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“I put a roof over your head for years,” he spits while grabbing for my arm. I shove his hand away and step hard on his insole, grounding down with my heel until he yelps and stumbles back a limping step.
“That’s assault!”
“Oh, yeah? Go ahead. Call the cops on me.” I paste a wild grin on my face, knowing the expression is eerie as hell from the way he shuffles farther away. “The second you dial those numbers I’ll be on the phone to Uncle Mike telling him how you’re getting cozy with the law.” I lean close, making sure he’s listening to the hatred in my voice. “Besides, I’ve got years of you smacking me around to pay back. We’re not even close to even. Not when I never called the police on you, no matter how many bruises I went to bed with.”
“You ungrateful, crazy—”
“Hey!” The single word, barked out from the door to the house, adds another layer of tension to this situation.
Damn it, I yell in my head as Charlie steps through the sliding glass door and approaches us. Why couldn’t he have taken Pig on a longer walk? Out loud, I say, “I’ll be inside in a minute.”
Take the hint.
But Charlie only strides up beside me, worry creasing deep lines in his face as he flicks his eyes between my father and me. At least Charlie left Pig inside. I can hear her whimpering and don’t know what she’d do around the toxic presence of my father.
“Who’s this—” Bill Lamont ends his question with a disgusting slur he says with ease from a lifetime of use.
My mind blanks for a moment, shame and rage a drowning mixture that engulfs me at the sound of the offensive word my father calls Charlie. Next thing I know, my dad’s backing away, hands raised, sneer twisting his mouth, and triumph in his eyes.
That’s when I realize I’m trapped, wrapped in a strong set of arms that hold me back from clawing my father’s eyes out.
“Let me go,” I snarl.
“That’s what he wants,” Charlie whispers in my ear.
“Let go before I make you.”
My fake husband doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t loosen his arms.
“You let your friend fight all your battles for you?” My dad taunts me even as he keeps his distance.
Before I can warn Charlie to keep his mouth shut, he’s already talking.
“I’m not her friend. I’m her husband.”
The mocking superiority drains from my father’s face.
Fucking hell.
I should’ve run.
ChapterThirty
CHARLIE
When Luna mutters a string of curses under her breath, I know I’ve messed up.
“You fucking bitch.” The older white man’s face turns an ugly blotchy red.
The insult shouldn’t surprise me after the word he just threw my way. But I find myself angrier on Luna’s behalf than on my own.
Still, I’m not a fighter. Never prone to getting into physical altercations. And yet I burn to punch this guy in the face, even if I break my hand in the attempt because I don’t know the right way to throw a punch.
Now Luna could probably tear the man limb from limb, but she didn’t seem bent on a brawl until he insulted me. No way am I letting her put herself in danger on my behalf.
The red-faced stranger looks ready to implode.
“You want that money for yourself! You called me greedy? Like father, like daughter, huh?”
