Page 142 of Unleashed

I scrunch my fingers into his T-shirt to hide my shaking. “I’d rather you run me over with your damn car.”

Greg grabs my ass and tugs me against him. Our groins align, and I feel his hardening against mine. “But it’s okay for me to destroy your pussy? Makes total sense.”

I shove his shoulders. “Not anymore. All we ever do is fuck or fuck-up. I’m over it.”

“You sure?” He tilts his head, with his eyes falling to my tits and licking his lips. If this is an attempt to make me squirm, he can go fuck himself. “You’re not too bad in the sack, Garrison.”

“Acting like a prick is not a beneficial look for you, no matter how much you like to cosplay as one. Find another hobby or a support group, Rod. In case you didn’t notice, I’m a damn catch. I’m nice, have friends, get decent grades, and my reflection doesn’t crack mirrors. I also have self-respect and know when to run the hell away from something, namely you. And if you don’t move your unwelcome hard-on off my lady bits, I’ll scream bloody murder. People are working downstairs. I don’t want your dick on me, in me, or saluting me ever again. You’re not worth the heartache, my time, or your last name. Unlike you, my father is pretty straightforward about being a douche, so if given the choice, I’ll gladly remain Garrison. I don’t want you in my life, in my face, fathering my children, or even as a friend.”

Greg doesn’t respond, blink, or breathe, so I use the opportunity to slide past him and go to the restroom to hide and think about what the fuck I just said.

Chapter 21

Simone

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WHEN I RETURNED FROM the restroom, Greg was gone. Thank God.

“Where’ve you been?” my father asks as I close the door.

“I told you I had to work.” The apartment smells like lemon chicken.

“You shouldn’t be working at night, Simone. You should be home with your husband. Where is he, by the way?” What century is this?

“Work,” I mutter and hang up my jacket.

“Didn’t he work this morning?”

“They’re short on people, and he wants to make extra money for us.” Yeah, I bet he’s making something right now with Trashy.

The thought sickens me, and I skip eating anything. When Dad sees me go upstairs, he says, “I brought you some leftovers.” How fucking thoughtful. Is someone holding him at gunpoint?

“No, thanks. I’m getting a shower and going to bed.”

“Maybe you should take the food to your husband?”

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