“Seems like I took what was yours and did it anyway.”

The quiet comment’s double meaning—the stolen blueprints and exposure of Rylee on the video—calls to me like a goddamn moth to a flame. This time I can’t resist.

He sees my punch coming and gets a quick one into my rib cage before my knuckles meet his jaw. His head snaps back. His body slams into the wall behind him. The sound of him grunting overrides my quick sting of pain from where he landed his.

My body vibrates with anger. Pure unfettered rage as I stare at the waste of space and talk myself out of finishing this right now. And of course because he’s a cocky fucker, when he lifts his head back up, that curl to his lips tests my restraint.

Jesus Christ. This is so much fucking harder than I thought it would be. To keep my shit together when all I want to do is show him the rage I feel. Throw punch after punch. Relieve the stress and pain he has caused us.

But that won’t solve anything.

“You’re a useless piece of shit. Deserve everything you get.”

“What I get? Like I said, Donavan. You can’t touch me. I did nothing illegal. The video wasn’t yours. I didn’t steal it. It was in a safety deposit box while I served my time. Shit, it gained in value.”

“Did that eat at you, Eddie?” I ask, stepping back into his personal space. “Taunt you every fucking day while you sat in a six-by-ten cell? You felt entitled to fuck with my family because you’re a useless piece of shit who can’t control his own gambling habits, so to save his own ass, has to rob Peter to pay Paul? It’s so much easier to place the blame somewhere else than realize you did this to yourself.” I poke my finger in his chest as I laugh under my breath. Taunt him. “Talk about being a pussy.”

Dangle the carrot.

“A pussy?” he asks, voice louder as he stands taller. Little-man complex front and center as he puffs his chest out. “You cost me everything!” His voice thunders into the empty apartment, spittle flying from his mouth, as he slowly becomes unhinged. “My wife. My kids. Everything!”

“Cheaters never prosper,” I say in a singsong voice. He starts to come after me, nostrils flared, fists clenched, but stops when I just raise my eyebrows at him. My empathy is nil. “You. Can’t. Touch. Me,” I whisper back to him in the same voice he used with me.

“Fuck you!” he screams, rage winding with each and every word. “You’re the one who caused all of this. Not me. You want to point a finger? Point it at yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch.”

“I caused this? You’re out of your goddamn mind!” Come at me. Please. Give me a fucking reason to go against my promise to myself. Motherfucker. My fists are clenched, my blood is on fire, and it is taking every ounce of restraint I have to not knock his teeth out. But I don’t. He’s baiting me. Doing a damn fine job of it. But a black eye is one thing. Knocking his teeth out is another.

But damn is it tempting.

His jaw clenches. Hands fist. His body physically bristles at my criticism. His ego so large he’s dying to correct me. “You’re such an arrogant asshole. I knew you wouldn’t part with your money. Even planted some seeds with the tabloids to put pressure on you. But fuck, you’re the goddamn golden boy so you figured you’d take the hit in stride. Get an ego boost from the attention it sure as fuck was going to get you. But not once did you think about that precious wife of yours, did you?” His words serve their purpose. Dig at me. Carve into the guilt. “Threw her to the goddamn wolves rather than pay me the money. You proved me right. You’re all about you and could give a fuck less about Rylee or her reputation—”

“Don’t you fucking say her name again,” I yell. I connect with him, forearm against his throat as I pin him against the wall behind him. And he doesn’t resist. Knows damn well he’s pushing my buttons and he’s having way too much fun doing it because he thinks I can’t touch him. His lack of reaction a non-verbal, fuck you.

“Why? Does it bug you, Donavan, that I called it right? That when I knew you weren’t going to pay, I chose to fuck your wife over anyway. Prove to her what a piece of shit her husband is. That he chose money over her?” I press my arm harder into him, needing to shut him up yet wanting the torture of hearing more. “How did it feel when she pushed away from you? When she blamed you for losing her job? I hoped it ripped you apart inside. Fucked with your head because it’s nowhere close to how I felt when you took my wife from me.”

