Page 129 of Bona Fide

It’s like a perfectly produced porn with the moon flawlessly above, the impeccable landscaping and deck for entertaining. And my fucking woman in a hot tub getting rammed into by some toned-looking motherfucker.

When he speaks, I’d remember that fucking voice anywhere—Jed Hardison. The one she protected and hung out with. The man she brought into my office when she dropped off Chinese carryout. The same dickhead that couldn’t hide the fact that he was still in love with her because he gazed at her like she was a cookie that he couldn’t reach on the top shelf.

Soft moans fill my speakers, and I’ve had enough, slamming the top of my laptop down and ripping my phone from the pocket of my jacket.

I was going to leave that brother alone—for her—because I know how much she cared for him. However, I hate Grant too violently to be able to let that go.

On the way home from Daphne, I planned a million ways in my head to get his ass handed down from the Senate and into some sort of media frenzy.

Since I’m in a position now—the one I’ve planned for my whole life—to royally fuck him up the ass and watch him die with shame. I’ve wanted to get back at that son of a bitch for well over a year now, but I’ve left it alone.

I’ve tried to be the bigger person.

I wanted her to find some peace where she could grow and love.

But, for some fucking reason, I can never find a thing to give me any sort of serenity or plain forgetfulness.

Why he showed up in Daphne the other day is beyond me, but he loves strutting around with his title a little too much. And it’s bad enough that I see his name on shit he wants me to pass or read cross my desk from time to time.

It’s only been twice but two times is too many times.

I take a deep breath, rubbing one of my temples as a headache starts to form.

I wanted to stay away and out of her life. I’ll peer in from time to time, recall what happened in her day-to-day, but this Hardison bullshit needs to stop coming back to haunt me.

I never asked her to fuck them, much less both of them at the same time.

I sure as hell didn’t ask her to videotape it and send it to me to be a fucking asshole either. I dealt with it in my own special way, but I can’t pry myself from her sexual pursuits if it keeps finding its way to me.

Playing nice is over.

It’s time to remind her who I was before she captured me in her palm and squeezed so hard that it was difficult to live.

She’s known me as the asshole with no feelings—she’s about to be reintroduced.

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