Page 42 of Wild Side
I can hear Goose behind me. He’s calling my name, and then I feel his fingers wrap around my shoulder. I’m not sure what I’m expecting from him, but it isn’t for him to pull me backward and storm into the office himself.
I hear Bullet shout, but then Goose has Halo by his throat, his back against the wall. He turns his head, his eyes finding mine. “Just tell me when,” Goose growls.
Bullet stands on the other side of them. “Stand down, Goose,” he barks.
“Fuck that,” Goose snaps. “And fuck him.”
It’s almost as if everything happens in slow motion. I reach for my brother, wrapping my hand around his bicep, and his head swings over to look at me. I shake my head a couple of times.
“Let it lie,” I murmur. Halo lets out a sigh of relief. But I’m not done. “For now.”
Goose releases him and takes a step backward. I watch as Halo doubles over, trying to catch his breath. My lips twitch intoa smirk. The scene is kind of funny. Such a big man who puts his hands on a woman, and now he’s doubled over like a little bitch.
“She’s not yours,” Halo wheezes.
His eyes find mine as he stands up tall, his gaze searching. “She’s not yours. You never asked for permission. You broke so many codes.”
My smirk grows wider. “Fuck your codes. They don’t apply to me,” I grind out.
Halo makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like a growl, but he doesn’t make a move away from the wall. He can’t. He knows he’s fucked and that he’s fucked up. Turning my attention to Bullet, I keep the smile on my face. It almost consumes me as my gaze dances while I search his.
“I’m claiming Zadie right fucking now in case anyone was wondering. She’s the mother to my unborn kid, and she’s my goddamn old lady.”
And that shit is fucking that.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ZADIE
The loud shoutingand men’s rumbling voices abruptly end. I don’t know if that’s because my dad is dead or maybe he’s been punched out. Either way, I stare at the hallway they vanished down and wait for them to reappear. The entire time, I try to ignore Sable, but she’s having none of it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Turning my head, I look at her. She’s standing a few feet away from me, trying to make herself appear small and innocent. Her eyes are rounded, her face relaxed in an attempt to seem harmless.
I know her tricks.
I’ve seen her use this expression on Brake, on other men, on teachers when she got in trouble, on her dad when she would get caught doing something he’d told her not to do. She can use this shit on someone else, but not on me.
“No, you’re not,” I simply state. “You’re not the least bit sorry. I just don’t understand what you think you’re going to gain from what you did. From betraying me like this.”
Her eyes narrow, and I watch as her face twists into something downright ugly. She’s getting ready to unleash some venom on me. I can tell it’s going to be especially mean, so I brace myself.
“Fuck you, Zadie. Perfect, perfect, Zadie. You’re the president’s daughter. You don’t know shit. You think you know what it’s like out in the world? I can tell you that you do not. I’m just trying to protect myself. You’re always protected just because of who you are.”
I want to comment on the perfect part, about how my father’s version of perfection was expected, or there would be consequences. I was too afraid to find out what those consequences would be, so I strived to reach his level of perfection, and I’m glad I did, because I just experienced said consequence today, and I’d rather not go through that ever again.
Maybe I should feel sorry for her, that she would behave this way toward someone she pretended to be best friends with. Because if she can do this to me? Then who the hell needs an enemy? I can’t imagine what she would do to someone she hates.
I don’t feel sorry for her, though. She’s not sorry for what she’s done. She thinks she’s vindicated, that she’s in some sort of right here, but she simply is not. She’s nothing but a social climber. She’s trying to fuck her way into being an old lady, and it doesn’t work that way.
It’s sad. It’s pathetic, really, but she’s a bitch and can swim in her pool of pathetic for all I care. I’ve got my own situation to worry about. I can’t muster up the energy to care about someone who has treated me the way she has.
“Fine,” I say. “Fuck me, then.”
Taking a step back from her, I don’t turn my back for fear she might stab it again. She narrows her eyes at me, obviously notimpressed with my lack of response to her bullshit. Thankfully, before she can say anything else, the men appear.
Flicking my gaze past Sable’s shoulder, I watch as Goose and Maverick walk out first, followed by my father, and then Bullet. Maverick’s eyes meet mine, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. What I do notice is that his jaw is set hard and his expression is stone.