“Go to hell,” I grit out, unable to move because I know if I do, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. My fury has a mind of its own and all it’s waiting for is any little thing to set it off. “I’m not playing into your mind games. Because you’re leaving out that you’re the one who fucked up. You were so goddamn thirsty for revenge that you forgot about the loan sharks waiting to crawl up your ass. You let your temper get the best of you, uploaded the video without even negotiating, and were shit out of luck because your bargaining chip just went out the goddamn window. You lost your money and knew the bill collectors were coming.” I let the smirk play the corners of my mouth as my fists beg to finish the talking for us.

“I get the last laugh though, don’t I?” he taunts in his calm, even voice despite the pressure on his chest. “That little video made you the ‘it couple’ for the media. Caused a frenzy. Frenzy means more money. Upped the price of the photo of your son to a pretty penny. Killed two birds with one stone: paid off my debts and got a final ‘fuck you’ in with your kid.” He leans his head forward as far as he can so his face is inches from mine. He whispers but I can hear it clear as fucking day. “You’re not such a badass when every man in America is watching that wife of yours come and fantasizing it was them with her, now are you?”

Restraint snapped.

Promise to myself reneged.

The fucker deserves it.

This one’s for Rylee

My fist flies. The impact is bittersweet as his head snaps to the side, blood spurting from his nose, a groan falling out as he brings his hands to his face and slides down the wall. I’m only allowing myself one.

Fuck it’s going to be hard to walk away. So I don’t. I step closer, rein in the fury and take the high road when all I want to do is crawl in the gutter with him. I reach out and yank his hair so his head snaps up to look at me.

“Don’t ever come near my family again.” My threat is plain as day. I let go of his hair, shoving his head back. “What is it they say about revenge? Before you try to get it, make sure to dig two graves?” I grate out, voice shaking, body amped up on adrenaline. “Maybe you should have taken the advice.” He looks up, confusion flickering in his eyes as to what I mean. His mind only focused on the grave he dug for me, and not the one he should have dug for himself.

Well, if he doesn’t get it now, he sure as fuck is going to understand in about two minutes.

“Fuck you,” he says as I walk toward the door.

I stop and hang my head down as a chuckle falls from my mouth that clearly says the same thing back to him. I let the silence eat up the room. Allow him to think this is all there is going to be.

And then I drop the hammer.

“You may have paid your debts back. But I think you forgot about the interest you owe them. I guess I’ll let someone else do my dirty work for me after all.”

I open the door and walk out of the apartment, a part of me wishing I could see the expression on his face, the other part of me never wanting to see him again. Holding my hand up, I ask the guys standing a few feet away to give me a minute. A goddamn second to catch my breath and figure out how the fuck I feel about getting but not getting what I wanted.

Because yes, I got my answers. Got them tied up with a nice little bow that normally I’d question the ease in which he confessed them. But I know that fucker inside out. I worked with him for years, watched him across the table from me in mediation and on the stand during the trial, can read him like a fucking road map. Do I question the answers’ validity? Not enough to care because he was so itching to one-up me. Desperate to prove he stuck it to me in the end—got me back—that he was so amped up on the high of it, there was no way in hell he’d be able to spin the truth.

So yes, I’m good with his explanations. But fuck if I’m not struggling with giving him what he deserves by my own hand. Rylee. The reason. The answer. The goddamn everything. That’s why I have to be okay with this outcome. With someone else doing my dirty work to reach the same endgame.

And when I look up, they are there, ready and willing to do it for me. And for them. Three fuckers solid as tree stumps. Scary shit to owe money to these guys.

“You have five minutes to collect your interest before Kelly calls the cops. Make sure he’s alive when they get here. He seems to be in violation of a restraining order.”

Fucker has no idea what’s about to hit him. Fairly sure it’ll wipe the smarmy smirk off his face.

I think he’ll welcome going back to jail after they get done with him.

I meet Sammy’s eyes. I see the question there. You’ve wanted a piece of Eddie for so damn long, why are you walking away now?

But Sammy knows why. Probably can still hear the fury in my voice from the hospital all these days later. Her. Safety. Comes. First.

And if not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to justify shit to anyone. I have two perfectly good reasons at home. They’re what matters. My end all, be all.

The reason I’ll never stop trying to be the man deserving of them.

I just shake my head and slide into the waiting car. I’ve wasted enough time on Eddie fucking Kimball.


Eddie will not be bugging you again. He’s in custody.