Bittersweet (Redemption #3) - Jessica Prince Page 0,17
rage-filled eyes came up from stack of documents he’d been reading through. Looking at him just then, I hated that we looked so much alike. I got my height, my eyes, and my coloring from him. I even got his build, only he had more muscle than me. For now. For a dude in his mid-forties, my old man was built like a brick house. He worked out regularly, most likely to stay in shape for all those bitches he cheated on his wife with. Not that she cared. Just as long as my dear old dad didn’t spend any of the money that was supposed to be hers on them, he could fuck whoever he wanted. Most of the time she did the same damn thing.
“You’d be wise to mind your tone,” he warned. “Or have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?”
He hadn’t hit me in four years, not since I punched him back, shattering his nose when I was fourteen. But that was mostly because I hadn’t lived under his roof for a majority of that time. That didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of threatening me in other ways. And he did . . . all the damn time.
“Haven’t forgotten a damn thing,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest and staring him right in the eye—another thing he hated. He preferred it when I cowered, something I refused to do. “I know exactly what you are.”
Slapping the paperwork down, he rounded the desk, clenching and unclenching his fists, causing the veins in his forearms beneath the cuffed sleeves of his expensive button-down to bulge.
“You’ve got some nerve, boy,” he hissed, his top lip curling up in a snarl. “After that stunt you pulled today, you should be on your knees kissing my feet for bailing your ass out a-fucking-gain.”
There would never be a day in my life where I’d get down on my knees to thank this man for anything. Never. I’d die before doing that. “That was your choice. I didn’t ask you for shit.”
His arm shot out before I had a chance to react, streaking through the air in a blur before his fingers wrapped around my throat. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” he hissed, leaning in so close we were nose to nose. His fingers pressed deeper into my skin. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough to leave a mark or prevent me from breathing. That wasn’t what he was going for. What he was after was my fear. He wanted to scare and intimidate me, but after so many years of dealing with him like this, I’d become a pro at shutting off any kind of reaction.
Staring him dead in the eyes without so much as flinching, I remained silent as he began to pant with rage, his whole face turning a deep, mottled red. “You think you’re a man now, huh? A tough guy. You think using your fists is what matters? Well, I got news for you, boy. That’s not power. Power is having the means to ruin a person without ever having to get your hands dirty. I have power. You have what I’m gracious enough to give you, what I could take away in a heartbeat. That’s power, and you have none. Don’t you ever forget that.”
He released me with a shove, sending me back two steps. “Now get the fuck out of my office. And if you pull another stunt like the one you pulled today, I’ll show you exactly what real power is.”
Having said his piece, he turned his back to me and rounded his desk once more. He returned to those documents without a second glance in my direction, like I wasn’t even there. Like I was an annoying bug he’d just crunched under his shoe. Dead and forgotten.
I kept it in, all the rage and hatred I was feeling. I held it all inside me, letting it bubble and fester as I left his office and crossed the hall into my bedroom. It wasn’t until I had the door firmly shut behind me, the lock on the knob engaged, that I let it all loose. With a yell that sounded like it belonged to a wild animal, I cocked my arm back and drove my fist into the thick, solid wood of my closet door. I punched over and over, as hard as I could, not giving a damn when my knuckles split and blood began oozing out, leaving red streaks