Roman uses his body like a defensive lineman and shoulders himself through the front door without knocking. I doubt Violet’s sperm donor would’ve invited us in even if he had. Piss, smoke, and body odor permeate the air as I look around the shoebox of a living room. The asshole barely twitches on the couch, surrounded by empty cans of beer. The sight only pisses me off more. I wonder how many stalks of broccoli or cans of beans he could've purchased with that money.
Selfish bastard.
“Maybe he’s dead,” Roman offers dryly.
“Not yet.” I glance toward my brothers. “Find her things. Take it all.”
“Got it.” Hawke shoves Ford in the shoulder, and they pass through the kitchen in three strides, disappearing into a bedroom while the dad continues snoring away. The man’s out cold.
“How do you wanna handle this?” Roman murmurs.
Scratching my jaw, I fight to keep my emotions in check, staring at the asshole who touched her. Not just touched. He beat the shit out of her and stole everything she worked so hard to earn. Again.
“He used to be a cop,” Roman adds as if I need the reminder. Maybe I do. Because right now, all I’m thinking about is the best way to get rid of a body. “Maybe start with a warning,” he suggests.
I grit my teeth. The idea alone is enough to feed my rage. A fucking warning? Did he give Violet a warning before he kicked the shit out of her? Did he warn her before he stole her money? Twice now? I highly doubt it. Roman’s right, though. And if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that emotions only blur our logic. It’s best to keep it locked up tight when they’re running high. And right now? Right now, they’re as big as a mammoth.
Calm down, I silently remind myself.
Moving closer, I tilt my head, scrutinizing the dribble staining the blue and brown flannel couch.
“Jag,” Roman murmurs behind me.
Taking in the dried blood on Violet’s father’s knuckles lying limply off the edge of the cushions, I squeeze my fists. Fuck my emotions. And fuck this sonofabitch. He kicked her. Stole from her. Hurt her. Put his hands on her. I’m going to?—
“Careful, big brother,” Ford warns from my periphery. “You got the same look Hawke gets.”
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’dknown 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?—”
