Rule Breakers (Off Limits #2) - Nicky James Page 0,60

I’m staying the night, where am I staying? On your couch?” There was a hint of humor and suggestion in Harley’s eyes for the first time since he’d shown up.

“We’ll see.”

Harley chuckled as I flipped through the channels to see if there was anything worth watching. I found some action flick I knew would help take Harley’s mind off things and settled beside him. It didn’t take long for him to move into my space, the long line of his body pressed to mine. He rested his head on my shoulder and sighed.

Like the previous nights, Edison didn’t show his face until close to two thirty in the morning. I’d long ago fallen asleep, slumped against Harley. He’d wrapped his arm around me, and his body heat was enough to lull me under.

The door clicking shut, less quiet than the previous nights, jolted me awake. Edison must have noticed his dad’s car in the driveway and seen the light of the TV from the window because he made no effort to sneak into the house.

Harley was awake and alert as I clawed my way back to the surface of consciousness, disoriented and a bit foggy. Edison came through to the living room, and his gaze shifted between us on the couch, irritation crossing his face like he had any right to be annoyed.

No one said anything for a long time. Harley worked his jaw, Edison shifted his weight, and I prepared to go on the defense in case Harley decided to kill his son in a heated moment of rage.

Edison’s guilt was written all over him. He wore a skin-tight pair of black jeans, a black silk shirt that was unbuttoned provocatively halfway down his front, and something I hadn’t expected to see on my nephew—a touch of eyeliner, which brought out the smoky quality of his eyes. There was a spiked collar around his neck and a few silver bracelets around his wrist.

Harley noticed it all too. How could he not? This was not the Edison we were used to seeing.

The visual was one thing, but the overwhelming scent of alcohol and cheap cologne wafting off him, pungent and ripe, was the real kicker.

Edison spoke first, his voice soft and unsure. “I can explain. It’s not how it looks.”

Harley was off the couch in a flash, pouncing like a lion, roaring with the anger he’d been simmering in for hours. “Not how it looks? This is exactly how it fucking looks. You look like a goddamn little slut. You made promises, Edison. You said you were ready to be an adult. I was a fucking fool to believe you. The first time you don’t get what you want or you’re made to wait, you run off and have a little tantrum. Probably whored your ass to the first man who winked at you. That’s not adult behavior.”

Harley was on a rampage. If I didn’t jump in, he’d yell himself hoarse. This was where his parenting methods tended to fail. He was a shout first, ask questions later type of guy.

Edison hadn’t flinched nor had he broken eye contact with his father. It was a testament to how many times they’d done this.

I went up behind Harley and took him by the shoulders, pulling him back against me, speaking by his ear. “Hey, cool it. Breathe. Maybe you should let him explain. Hear what he has to say.”

Harley’s skin ticked and vibrated under my hands. He had to have one last jab. “How many men had their hands all over you tonight, huh? Dressed like that, I bet they were clawing at you left and right.”

“Wow. Are you jealous, Dad?” Edison asked, tone steady and challenging. The kid had a death wish.

I had to hold Harley back because the comment made him jolt forward. “Yes, I’m fucking jealous,” he roared. “You don’t throw shit in my face and ask things of me like you have unless you’re serious about it. Two days ago, you were begging me to take you to bed.”

“And you didn’t.” Edison’s voice carried a hint of anger. His brows joined in the middle.

Harley growled.

“Edison.” If I didn’t cut in, blood would be shed. “Start talking. Where were you tonight and last night and the night before? What’s going on?”

Edison continued to stare at Harley, his jaw ticking in the same way his father’s ticked. “I got a job. I’m bartending full-time at The Manhole. No, it’s not glamorous. No, it’s not a career. No, the money