Page 80 of Whiskey Throttle
But Hollister does the unthinkable and puts an arm around my shoulder. The room stills. The air shifts into a charged energy by such a small but loud action. The slender guy in all leather moves forward. The bulky guy covered in tattoos is already at Dominic's back, like shadow wings flanking the darkness.
My son doesn't notice. His dark eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of mine, drink in everywhere we connect. A sneer forms when his gaze hits the necklace, not my usual pearls.
“You motherfucker.”
The words are out in a growl while lunging forward. The surge of emotions gets the better of him as his full weight bears down on Hollister, equal in height but not in weight. Hollister is broader and shoves me behind him.
Less than a second later, the sickening crack of bone on bone rips a scream from me. The power of their bodies, an aggressor and his victim, thrust them forward, colliding into me. I dart out of the way, my hand over my throat, gasping in horror as he lands one more punch before the young men flanking his sides wrestle him back.
Hollister didn't raise his hands once. Didn't make any effort to protect himself. Absorbed the fury from my son to protect me. Everyone is shouting, but they are all drowned out by the pounding of my heart in my head and the panting in my lungs. Panic surges through my body, leaving me trembling at the violent confrontation I should have expected but didn't.
“You're fucking my mother?” Dominic screams across the room. “Is that what this is?”
The guys are struggling to keep him back. The bulkier one overtakes more of my son's chest when he gains a hold to surge toward Hollister, who's turned to stone.
Blood trickles from an abrasion on his eyebrow. The only sign of life in him aside from the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Evident that adrenaline is pumping through him like all of us. Otherwise, he's a marble statue of dignity and grace.
“Don't you fucking talk about her like that,” Hollister delivers his warning, wrapped in steel and ice. Cold and calculated. Opposite of the hot, firestorm of my son. “Have some goddamn respect.”
My hand at my throat drops to my stomach. Trying to calm myself as I step forward.
“It's my fault. Dominic, I didn't want you to find out this way.”
All four sets of eyes land on me. His friends are more inquisitive. Hollister's are the darkest blue, a slight shake of his head. A warning for me not to do it. But my son's are filled with years of hate. A decade of blame, slicing me into a thousand pieces all over again.
“But what, Mother? You just happened to fall on his dick?”
Hollister steps forward, fully intent on handling this.
“Shut your fucking mouth, man.”
“Why don’t you fucking shut it for me?”
Dominic sees it as the challenge it is and lunges at him. Pulling out of the grip of the slender guy and landing a crooked hit to the side of his body. Hollister crumbles at the collision, but still doesn't defend himself.
“Calm down, bro. You're going to get us kicked out.”
The bulky one grabs Dom's loose arm and tucks it behind his back. Like a raging bull, Dominic bucks against him, spewing profanity at both of us.
“Let me go!” Dominic roars. His chest heaves. “He fucked her. He fucked my mother.”
It's horrible and reprehensible.
I freeze.
“Say that shit one more time and I won’t hold back.”
Hollister's voice deepens, with a more pronounced edge to it. It's his last warning. I'm about to step between them when the slender one cuts me a look. He moves between the guys. A hand plants in both chests to keep them apart. The intentional clear. This doesn't go any further.
“Chill, Dom. Massi has to be here. Don't ruin it for him.”
His face contorts. Taking two seconds to sum us all up and reduce us to nothing.
“FUCKING HELL, MOTHER!”
His screaming is the only thing he can do now that he's fully contained by the guy plastered to his back and a muscular, tattooed forearm around his neck.
“You like getting dicked by young cock? Is that it?”
