Page 162 of Remiss
“A JV cheerleader. Flaunting her ass at me when she practiced with her friends. Gave me her pussy the first night we went out on a date. Wasn’t even no virgin. Her momma and daddy thought she was the bees knees. Threw her the fuck out when she ended up knocked up. Church fearing people didn’t countenance a whore.”
“So she turned to you,” Diesel guessed raggedly.
“Those bible-quoting fuckers threatened me with jail. Unless I made an honest woman out of her. I married her. Regretted that shit every day of my fucking life. She was a smart-mouthed cunt. Couldn’t fucking stand her. That’s why I had to slap that bitch around almost every day.”
“No wonder she fucking left,” Diesel screamed, visions of pulling his piece and shooting the fuck out of Skylar dancing in his head.
“Left?” Skylar guffawed. “I did tell you that, huh? I beat that cunt to within an inch of her fucking life, dumped her in front ofthe hospital, and left the rent money for her care. Shit got a little out of hand and I felt guilty.”
“Did she survive?”
His gray eyes twinkled. “She did. Didn’t know me from the next motherfucker.”
Diesel balled his hands into fists. “You left her brain-damaged?”
“Short term memory loss.” He sounded so fucking pleased with himself. “Last time I saw her with her fucking brats, she still didn’t remember me, so I know she didn’t remember pushing you out of her pussy.”
Diesel’s body shook, rage like he’d never known before coursing through his veins. His sperm donor—he refused to call that motherfucker his father from here on out—was responsible for so much misery and had the goddamn gall to be proud of himself for it.
“I was your biggest defender,” Diesel croaked, on the verge of a breakdown. Pure spite prevented his tears from falling, as he refused to cry in front of that walking shit stain. “I spent most of my fucking life feeling sorry for you and hating her, when you didn’t deserve an ounce of my fucking pity! I couldn’t appreciate what I had, the luxury I’d been gifted, all because of the damage you caused. Everyone around me tried to get me to understand what an asshole you were, but I refused to believe it. I denied their words, fucking disregarding their advice, made a fool of myself for nothing.”
Skylar snorted. “Never asked you to do that shit, boy. Never even wanted you.”
Despite everything, the words crushed him.
“You motherfucker,” he whispered, debating if he should give into the urge to pull out his piece, or circle back when he was in his vehicle to scoop him up and give him what he deserved.
Someone like Skylar Rivers didn’t deserve a quick death. Being a shitty father was the least of his crimes. He was a pedophilic woman abuser who didn’t give a damn that he was the scum of the Earth.
Diesel barely felt the blow to his jaw, but the action was enough to set him off. Unable to take anymore, Diesel let out a roar of anger, interrupting whatever Skylar was about to say. His fingers found his donor’s eye sockets, digging into the motherfuckers. Skylar let out a pained holler, but Diesel didn’t care.
Not withdrawing his fingers, Diesel shoved his father against the dirty wall of the trailer, slamming his head against it three times in a row. His screams had faded into pathetic sobs, and blood coated Diesel’s fingers. He withdrew them, letting his father slump to the floor. His rage hadn’t let up, though, so he kicked the motherfucker in his big beer belly and filthy fucking mouth, stomped on his damaging hands and vile cock. Each hit was vindicating, payment for everything Skylar took from Diesel, and justice for all the torment he put Theresa through.
The beating was also an apology to his mother, a blood offering for a woman who likely didn’t remember him, but whom Diesel spent years blaming for his abandonment. When the true culprit was sniveling at his feet, the pained moans and shallow breathing his only indication of life.
He only stopped when his leg began to feel sore. Chances were high that Skylar would die if Diesel walked out, but he was never one to leave loose ends. He dropped to his knees, straddling his sperm donor as he wrapped his hands around Skylar’s throat, staring at his bloody face as he choked the fuck out of him.
He didn’t let up until Skylar pissed himself and went limp, his annoying whines finally ending.
Diesel released Skylar and stood. Breathing heavily, he stared at the corpse, his body still trembling with latent fury. Blood leaked from an eye and his nose, bruises covered his body, and he was positive his beating had broken a bone or two. Still, his death had been too fucking easy.
Thinking of his mother, who’d been thirty when Skylar ruined her fucking life, he kicked that motherfucker’s cock, his head, his ribs, hating him more than he’d ever hated anyone.
How many fucking years had his mother’s desertion tormented him? He’d blamed her. Despised her. Never finding peace, happiness, or gratefulness.
All because of the piece of shit laid out at his feet.
He stumbled outside and dropped onto the stoop, hanging his head in his hands and sobbing. For Theresa and for himself. For all the years he’d wasted on hate and misery.
For allowing himself to be fundamentally changed by the bitterness that had eroded everything good in him.
For that alone, Diesel would hate Skylar Rivers for the rest of his fucking life.
“Do you think Rule will be happy to see us, Momma?”
The million-dollar question. He might not see them at all, a fact Meggie had repeatedly mentioned to Rebel over the course of their day. “I don’t know, love,” she said, keeping it simple.
Rebel laid on the living room sofa grouped with two plush chairs, end tables and a coffee table in front of an elaborate fireplace where a toasty fire warmed them. Everything in theirtwo-bedroom suite, complete with a private terrace and white-glove service, was elaborate and the type of luxury Christopher booked for the two of them whenever they went overseas without the kids. He did it for her, though Meggie knew he would be happier with simplicity. Or even sleeping under the stars near his bike. Which they also did sometimes. She enjoyed those times more than he ever enjoyed extravagant, high-priced hotels.
