The elevator doors slid open, and the sole passenger’s steel-gray eyes clashed with mine. He was holding a large bouquet of black roses in one hand and his cane in the other. He pushed past me. Fucking Gustave!
“Mel, go down to the lobby. I forgot something.” I shoved him into the elevator before he could say a word. The doors closed behind me.
Tapping his cane, Gustave swaggered down the long corridor with a slight limp. Ha! He was still aching from Willow’s caning. Not wasting a second, I chased after him and caught up to him in no time. Grabbing his elbow, I held him back. He spun around.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice as cold as dry ice.
I didn’t answer him—why waste words on this asshole?—and tightened my grip.
Writhing, he tried to free himself, but it was futile. “Let go of me, you peon.”
Ignoring his pathetic plea, I plucked out one of the macabre roses from the bouquet.
“A rose is a rose is a rose.” The astute words of one of my favorite writers, Gertrude Stein. Inspired, I rolled the pad of my thumb over one of the thorns. “And a prick is a prick is a prick.”
He scowled. “Give me back the rose.”
“Fine, but I want to give you this first.” Before he could blink an eye, I fisted my right hand and plowed it into his face. So hard my knuckles stung. THWACK! His groan was like music to my ears.
Blood poured from his mouth. “I’m bleeding,” he whined like a pathetic ninny as he swiped at the crimson stream. Rivulets rolled over his twisted lips, some landing on his cashmere turtleneck, others getting caught in his goatee. Lowering his hand, he rolled his tongue over his teeth before contorting his face and cursing in French.
“You knocked my tooth out!” Reaching into his mouth, he retrieved the bloodied front tooth and stared at it in a state of shock while blood still dripped down his chin.
Taking advantage of his stunned condition, I punched him again harder—this time in his gut. Wincing, he bent over in pain, dropping the rest of the flowers onto the floor. Adrenaline pumping in my veins, I kicked them fifty-feet down the hall and then kicked him in the balls.
“What the fuck?” he moaned, his eyes watering.
“I’m not done with you.”
Not wasting a second, I grabbed his cane out of his hand. He cowered, fearing I would hit him with it. And trust me, I was this close to doing it.
“Please,” he whimpered, clutching his stomach with one hand and protectively cupping his junk with the other. “Don’t hit me again.”
I gripped the cane so tightly my knuckles turned white. “You, bastard. If you ever come near my girl again, I’ll break you in half like this cane.” With my two hands, I snapped the cane in half and tossed the pieces in the direction of the elevator. “Now, get the fuck out of here.”
As he gimped down the hallway to the elevator, I shouted out to him. “By the way, don’t count on an invitation to the wedding.”