Page 230 of Satan's Spawn
Nails are digging into my head as I wade back and forth in my room like a caged lion.
This has Alexis written all over it.
She knows what that knife means to me…she must’ve found a way to sneak her skanky ass in here to go snooping for gold, but struck metal instead.
I’m going to slice each of her fake manicured fingers off one by one with the knife when I fucking catch her.
Bratva Daddy or not.
She went too fucking far and she knows it, which is why she knows better than to answer my calls.
Thirty-four to be exact.
I should be feeling a bit relieved that she’s taking her sexual frustration out on me instead of Rebecca, since I have much thicker skin and resources to go toe to toe with the bitch’s family.
But I don’t feel relief, all I feel is exposed and filled with rage.
Whether it was Alexis herself or someone else who snagged my knife for her, they invaded my fucking space and privacy.
Nobody would’ve dared to take a swing at me in the past.
The lions think their king has gone weak, which sounds like a good time to remind them why he’s not.
I’m fetching the pistol hidden beneath the floorboard when a female voice screaming my name erupts from outside in the parking lot.
Rebecca’s voice.
Panic flooding my chest, I reach for Halo from Saint’s drawer, figuring if something is going down I can use every form of gun at my disposal.
I move through the halls in full stealth mode, checking every corner I pass to make sure there’s no Sergey or Ivan waiting to put a bullet through my skull.
Thank fuck there’s not, and when I finally reach the gym my strides turn to a sprint across the basketball court.
Rebecca is still screaming my name when I burst through the back door, gun drawn straight…finding her standing next to Raven with tears filling her cheeks.
Fire ignites in my gut, moving my feet for me as I step onto the pavement.
I approach her quickly, pistol aiming in every direction to clear until I’m at Rebecca’s feet.
Realizing there’s no visible threat, I lower the weapon and tuck it into the back waist of my jeans.
“What the fuck—” I attempt to say, but am cut off at the throat.
“Is it true?” She sniffles, the back of her hand brushing across her nose.
Fuck me.
What in the hormone induced temper tantrum did I just walk into?
“Is what true, Rebecca?” I regard her with more hostility than I intended, because I’m still reeling with the repercussions of the last girl I pissed off.
Rebecca pulls a bunch of papers from her coat and shoves them into my chest.
My muscles grow tight…because the front page is all I needed to see to know exactly what they are.
Air shoots out of my nostrils like an angry dragon, feeling exposed for the second time this morning.
Except this enrages me more than losing my knife.
