The Princess and The Jester - A.D. McCammon Page 0,49
makes me sick to my stomach thinking Shane could be using this same approach with Gwen. Whatever he’s holding against her must involve me in some way. Why else would he send her pictures of us together?
Shane whips into a parking garage. Grinning, I follow in behind him, careful not to get close enough for him to notice me.
When he picks a spot on the third level, I slowly drive up behind his car and park. There’s no way for him to flee.
It’s time we have a chat, fucker.
There’s a scowl on his face when he gets out of his vehicle, curses flying from his mouth as he approaches my car. He freezes the moment he realizes it’s me, his bushy eyebrows jumping on his forehead.
I take my time getting out, smirking while doing so. Seeing the worms squirm once you’ve got them on the hook is my favorite part.
I lean against the hood of my car, crossing my arms.
“What do you want, Masterson?” His attempt to sound unthreatened is cute, the squeak in his voice only adding to my amusement.
“Oh, you know, I thought it might be time for the two of us to catch up. Maybe reminisce about old times.”
His eyes slit. “You mean when your thug friend beat the shit out of me so bad that I pissed myself? Or maybe you want to talk about how you recorded the entire thing and threatened to send it to everyone in Westbrook?”
“You sound so angry, Shane.” I tsk my tongue, a mocking disappointment in my tone. “And here I was hoping we could let bygones be bygones.”
“Yeah. Fuck you, you low-class piece of trash,” he spits, his nostrils flaring. “You think because your rich friends help you buy nice things, we’ve all forgotten you’re nothing more than the help’s son?”
My laughter echoes through the parking garage, my balled fists a slight reprieve from the rage growing within me. “And you’re the son of a gold-digging whore. But let’s not throw stones.”
His entire face goes red, smoke practically billowing from his ears.
Talking about his mother is a low blow, but it makes my point. The entire town loves to gossip about how Mrs. Donavan was nothing more than a stripper before she met his dad. He doesn’t have any right to be judging my mother.
He steps closer, pointing his finger in my face. “Better watch your mouth, asshole. Things might not go so well for you without Thatcher here to protect you.”
I stand straight, my six-two stature towering over him. “You want to take a swing at me and find out?”
Thatcher may’ve become the muscle of our little threesome, but I was getting into fights long before we ever met. Before I gained thirty pounds of muscle. Back when I still looked like a piece of taffy that’d been pulled too thin.
The coward shakes his head and moves back. “Just fucking tell me what you want so I can get on with my day.”
“The thing is, Shane,” I begin, my voice dripping with condescension, “I thought we had an understanding. But clearly, there are some things you need to be reminded of.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stutters. Shane doesn’t have much of a poker face; he knows exactly why I’m here.
“See, I think you do.” His eyes grow wider as I crack my knuckles. “In fact, I’m betting you aren’t all that surprised to see me today.”
“I don’t have time for your fucking riddles.”
“Playing dumb is only going to piss me off,” I warn. “But all right, we’ll do it your way. Let me be clear. If you fuck with Gwen anymore, I will end you.”
“What did that fucking cunt—”
I lunge and grab him by the throat, slamming him into the trunk of his car before he even knows what hit him. “Be very careful with your choice of words.”
My grip tightens as he struggles to free himself, his fingertips clawing at me.
“Get off me,” he wheezes. “I didn’t do anything to her.”
I lift him enough to slam him back down with a punishing force. “This could all go a lot quicker and a lot less painful for you if you stop lying. I saw the pictures you sent her this morning.”
His mask slips for only a second, his features appearing even more sinister once it’s back in place. “So? That doesn’t mean shit. Did you ask her about it?”
I let him go, and he straightens his stance. The way his lips curl as he dusts