Page 17 of Brutal Bond
Not go out on a date.
Definitely not fuck you again.
You don’t know it yet, but you will be fucking me again.
I need to know now, is that all you want from me?
Because I’m not interested in just being someone’s little fuck toy.
If you’re looking for someone to love and cherish you, I’m not your guy.
We can have some fun. Enjoy each other’s company.
You can explore that little pain slut hiding inside of you.
There’s that phrase again…
Just dinner.
No expectations.
Saturday.
Just dinner.
To talk.
But wear the gifts.
You might be surprised at how charming I am.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
EDMUND
“Fuck!” I angrily shout, tossing my gin and tonic across the room. It hits the wall, causing the glass to shatter. Ice clatters against the floor as the remains of my beverage drip down the navy blue wall.
My request with the city council to expand The Preserves beyond the current zoned area was denied yet again. Something about Mr. Marshall wanting to protect the wetlands at the tail edge of the area I’m looking to begin construction on.
When I purchased it six months ago, I had been not so subtly informed by other members of the council that there would be ways to ensure my request would go through without a hitch.
They apparently had not spoken with Mr. Marshall.
Three requests now. All of them have been stalemated for fear of “disrupting the animal habitats and possible shoreline erosion.”
Unlike his cohorts, Mr. Marshall isn’t open to persuasion. He has been unwilling to discuss the matters with me. Or my bank account. And the asshole is as clean as a fucking whistle. The worst I could blackmail him with would be parking too far from the curb when he stopped at Latte Da yesterday morning on his way to the office.
Since he’s too good for bribes and way too fucking clean for blackmail, there seems to be only one other solution to my problem.
On the plus side, he’s so squeaky fucking clean that I know exactly where to find him this evening. The Adelaide Cove Food Pantry. As the director, I’m banking on the fact that he’ll be the last to leave and lock up as everyone else starts filing out for the night.
He steps through the door with one other volunteer. They make their quick goodbyes, and he’s at the door alone as she slips into an awaiting car.
People can be so fucking predictable.
Silently slipping from my car, I make my way across the street and begin walking toward him.
