Page 31 of The Trust
Okay, maybe we’re just starstruck—
“You let that faggot in here?”
Red-hot and instant rage claims me, and I vault over the counter.
Fist Craig’s too-small and sweat slicked shirt in my grip.
Bring his face real, real close to mine.
“Say it again.”
His eyes narrow on me.
“Say what?”
“I dare you.”
“Jordan, c’mon. Don’t,” Lemon says somewhere behind me, but I can’t see him through the tunnel my vision has entered.
All I see is the fear and disgust warring in Craig’s eyes. The sneer curling his lip. The apprehension bringing his shoulders up to protect his neck.
“Oh, I’m gonna,” I snarl out and stare right down my nose at Craig, so he knows I’m talking to him.
“Seriously, I know he’s heard worse,” Lemon placates, except it’s having the opposite effect. He tugs at my arm, the one wrapping up the neck of Craig’s shirt, but I shake him off.
The look on Craig’s face morphs into pure hatred then and my boiling blood rolls over.
“Listen to your buttbuddy, bro, and get the fuck off me.”
Head meet nose.
Blood sprays from his face and he stumbles back a step.
My grip on his shirt brings him right back into my face.
“Say it again.”
“Fuck you!”
I growl right in his tomato face when he pushes at my arm.
“What, you can’t say it to my face with a broken nose?”
Craig forces out a scoff that pushes more crimson from his nostrils and stains his sneer. “If I’d known you were a fucking fag lover—” he spits red on my mats, and I can’t stop my fist from flying.
Something in his jaw crunches and I let go in time for him to fall to the floor.
“Get the fuck out of my house.”
“You’re a thief!” he crows and scrambles away from me on his hands and knees. “A-a fuckingqueer.”
I follow.
“I’ll refund your fucking money. I don’t want it anyway.”
“You know,” he starts, climbing to his feet, the door at his back like a shield. “You just ruined your own career. I’m gonna own this fucking place when I’m done with you.”
My lips tip up.
