sound of glass shattering as his arm hits the lamp and knocks it over breaks through my silent rage, brings me back to the here and now. Reminds me that I want some answers before I finish what he started.

I don’t worry about the neighbors hearing us and calling the cops. In places like this no one pays attention. They all keep their head down and stay in their own trouble. I should know. I grew up in a place just like this. No one came to the rescue of the little boy screaming in pain on the other side of the wall.

The thought fuels my anger. Adds strength to my resolve to not be that person. To not stoop to the level of the man in front of me.

But God, how I want to stoop.

“Look at me,” I yell. My voice fills the room. He lifts his head up from where he’s landed askew on the couch, a red welt swelling on his cheek. “Don’t talk about my wife, again. This is between you and me, you fucking bastard.”

That chuckle of his is louder, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have to not unleash the fury I feel.

Because I want what I came here for. Answers first. Vindication second. And, oh how sweet that last one will be. He doesn’t have a clue what’s about to hit him.

“You want to settle a score? Go right ahead. You think you scare me, Donavan? Think again. You. Can’t. Touch. Me. You’re such a pussy you have to bring your goddamn henchman over there,” he says, pointing to Sammy standing silently at the door, “to do your dirty work for you.”

“I think your black eye will prove I can do my own dirty work just fine.” I look over my shoulder and lift my chin to Sammy to tell him to leave. It’s better this way. No witnesses. No he said, she said. Just my word against Eddie’s. Kelly’s so damn convinced that Eddie’ll sue if I touch him anyway.

Oops. Guess I already broke that rule. My bad.

“Is everyone in your life that tight on your string? One pull on it and they dance?” He raises his eyebrows as his eyes follow Sammy out the door. I glare at him. Bide my time. He’s so fucking arrogant I can see him itching to gloat about how he pulled this all off.

“You don’t know shit about my life, Eddie.”

“I know I won’t dance. So how does it feel to pull a string and get back a big giant fuck you, huh?”

“Is that what this was all about? Proving you’re better than me?” I ask, feigning indifference when I’m anything but.

Take the bait, Eddie. Feed your ego. Prove. Me. Wrong.

He rises from the couch and steps toward me with eerie calm. “I am better than you,” he says as he steps right into my wheelhouse. Tempting me like never before. “And I’m not stupid either. Lift your shirt up. I bet your pansy ass is wearing a wire. Trying to hook me on something I didn’t do.”

Is he fucking crazy? Like I’d let the police on this little get together we’re having. Shit, he’s going to wish I went with a wiretap.

“Prison was that good to you, huh?” I taunt as I lift my shirt up and turn around for him to see I’m not wired. “You into guys now?

“Fuck you,” he spits.

“No thanks,” I say, taking a step closer. “I want nothing more from you than answers. Everything else you’ve got coming to you is of your own making.”

He quirks his head, arrogant smirk spreading wide. “Thanks to your son, nothing else is coming to me. Sold that picture of him to the tabloids.” He sneers. “Made a mint and paid off old debts. Thanks to Ace, I’m free and clear.”

Fucking pompous bastard. Joke’s on him though. That’s the only reason I’m not throwing another fist into his face.

“Bravo,” I say as I clap my hands slow and deliberately. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches. Good. I’m pissing him off. “You could have made more money with the video though.” The lie flows off my tongue, but I have to force the words out. “Bet you didn’t think of that now, did you?”

There’s the hook, fucker. Take a big bite so I can set it.

“Prison has a way of putting things on hold.” He glares at me. “But it also allowed me a lot of time to plan, to figure out how to get the fucker back who put me there.”

“Get me back? For what? Because I didn’t let you waltz out of my office with the blueprints, sell them to someone else as your own, collect the royalties, and get away with it? Are you out of your fucking mind? Did you think I was going to let you take what was mine and use it?”

“Seems like I took what was yours and did it anyway.”

The quiet comment’s double meaning—the stolen blueprints and exposure of Rylee on the video—calls to me like a goddamn moth to a flame. This time I can’t resist.

He sees my punch coming and gets a quick one into my rib cage before my knuckles meet his jaw. His head snaps back. His body slams into the wall behind him. The sound of him grunting overrides my quick sting of pain from where he landed his.