His eyes flick in Bristol's direction and then back to me.
"Marriages like yours." He pauses, a demon's gleam in his eyes. "Some think those children are abominations. I haven't seen pictures of her, but I've heard she-"
My fist is already arcing toward his face. I know it's a cruel, clever trap. I know he's pushing my buttons in the worst situation possible-with the cameras probably still rolling and in front of all these fans. He wants me violent, not civilized, educated, articulate, certainly not putting his flabby, pasty, bigot ass in its place, but knowing his agenda and letting this go are two different things. It's too much for him to speak about Zoe like that. Before I can reach him, a blur of white separates Ford from me, and a crack sounds through the space. Collective shock ripples through the crowd as they watch my wife glare up at the shit bag destined for the hard end of my fist.
"You aren't worthy to speak my daughter's name," she says, low enough for no one else to hear, fiercely enough to strip bark off trees in Central Park. "She did more in one day than you'll do in your whole miserable life, you racist asshole."
Ford's hand touches the livid mark on his face and he sputters, but Bristol charges on before he can speak.
"You want to send someone to prison?" she asks. "Send me. Press charges against me."
His eyes, narrowed and angry, telegraph his outrage as the event organizers, with Amir's help, hustle everyone outside, even though people continue to look curiously over their shoulders at the drama unfolding. His supporters try to press close, but the event security herds them through the front door while a few stay close to us.
"I will press charges and-"
"Oh, please do," Bristol interjects. "Then I can tell the whole world that you told a recently bereaved mother that her child was an abomination. Let's see how quickly the sponsors for your radio show disappear then, Mr. Family Values. And the super PAC raising money for your future political aspirations-how long would it take them to withdraw their support?"
He blanches, licking nervously at the spittle collected in the corner of his mouth.
"It would be your word against mine," he says with false calm.
"And who would people believe?" Bristol tilts her head to a pitying angle. "Do you know who my brother is? The people I manage and represent? Who my father is? The power my mother wields in this town? Do you know who's mentored me since college? You don't have nearly enough influence or firepower to fight me."
She takes a step closer, and I step with her, grabbing her arm, hating to see her any closer to him.
"Bristol, let's go," I say, reflecting the words she used to calm me the last time we had an encounter with this man.
Her eyes plead with me to let her handle it this time, and after a moment, I reluctantly nod, linking my arm around her waist in case something pops off. I know why she did it, but it's galling and I abhor the fact that she put herself in danger-again, for me, but I'll deal with that once we're done.
"It's not all those people you should worry about," she continues, pressing her arm over mine at her waist, twining our fingers.
"It's me you should fear, because of the three of us"-with her free hand, she gestures to herself, Ford, and me-"you and I are the thugs. My husband is an honorable man. You won't bring him down, and the next time you try, I'll show you what an abomination looks like."
Ford's eyes slit with blood-thirst and he practically bares his fangs at Bristol. The air chills around us, his malevolence sweeping in like an icy wind.
"You keep looking at her like that," I tell him through gritted teeth, "I'll undo all her hard work convincing these nice people I wasn't half a second off whipping your ass."
"You think too highly of yourself, boy," he spits, a gnarled smile on his face. "Upstarts like you, imposters. Your day is coming, though."
"Oh, my day is here." I struggle to maintain my composure. He's pushing every button, and I need to get out of here before things get worse, before he says something else that will make me want to squeeze the life from his body.
"You take our jobs, our opportunities"-his narrowed eyes shift to Bristol-"our women, and you weaken the country my ancestors built, but we will take it back."
"They built this country on my ancestors' backs, motherfucker." We go from me restraining Bristol to her restraining me. "None of us were here first. Unless you're Native American, you're an import just like me. We didn't ask to come here, but we're here now, and I have just as much right to it as you do. It's as much mine as it is yours, maybe more, because nothing about you, what you believe, looks anything like the America I believe in."
We're a trifuckta, three sets of horns tangled up, when Amir steps in to break the tension.
"Car's here," he says tersely with a belligerent glance at Ford before he looks back to me. "You ready?"
I can't even look at Ford for another second, the muscles of my arms straining and my fists clenching with the need to pound his face until it's unrecognizable. I help Bristol into the car and immediately fling myself into the corner of the back seat, chin in my hand. Fury hounds me as I consider the city lights, unable to look at Bristol, much less speak to her.
"Grip, if you could-"
"Don't." It's the only word I can manage without tearing into her.
"I know you're upset I slapped him, but-"
"Bristol, be quiet."
I close my eyes. I count to ten. I try to visualize a serene locale, but there is not enough woosah in the world to calm me down right now. It's silent for a few moments, my harshly drawn breaths the only sound in the car.
"But if you would just-"
I snap my head around and pin her to the leather seat with a glare.
"What did I say? Not another word until we get home."
"I'm not some child you can silence when you don't like what I say," she fires back, irritation pinching her pretty features.
She doesn't realize her indignation is a puny thing compared to my wrath.
"One more word outta you, Bristol James, and you're getting spanked or fucked in this back seat," I snap. "Amir can never un-see either of those things. You decide what it's gonna be."
She blinks a few times, her eyes narrowed but a little nervous because she knows I mean every word. She huffs out a breath, sitting in her little corner and folding her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes in Amir's direction. What the fuck ever. Pout, throw a tantrum and flail on the floor for all I care, but she better not say another damn word to me.
"Let us out," I tell Amir when we reach our building. He and the driver take the SUV to the underground parking garage while we go through the lobby. In the elevator, I still cannot stomach looking at her. I'm so pissed right now, and the worst part? I'm harder than a motherfucker. There was a time when I'd know how this night would end. We'd have a knock-down, drag-out, we'd resolve the issue, and then we'd fuck the night away with makeup sex-but we haven't had sex in six weeks, and the things I have to say to her may not be resolved tonight.
As soon as we're inside, she takes off her shoes and stomps up the steps like we're done.
The hell.
She makes it halfway before I catch up to her, grabbing her arm.
"Where do you think you're going?" I demand, eye to eye since she's on the step above.
"To bed," she says. "You're being ridiculous about this, and, apparently, you need space to calm down."
"Oh, I need space to calm down?" The anger I've been checking busts the seams. "Is that what you think I need?"
"Yeah. I think so."
"No, Bristol, what I need is for you to stop hurling yourself in front of Mack trucks every time you think you're helping me."
"I was helping." She throws her free arm out to the side. "If you had hit Ford after all the things you said tonight, it would have undermined everything. That's exactly what he wanted."
"So you slapped a powerful, evil, dangerous man like Clem Ford? That's your answer?"
"You have a better one?"
"Anything that doesn't involve you making an enemy of someone like him is a better solution, but that seems to be your forte-making dumb decisions to save me."
"Don't you dare bring up Parker," she says with heat.
"The same recklessness you demonstrated with Parker," I reply through gritted teeth, "is the recklessness you showed tonight when you slapped fucking Clem Ford."
"Don't ask me not to protect you," she says, her body taut with frustration and anger.
"You don't protect me, dammit!" My voice shatters the quiet of our home, splintering any chance for peace. "I protect you."
"That is the biggest load of chauvinist crap I've ever heard," she yells back, the veins in her neck straining with the force of her anger.