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“I wasn’t. I’ve got plenty of better things to be doing than waiting for anything from you,” I confess, moving toward the chair I dragged in here not so long ago to watch his wife scream in her sleep.
Something tells me that this motherfucker won’t be half as exciting to watch.
“If you’ve got better things to do, why the fuck are you getting comfortable?” He scoffs, watching as I rest my elbows on my knees and study him.
He looks like shit, and I can’t help but smile.
“Thought it was time we had a chat?” I say, clenching and unclenching my fists.
His bruises from Fight Night are fading, but the yellow hue that lingers beneath his eyes and around his jaw fills me with a certain satisfaction.
“Hit me if you want. It’s not going to get you anywhere.”
“Probably not,” I agree. “It would feel fucking good though.”
Silence spreads between us, the air loaded with unspoken questions and crackling with hate.
I can’t even pinpoint the moment things turned sour between us. Although, equally, I don’t really remember a time we tolerated each other.
He’s older, and my main memory of him from being a kid was him talking down to me like I was beneath him.
I am not, and never have been, beneath him.
The fact I had Harris blood flowing through my veins pissed him off. Yeah, he was powerful as Razor’s demon offspring. But he wasn’t a Harris and he knew he’d never have the authority I would as we grew up. So while he was older and bigger than me, he made sure I knew that I was the lesser of the two of us for a few years at least.
It was bullshit. A few inches in height doesn’t make any cunt on this Earth any better than me. Nor does the number of years you’ve been alive.
Respect is earned, even if you’re born as the prodigal child of Victor Harris.
I never expected anything because of my surname. I have earned every motherfucking bit of respect and fear the residents of this town show me. And I will fucking demand it from him now as well.
Finally, the silence gets too much for him and his need to know about his precious wife becomes too much to ignore.
“Where is Alana? What have you done to her?”
I continue to hold his stare, but eventually, my stone façade cracks and one side of my mouth twitches with a smirk.
His lips purse in anger and his own fists clench at his sides.
So fucking easy to play, Maverick Murray. Who holds all the power now?
“I think we both know that I’m not the one who’s done anything to her,” I taunt, my smirk growing.
Anger burns through him, making his face turn beet red.
“I’m sure listening to that was fun, but you should have seen them. Fucking porn worthy.”
I wish I was lying. But sadly, I’m not.
I knew the second Alana escaped my room, but I also knew that JD hadn’t followed orders and gone to bed to sleep off the bottle of whiskey he’d downed either.
The fact they both honestly thought I’d gone to bed and fallen fast asleep after everything just proved how much they underestimate me.
Standing in the shadows watching as JD turned the audio on to Mav’s cell and fucked his wife against the wall was fucking epic. Even I can admit that.
“My boy has a lot of good things to say about your wife’s pussy. Fucking stellar, apparently.”
While he’s furious at my words, I don’t miss the flash of relief that I’m not talking from personal experience. Almost makes me regret not acting on the opportunities I’ve had. Almost.
