Page 10 of Road Rage Daddy
“Holy shit! Hi, Emit!” Marsha skips toward me with bright green eyes. She tries to throw her arms over my shoulders, and I shove her away where she lands on the couch.
I rip my shirt and bandage off. “Harley! I’ll be the man you want—you need! I don’t care that you almost stabbed me. I’ll let you carve me up anywhere you want as many times as it takes for you to get even and forgive me.” I pound my chest until thewound reopens, spilling more blood to show her how serious I am. “I promise, I’ll do anything, baby, anything—”
“Emit, thank god!” My woman comes tearing across the living room, looking at me like I’m her savior. She almost trips over a cracked bin containing a measly number of faded plastic builder blocks, the baby sucking on his thumb in her arms. If she’s this relieved to see me, of all people, not anywhere close to being done with my rehearsed apology, what must these people have done to her?
“Oh, baby, what happened?” I catch her in my arms, her forehead buried in my chest right over the middle of the wound, making me hiss at the searing pain.
“Take me home—take all of us, please!” Harley resists when I grab her biceps and try to pull her away to look at her face. She’s even more haggard than when she left my house, a bright red impression of a hand marring her left cheek.
I wipe away the smear of my fresh blood on her forehead. “Did someone slap you?” I gently cup her jaw and don’t miss her wince. That wince has me ready to commit murder.
She nods. “Look at him!” She turns the baby so I can see him better, dandruff flakes and something nasty crusted in his light brown hair.When’s the last time he had a bath?
Marsha recovers and tries to get my attention as my eyes dart to the two pre-school-age boys, then to an older girl, who looks to be five or six years old, sitting on the bottom step of the staircase.Have any of the children had a bath recently?The girl is crying her precious little heart out in a nightgown too small for her. The material is worn thin and so faded that I can’t make out the cartoon character on the front. My chest cracks at the sight of her big brown eyes full of misery, silently begging for help, a slap marring her cheek as well.
Harley clutches my arm. “I told them I was calling CPS, and Marsha attacked me!”
“What the fuck?” I roar, guiding Harley behind me, staring at Luther slumped in his recliner.
Saying helet himself gowas a kindness he doesn’t deserve. He’s repulsive, and it has nothing to do with his waistline. His hair is patchy and unwashed on his head, deep purple bags sagging below bloodshot eyes while he does absolutely nothing to console his kids or protect his wife from the man who barged in and shoved her.
Luther merely grunts, looking away, ashamed or embarrassed, or both.
Marsha, fed up with not being the center of attention, is back on her bullshit when she dances right up to me. “Aside from all the icky blood, you look amazing, Emit!” She darts in to latch her arms around my waist before I can stop her, burying her face in my chest, nuzzling me as Harley did.
My woman snarls something behind me while I grip Marsha’s arms, pulling her off me, no doubt bruising the shit out of her. I certainly hope so.
“I can’t believe it’s been so long since we were together. Did you miss me as much as I missed you?” Marsha purrs the question, running her hands up and down my back to caress my bare skin while I try not to throw up.
I recoil from the scent of her perfume, from her touch that feels like an army of spiders crawling up my spine. “Jesus Christ, get the fuck off of me.” I finally wrench her arms hard enough to make her cry out, her nails dragging across and breaking my skin. The only nails I want raking down my back are Harley’s as I make her cum and scream for Daddy.
“Oh, you. Always the jokester.” Marsha tries to laugh off the pain and slaps the back of her hand against my lower abs as if we’re just horsing around while her kids cry at various volumes.
I think I’ll start with killing her first—the only one in this hell hole who looks somewhat cared for, her tight tank top and short tennis skirt the newest, cleanest things in this house.
“Don’t touch me,” I growl, and the first spark of apprehension ripples across Marsha’s face as she quickly skitters back. “You,” I say, pointing a finger at Luther. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I sweep my arms around the living room and to his sons, who inch nervously around their mother and me toward their Aunt Harley, taking refuge in her presence.
Luther has the audacity to look like I’ve slappedhim. As if he doesn’t see anything wrong. It takes him a few tries to push up out of his recliner. “Go fuck yourself, Emit. Coming in here, judging me.” He tugs up the stretched-out waistband of his sweatpants, a dark barbecue stain next to a frayed hole near his crotch. “You don’t know the first thing about what it’s like having kids, so you can take your self-righteous bullshit and shove it up your ass!”
I’m sure my eyes bug out when I ask, “Then why did you have so many?”
Luther cuts an accusatory glower at his wife. “Fucking Marsha. She stopped taking her birth control because it makes her gain weight.” He says sarcastically, “And we can’t have that, can we?”
I laugh at how supremely stupid they are. “And pregnancy doesn’t?”
Marsha turns smug. “Nope! Good genes.” She slides her hands up and down her trim waist, vain and delusional enough to believe I could possibly be tempted by her.
“So why not get a vasectomy?”
“I wish I had,” Luther shouts, shooting a venomous glare at the girl on the steps, who flinches from her father’s bitterness.
I have seen and heard enough. Entertained their callous insanity long enough. This ends now.
I stomp toward Luther, shove him back in his seat, and lean down to get right in his face. “You hit the jackpot having these kids, and you don’t even know how lucky you are. A sorry excuse for a man, just like your father. But don’t worry, I’ll take them off your hands and show them how a real dad is supposed to treat them.” I drop my voice lower and smirk, trying to get a rise out of him. “And at night, when your little sister is sleeping, I’ll slip into her bed and show her how a good Daddy is supposed to fuck her, too.”
Luther doesn’t react other than to drop his shoulders, a smile tugging up the corner of his chapped lips. The deadbeat isrelievedat the idea of someone taking his kids, and it has me seeing red. So I smash his nose with my fist, sending him rocking back in his chair with a nasal howl.
“And you,” I growl, pointing at Marsha, who had been creeping toward the back of the house, probably intending to leave, abandoning her children to whatever fate she thinks might await them at my hands. I smile at her.
