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Chapter Eleven
Rage
Anger courses throughmy veins as I step inside Kyla’s house. This bitch poked holes in condoms when I was with her, refusing to get on birth control because of blood-clot issues. I never fucked her since she got knocked up with my son Weston. He’s named after me, my boy.
“Bitch, have you been talking shit about my woman to the kids?”
She startles from her seat on the couch and looks pale. “Heard you claimed her fully last night,” she snarls at me once she gets over the shock of seeing me.
“Answer the question.”
“Pfft, why not, she’s a whore, you claim that whore but not me or any of the other kids’ moms?”
“She’s no whore, she’s mine.”
“You’ve been obsessed with her for fifteen years!” she screams. “What makes her so different? Every run, you’d come back, telling me about the big-titted waitress you had on the run. Then fuck me as if I was her.”
She’s not wrong, I first met Jennifer fifteen years ago on a run in the USA. It’s a long time to be obsessed over someone, but I don’t give a fuck. Bitch is mine now. “You don’t need to know shit, but realize this, bitch, I have full custody of Weston. As of now, he’s at my home. You want to see him you go through me,” I growl in her face.
“You can’t take my son!” she pleads with me, grabbing onto my cut.
“Take your hands off me, before I cut them off!” I snap.
“Dad?” I hear Weston call out when the front door opens.
“In here,” I say, still glaring at Kyla.
“What’s going on?” he asks, stepping into the living room, hesitantly.
“You’re coming to live with me now,” I tell him as I move away from his mother. “So are you brothers and sister.”
His eyes light up, “Really? Like for good?”
“Yeah, boy, for good.”
“Wait, what about me?” Kyla demands as Weston goes to turn towards the hall—to go to his bedroom, I’m assuming.
