Bad Boys of Romance(14)

Half an hour later, I’ve polished off one bottle of beer and cracked the top of another when Amber sits across from me at our dining table. She’s fresh from the shower so the overwhelming stench of puke and alcohol has dissipated for now.

“What do you want, Switch?” She sighs, tiredly, the slur in her voice indicating she’s still off her face.

“Gotta talk about something. I know you’re gonna be pissed, but, honest to God, Amber, I’m done caring. I’ve booked you into a treatment facility. You’re going. No arguments,” I press when she tries to interrupt me.

“I don’t have a problem,” she scowls. “The only issue I’ve got is I married a man who isn’t supportive.”

“That’s a load of fucking shit and you know it,” I seethe.

“Yeah, well, I should have known better. Thought you would have changed. Thought you would have fallen in love with me,” she rambles, hardly making any sense.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You,” she stands suddenly, pointing her long, skinny finger in my face. “You’re my only problem. I gave you everything, you stupid fucking asshole and all I wanted in return was for you to love me,” she screaming now, her face beet-red. “Look what I had to go through just to get you to fucking marry me,” she screeches.

“And what the fuck was that, Amber? What was it?” I demand, my voice booming.

“You couldn’t fucking marry me just because you loved me. You married me because I was pregnant. Well, thank fucking Christ I got rid of that piece of shit. You can’t even love me. How were you gonna love a baby?”

She slumps back down in her chair, her head lolling back, and my mind reels. I round the table, my blood boiling in my veins, my hands shaking with rage.

“What the fuck did you say?” I grind out, my tone deathly quiet.

She opens her eyes and brings her head level. Her eyes widen when she focuses on my murderous glare.

“What?” She whispers.

“What the fuck did you say,” I roar, slamming my fist down on the table, causing it to jolt. My beer spills, clunking to the floor, but I don’t give a shit.

“I had an abortion,” she admits, still whispering. “Switch, you don’t understand,” she begins screaming hysterically. Fat tears roll down her face, but I know it’s all an act. Her eyes aren’t sad. Her emotion is fake. The bitch is trying to play me.

Fuck! She has been all along.

My fingers itch to reach out and wrap around her throat and for the first time in my life, I want to physically harm a woman.

I grab her under the arm, lifting her effortlessly from her seat. My fingers are probably gripping her too hard, but I can’t bring myself to care. I pull her roughly through the house and outside to my truck.

After shoving her in, I blast the music and take off towards the treatment facility. I need her out of my sight before I kill the bitch.

***

“Can I help you, sir?” The receptionist asks.

“Yeah, I spoke to someone here earlier. Amber Cruz,” I sneer when I say her full name, suddenly hating the fact that she carries my last name.

She taps on her computer and finds the details I gave them earlier.

“Switch, please. I love you. Don’t do this. It was a mistake. I promise. I’ll do anything,” she falls to her knees, clutching my leg as she begs.

“I’ll send the divorce papers here. Have a nice life, Amber.” I untangle myself and walk out without a backwards glance.

I should go to the clubhouse. I should go and drown my sorrows with my brothers and then I should lose myself in the pussy of a club whore, who I can fuck all of my rage out in.

But, I don’t do any of those things.





JENN


Thankfully, I didn’t have to work today, so I spent the morning cleaning my house and the afternoon laying in the sun reading. It was the perfect Monday, if there is such a thing.

I know tomorrow will be a full-on day at work, seeing as I’ll be going over all the ‘after’ details of the ball, like making sure all auction purchases were paid for and ensuring the successful bidders claimed their prizes, and in the cases where they wanted their item sent, making sure they get to the new owner. I will also need to send out a raft of thank-you letters and do the final tally so Joe’s Bar can present a check to the McMahon family. Knowing I have so much to do, it was hard for me to relax, but I managed it, barely.

I hear a faint tapping on my front door just as I’ve dressed in my pajamas after an early shower.

Confusion hits me. Slowly, I pad toward the door, unsure whether I actually heard someone knocking or not. I jump when the person knocks harder.