Page 11 of Cocky Jerk

“Where’s Mouse?” I ask, already losing my patience with him.

“What do you want with Mouse?” he volleys, removing the bottle from my reach. I don’t argue with him. Instead, I watch as he scribbles a check on the clipboard and returns the tequila to the shelf where I snatched it from.

Mouse is the tech guy, the only one of the Corrupt Hellraisers with a talent for something useful. He can give you a new identity and a million dollars in an offshore account, all with the flick of his wrist. This also means he can whip up a copy of my license and I can try this intern shit again tomorrow without any hiccups.

I don’t owe Hound any explanations, though.

“Why don’t you just tell me where he is?”

He considers my question for a second before placing the clipboard on the bar and crossing his arms against his chest.

“You know your father is looking for you,” he counters. “Nearly blew his fucking lid when I told him you were starting your new job today.” He pauses to uncross his arms and braces both hands on the edge of the bar. Leaning forward, his gaze drops to my mouth for a split second a familiar pull tugs at me.

Maybe he’s not the jerk after all.

Maybe it’s me.

I’m the jerk.

The jerk who still wants him because she’s lonely and miserable.

“Why didn’t you tell him you got the internship?”

The bad thing about kicking Hound out of my bed and severing ties with his dick is that I also lost my only confidant here. Being Tank’s daughter is a lonely job and sometimes after we were done having sex, I’d talk to him about what was going on in my life. The things I wanted to achieve and the things I hoped to see. I don’t think he paid much attention, but he laid there quietly and didn’t interrupt me. I don’t miss him, but I miss that.

Maybe that’s why I engage.

“So he could talk me out of it?” I say with a sigh.

Hound shakes his head. His face grows rigid as he angrily narrows his eyes on me.

“You ever think there’s a reason he might do that? That it isn’t safe for you to be parading around without security? For fuck’s sake why do you think he moved you into the compound?” he fumes.

Anger floods me and before I can think better of it, I grip the edge of the bar and match his stance.

“I don’t know why he moved me into the compound because my father doesn’t tell me shit. He orders me around like I’m some little puppet…like I’m a possession. And you all treat me the same. It’s like the Corrupt Hellraisers own me.”

He inches even closer to me and his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place, but my position doesn’t falter. If you’ve seen one menace, you’ve seen them all and when your father is the king, not much scares you.

“Newsflash, Princess, we do own you and the fact that you are constantly being reckless is another problem this club don’t need. Not when things are—”

“Hound!” my father bellows from behind me. “That’s enough.”

Hound’s jaw ticks with annoyance as his gaze flits over my shoulder. Without another word, he backs away from the bar and holds his hands up as if he’s surrendering.

“She’s all yours, Prez. Good luck.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I challenge.

“Antonia,” my father snaps. His Brooklyn accent sounds heavier than usual. “Backroom. Now,” he orders roughly.

Great.

If I go back there, I know what’s going to happen. He’s going to tell me to quit my job or find some sort of way to control me. It’s what he does. He doesn’t mean any harm; he just doesn’t know any other way. When chaos and mayhem are the banes of your existence, you can’t help yourself. You try to control the little that you can. Like your daughter. But I’m done being controlled. It’s not about defying my dad; it’s about becoming my own person. Maybe this job at “Ask Ida” isn’t where I’m supposed to end up. I mean, let’s be real if I make it a week it’ll be a miracle. But it’s a step in the right direction. A step away from this place.

Unwilling to meet my father’s gaze, I push away from the bar and keep my back to him.

“No,” I argue.

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