Page 72 of Vile Boys

“It’s just a conversation,” he replies.

My fist balls. “Give him my warm fucking regards.” I chuck a remaining chip at his face.

“Ares … really?” Kai scoffs, picking it up from the floor.

“Have fucking fun with him,” I growl back. “By all means. Stoke those flames some more.”

“I can’t help that he wants to talk with me. You know that,” he replies.

“You could tell him to eat a bag of dicks,” I growl back.

“And then what?” He raises his brow. “You think that’s gonna go well with him?”

I snort. “Like you have any clue what it looks like when he pops off.”

“I’m just saying, I’m trying to keep the peace here,” he says, shrugging.

“Yeah … you’re running to him like a toothless dog with its tail between its legs,” I grit.

“Says the eternal coward,” he retorts.

That’s it.

That motherfucker is dead.

I grasp his collar, lifting a fist, ready to strike.

“Go on. Do it.”

I glare him down, wishing I could cut him as deeply as my father cut me.

“Do it. Hit me,” Kai eggs me on.

But if I did, I’d give him another reason to become a martyr.

I swallow my rage and put him back down.

“Should’ve just punched me,” he says.

“Yeah. But then I’d be just like you,” I spit. “And I’m not that kind of man.”

I shove him away and out of my reach before I do something foolish.

“That’s a low blow.”

He’s right, but I don’t care.

He pats down his shirt. “Do you always have to be such a raging animal?”

“You know why,” I quip back at him.

His mellow face slowly changes into something more sinister, darker, and I don’t like it one bit. Not because it looks just like how I see myself in the mirror, but because it’s turning softer and softer. Unlike him.

Like he’s actually starting to pity me.

And I fucking hate how it looks.

“I’m so—”

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