Page 112 of Cozen

Cozen patted a hand against his chest. “It never ends until I win. And I always win.”

Sargon slammed the door of the Mercedes shut a little harder than was necessary. Anything that got too close to him today was on the receiving end of his anger. Usually, he was a little better about hiding this kind of thing, but not today it seemed.

He blamed Cozen.

She wouldn’t listen.

“Hey, Sarg!”

Sargon glanced up at the late May sky, and almost wished it would just fucking fall in on him or something. “It’s Sargon.”

You useless fucking cunt.

Jett’s main man—the one who was in charge of guarding the grounds—took the steps of the mansion two at a time. The guy came close to Sargon, but didn’t act like he had been corrected on the name thing.

Clearly, Sargon was going to have to crush someone’s throat in to get his point across about his name. Fucking idiots.

“The boss wants to see you,” the guy said.

Sargon scowled. “I’m here to check in like I always do. What’s he in a rush for?”

A shrug answered him back. “Listen, I was just told to tell you to hurry the fuck up, Sarg.”

His little control snapped.

Sarg, again.

Sargon let his hand snap out as he walked past the guy. He caught the man’s throat in his grip, and tightened his hold enough to take the man’s breath away, and hurt him. He did it so fast that the guy didn’t even have a chance to react.

By the time he did react—by trying to grab onto Sargon’s wrist—he was already seconds away from having his vocal cords crushed.

“If you call me that again,” Sargon told him, “I will make sure you are never capable of uttering another word in your lifetime. Test me, and I will make sure you eat from a straw until they put you in a grave. Do you fucking understand me?”

He squeezed a bit harder.

The guy nodded.

Sargon let him go, and didn’t even bother to look over his shoulder when the guy dropped to the ground. Useless fools.

All of them.

Sargon took the entrance steps of the mansion quickly. Inside, he found a couple of maids scurrying down the hall as a shout echoed from the living room. A shout belonging to Jett, of course.

The boss was in a bad mood.

Entirely unusual for Jett.

In the entryway of the living room, Sargon leaned against the wood, and waited for a very pissed off Jett to notice him. The man was too busy shouting something mostly unintelligible into his phone.

What happened?

Sargon would soon find out.

Once his boss finally noticed him standing there, Jett slammed the phone down to the receiver, and turned to face Sargon. “You.”

“What about me?”

“You didn’t think to call me today?”