Page 78 of Rebellious

“But you want to fuck her.”

Torrin’s statement fanned the flames of Diesel’s jealousy and possessiveness. He swiveled his stool and faced his friend.

“If you ever think about Rebel and fucking, mention her and fucking in the same sentence, I will cut your fucking tongue out, then dig out your brain through your fucking nose.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Torrin shook his head. “I’m trying to help you, Diesel. Not disrespect her.”

“Help me how?” Diesel barked. “By knocking me the fuck out and putting me in a fucking coma until she’s eighteen?”

“Fuck,” Narci groaned. “I can’t imagine her at eighteen. She’s already hell-on-wheels. When she’s legal, she’s going to be hotter than fuck.” He blew out a breath.

Turning to Narci, Diesel kicked his stool and toppled it, sending that fuckhead to the floor.

“Fuck, D.” Uninjured, Narci sprang to his feet and righted the chair. “Why the fuck you did that?”

“You fucking figure it out.”

Keeping the stool between him and Diesel, Narci leaned against the bar. “Are you leaving Jana? Unless you are, whatever I mean shouldn’t concern you.”

“Says you. What she does is most certainly my fucking concern, and don’t ever forget that.”

“Let me lay all the cards on the table, D.” Narci took his time lighting a cigarette before continuing. “We had almost this exact conversation with Rebel a few days ago and—”

“What?” Diesel snarled, stopped from throat punching Narci because Torrin grabbed his hand.

“I’m just keeping it real,” Narci told him.

“And I will see you fucking dead,” Diesel barked. “Don’t look at Rebel. Don’t talk to Rebel. Don’t breathe in her direction. It’s grounds to pluck your fucking eyes out, cut your fucking tongue away, and chop your fucking fingers off.”

“Fingers?” Narci echoed, amused. “I don’t remember saying I’d touch—”

Diesel growled.

“Bro, if you want her, Torrin and I might be the only way you can have her without detection.” Narci shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“Fuck you. I’m talking to you as her big brother.”

“Let’s go to my room,” Torrin suggested, then nodded toward the recessed bar overflowing with bottles and the bank of monitors, one of which showed them. “Away from the cameras.”

Diesel didn’t care. He faced a lifetime of Jana because of a predicament of his own making. Death was preferable to that whiny manipulator.

Grabbing his collar, Torrin dragged Diesel to his room, closing it once Narci walked in with their drinks.

“I want to show you something, Diesel.” Torrin released him and walked to his desk. He pulled out a photo and held it up.

A beautiful woman with glossy hair and big blue eyes stared at him.

“Jekka?” Diesel asked in confusion, Torrin’s daughter’s mother, a stripper who Torrin still fucked from time-to-time.

“She’ll be twenty-three in June.”

News to Diesel. He counted in his head. “Isn’t Agatha seven?”

“Almost eight,” Torrin said quietly. “Her birthday is a week after her mother’s.”

Diesel choked.

“I killed Jekka’s brother, D. That motherfucker came gunning for me. I don’t blame him, but I happen to like living, so I got the drop on him and took my shot.”