Page 9 of Road Rage Daddy
Back in the truck, I follow the road signs until I’m headed in the right direction, speeding toward Luther’s house. This truck is a bulldozer, and I’m once again close to running people off the road since I can’t see over the hood. Oh well.
Relief has my shoulders relaxing as soon as I pull onto Luther’s street, his newer-built beige craftsman house coming into view, though it’s not as well maintained as the last time I was here. And just as suddenly, that feeling of relief winks out of existence, dread sweeping in. I’ll find no respite here. I know it. And yet, with nowhere else to go, I stop at the curb in front, staring through the large bay window covered by an ugly greencurtain for a long time before I get up the courage to leave the truck.
The house is obnoxiously loud, even from the street, as I make my way up the paved driveway, cutting across the grass to the front door, my hand hanging in the air until I can finally bring myself to knock. And then knock again. And again, until finally, the door is wrenched open with a snarl on Luther’s gray face. Yup, bits of food stuck in his beard. Disgusting.
“Oh. Harley.” Luther stands half-dressed in his sweatpants, scratching his belly, blocking the doorway.When’s the last time he showered?
“Hi, Luther.” I don’t hide my hands behind my back, wondering how he’ll react to his little sister having obviously suffered some kind of trauma.
Luther looks behind him, cursing at his kids toshut the fuck upthe way our parents used to yell at us, then turns my way. “What’s up?”
I show up unannounced, swaying on my feet, my clothes filthy, my hair a rat’s nest, my eyes undoubtedly swollen and red, and my brother, who should love me unconditionally and care about my safety and well-being, merely asks meWhat’s up?
I force the tears back, beating myself up internally for still holding out hope that he’ll suddenly start giving a shit about me. “Can I come in?”
Luther scratches his temple while a beat passes, then two. Boom, a lower level of rock bottom. I’m about to cut my losses and run, deciding I’d rather risk getting caught by the cops for sleeping in a stolen truck when Luther steps back. “Sure, come on in.”
Marsha pokes her head around the wall separating the living room from the kitchen, yelling above the fray, “If it’s my grandma, tell that bitch to eat shit! She’ll get her money back when I damn well feel like it!”
Luther coughs, the sound wet and phlegmy when he closes the door behind me, and Marsha’s eyes momentarily widen before they track down my body and back up again. And then she smirks. “Well, damn, Harley. What the hell happened to you?”
She glides into the room with my six-month-old nephew, Aiden, who I’ve only seen through pictures that I begged Luther to send to me after I found out he had another kid. He’s naked save for a diaper and a smear of some putrid orange substance across his cheeks.
Marsha wears a giddy expression and roughly grabs my injured wrist to haul me toward the couch, making me whimper. She plops Aiden in a travel crib in the corner behind the couch, where he immediately starts crying, reaching for his mother. Then, she sits with a bounce on the cushion beside me with a fine layer of crumbs ground into the material.
Luther drops onto a well-worn recliner, drawing a hand down his face with exhaustion. They both ignore Aiden and the older kids brawling with each other upstairs.
Marsha props an elbow on the back of the couch like we’re the best of pals catching up and says with a crooked grin, “Tell me everything.”
Chapter 6
Emit
Harley cut me, left me lying on the tiles, bleeding from the eight-inch gash across my chest, and stole my truck to get away from me.Good girl. It’s what I deserve for being a selfish monster, taking what I wanted, where I wanted, how I wanted. Sure, I might have made her cum a few times, but that doesn’t make up for my behavior…although I’m not sure I would have done anything different except offer her water sooner.
Hmmm.
My head swims when I grab the quartz kitchen countertop and haul myself up, breathing deeply a few times until my blood pressure evens out, and then I begin the painful process of patching myself up. Icouldgo to the hospital and have a professional do it so I won’t be left with a gnarly scar, but I won’t. And not only because the staff would have questions and end up calling the police on my behalf, leading to my own arrest once they catch wind of what I did to sweet little Harley. I won’t call because I don’t want her getting into trouble for defending herself, knowing my old colleagues won’t go easy on her after attacking a former police officer, even if, again, I deserved it.
As I clean up the evidence of our crimes, I wonder if I should go after Harley, beg her to forgive me and come home willingly—becausethis is her homeif she wants it. And if she doesn’t, could I romance her? Take her out on dates? See if she’ll learn to trust me? Choose me?
Or should I leave her alone and let her live her life searching for Mr. Right? Probably.
When I lay down that night, rolling in the smell of Harley on my sheets, breathing her deep into my lungs while I fuck my hand, I think about her young pussy stuffed with my cum, my baby growing in her belly if she doesn’t think to get the emergency contraceptive in time—if she can even afford it. And if she does get pregnant…with her desire to have a loving family, I know she’ll keep it.
If that happens, if I sit on my ass instead of going after the woman who is meant to be mine, what happens if she meets the sweet gentleman she’s always dreamed about? What if she lets him kiss and caress her belly? Rub lotion all over her body and massage her adorable feet at the end of a long day? Plant his inferior seed deep inside her while she’s growing my child? Hold her hand at her prenatal appointments and watch her pussy stretch wide when she gives birth? What if she dares let another man raise our baby as if they are his, then allows him to father the next one?
I sit up fast in my bed, tearing my sheets apart with my bare hands at the idea of some other man usurping my role and sole purpose in life—to be the one and only man Harley will ever need.I will never let that happen. Not ever. There’s no letting her go. I took her once, and I’ll take her again. I’ll romance her from the comfort of our home until she gives in.
At this time of night, this far from the city, waiting for the expensive Uber is maddening, but it gives me time to plan what I will say and how I will take her if she resists me. More than likely, she went to her brother’s house. It’s easy enough to findhis address online, and I laugh at the fact that he ended up in the neighborhood my realtor tried to sell me on.
The drive is silent, the Uber driver flicking his eyes nervously to me in the rear view mirror every few minutes while I stew, my blood pounding faster when I spot my truck parked on Luther’s street. The driver speeds away the moment my boots hit the ground. Good. Fewer witnesses.
It’s World War III when I make it to the front door, kids screaming on the other side, an adult shouting at them toshut the fuck up and fucking go to bed already. Marsha. With her personality, I had an inkling she wouldn’t be a great mother, but I didn’t know she’d be this horrible. The grudge I’ve held against Luther for the last seven years shatters. I ought to thank the scumbag for doing me a favor by taking the nasty bitch off my hands.
The idiots didn’t bother locking the front door, and I step right in without knocking—not that they would have heard me over the chaos anyway. The place is a dump, with a sour stench in the air, hoarded trash pushed into the corners of the living room instead of being bagged up and tossed out.
Marsha, who looks like she’s aged twenty years, gasps as the other two adults, a baby, and three youngins look up as soon as I slam the door closed behind me, nearly all of them in tears. The sight of Harley soothing an infant who looks just like her in her arms nearly bowls me over with the need to take her down to the carpet and rut her, breed her right then and there.
