Page 11 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

“Not you too,” Damien says to Rough and Rough raises his eyebrow at him. “This hot piece of ass is with you?”

Waite slaps him upside the head again and Damien winces, rubbing the spot. “Damn, Waite, quit slapping me.”

“Quit hitting on my mom,” he answers right before Rough asks, “She walk in here with me?”

My son then takes his life inhishands when he turns on Rough. “You touch my mom?”

I try to stop this crap. “Waite. I’m an adult. You don’t get to comment on—” Yeah, it’s as if I’m not even in the room, the way they speak right over me.

“Didn’t know she was your mom when we started this. Just found out this morning. I’d have talked to you first. Meant no disrespect.”

Okay. This has to stop. “No, you wouldn’t have talked to myteenage sonabout anything concerning you and me.”

Finally, Rough turns his hot gaze on me, but I’m furious and he can go fuck that heat. “I’m an adult. I’ve been living on my own for a lot of years. My personal life is mine and has nothing to do with my son until I want it to.”

“It’s a respect thing,” Rough says.

“No. It’s a misogynistic, pissing-on-property thing. I’m not my son’s property. I’m not my brother’s property. I have this little thing called autonomy. You all can go fuck yourselves if you think any different.”

“Whoa, she’s feisty,” Damien says.

“Shut it,” I snap at him. This whole conversation is doing my head in. Then I turn to my son. “They cut you out of my belly. I wiped your ass. Don’t forget that. I was the one who taught you about wet dreams and why that little willy of yours got hard after one.” The other men laugh and Waite just looks pissed. At this point, I don’t have two fucks to give. I love my son. He’s been my world since the day he was born. But I won’t be treated like a second-class citizen. We haven’t reverted back to the 1700s. Then I turn to Rough. “As for you, I enjoyed what we had, but make no mistakes, if I want a fuck, I can find it elsewhere. The only permission you need to get for anything concerning me ismine. I’m not messing around here.”

“Hot,” Damien says and I’ve had enough of this punk and slap him upside the head. I never even spanked Waite as a child. With all the abuse we grew up with at the hands of the violent boyfriends our mother always brought around us, I never wanted my boy to experience that kind of fear. I wanted him to grow up easy and happy.

Damien winces, rubbing his head where I hit. “Damn, you all are crazy. I’m out of here.” He turns around to head back to the bar and his drink.

“Since when do you hit anyone?” Waite asks.

“Since a punk man-boy won’t shut his mouth at a time when I’m already pissed off that my man-boy son thinks he has any say in my personal relationships and the all-man I spent one night with decided to lock me out of any and all conversations concerningme.”

“One night?” Rough asks, laughing. “You need to rethink that.”

I roll my eyes to the heavens and let loose a long, averylong, suffering breath.

“Mom.”

“No.” I hold my hand up. “Better check whatever you were about to say right now. You’re not a kid, thus I no longer have to wear kid gloves around you.”

I search the room and spy a handsome-ish man sitting alone on a stool at the bar. I leave my son and Rough standing there as I saunter over to the man. He’s a little scraggly, which adds the “ish” to the “handsome.” His patch reads, “Runt.” Runt? Now, I know that nicknames can sometimes be teasing rather than a true trait, but I don’t think I’d be happy with a name likeRunt.

No matter. He cuts his glance down at me and lets a slow smile spread across his face. “Never seen you here before.”

“That’s because I’ve never been.”

“Shame. Face like yours, the brothers could get used to seeing it around. Class the place up.”

I lower my eyes, smirking back my return. The way these men continue to flatter me. I should’ve moved up to Kentucky years ago.

And before I know what’s happening, I’m lifted from my stool by the most solid pair of hands connected to the strongest arms and pressed against the most solid body of a very pissed-off Rough.

“Look at her that way again, you lose your eyes,” he threatens Runt. Runt throws his hands up in a ‘no harm’ gesture and moves a couple of stools down with his drink. Then Rough slides onto my stool and spins me around in one smooth motion, planting me on his lap in a straddle. “Don’t play me against my brothers. It’s not fucking cool.”

“I wasn’t playing you against your brother.”

“Not what it looked like to me,” he answers and I swear he’s going to need dental work after this conversation, his teeth are clenched so tightly together.

“Yeah, because you look at me as some sort of trophy or possession. I’m neither. You want me, what we have to continue, you drop the bullshit because I won’t put up with it.”

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