Page 62 of Stalked

She swallows. “He is.”

My next question might come off as condescending when it really isn’t. But I have to make sure. “Confirmed by a paternity test?”

“Yes. I’m her dad, dickwad.”

Asshole’s voice grates on my nerves, and I grind my teeth.

Prue is all that matters. Prue.

“You guys done eye fucking yet, or can you transfer your old man two grand as a start?”

Faster than the speed of light, I twist, knocking off the table separating me and him to the floor. My fingers fist around the collar of his shirt, dragging this incompetent asshole to me until we’re nose to nose.

My breaths are feral, my eyes seeing red.

A gentle hand rests on my strained shoulder, causing my muscles to ripple. “Theo, please…”

“Not now, Prue.” I try to tame my fury when addressing her. She doesn’t deserve it. Which makes it an effort to utter, “Please.”

“You still have a long way to go until you learn how to put her in her place.” His rancid beer breath repulses me. But his attitude toward women is what truly has me physically repulsed. “A few backhanded slaps, a punch to the stomach where no one can see… That usually does the trick.”

I’m driven by impulses, kneeing him until he tumbles to the floor. I’m right there on top of him, my body caging him in, blocking his failed attempts to swing a punch at me.

“You’re tempting me,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and ragged with rage. “Fucking tempting me, and you won’t like the results. You can be sure of that.”

“I need the money.” Prue’s dad turns into a weak, begging lump of flesh and bones. “I lost everything by betting on the wrong baseball teams. I don’t have any savings. Anything. Even the detective helped me as a favor because I promised him…”

He promised him Prue’s hard-earned money.

“I missed the part where that’s my problem. Or Prue’s.”

“Prue, do I need to involve the police?” I hear a woman on top of the chattering around me.

I don’t care about my reputation at this point. I don’t care if anyone whips out their phones to record me.

His disrespect and blackmailing of the woman I—fuck, I fuckinglove—clouds my judgment. Drives me into a fit of retaliation, to do anything in my power to save her.

“Don’t, please don’t.”

Prue, on the other hand, Prue, my angel cares. Prue cares a lot.

“Theo saved me,” she says louder than needed for the sake of the cameras, I’m willing to bet. “I was attacked and threatened, and Theo helped me.”

My heart wreaks havoc in its cage. Beating on it, pushing to be let out and running to the one it needs to survive.

Before the situation blows completely out of control, I have one more thing to say to the asshole beneath me.

While my actions are being hidden from view, I move my free hand to where his liver is. I press hard on it, getting a sick kick out of watching him convulse on the floor.

The pain has to be insufferable, especially for a guy who likes to drink. A lot. He doesn’t have to tell me. I see it. All the signs point out to it—his thinning hair, bloodshot eyes, and yellow-tinted skin.

“Do I have your attention now, or do you want to add anything clever, asshole?”

“Y-yes, you do.”

After Prue’s declaration, he’s aware his pleas for help will fall on a dozen or so pairs of deaf ears.

“You stay away from Prue.” Each word is annunciated slowly, menacingly. “You don’t come near her. You don’t threaten her. You don’t send anyone after her. So help me God, if I so much—”

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