My head snapped up. “I’ll bury the son of a bitch if I have to.”
“I doubt your father would be real thrilled with that.”
I laughed humorlessly. “I wouldn’t bet on that. Dad met her last week. Trust me, after hearing what she’s been through, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it himself.”
“Another David?”
What my father had done to David was worse than death. Even Brock couldn’t stomach the stories we’d all heard, and seeing the man first hand made it very clear that most of the rumors were true.
David never walked again after my dad “visited” him. He was missing his left eye and right ear, and one leg had been shattered so badly they’d had to amputate it to save his life. He had third degree burns on his head, neck, chest, and back, but the torture hadn’t stopped there. Half of his fingers were broken, the other half cut off, and his tongue was missing. I didn’t want to think about what happened to his junk. A shiver ran down my spine thinking about it. How the hell my father had managed to get away with it was beyond me.
“Possibly.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Speaking of Tolley,” Brock said, getting up to let him in.
The slimy bastard sauntered into the room like he owned the place. He stepped in front of me, holding out a small envelope in his left hand. It was nowhere near big enough to hold the amount of money he owed me. All of my debtors knew they weren’t allowed to pay me with anything higher than a fifty.
Why do I get the feeling that the man thinks he has one over on me?
“I’m guessing by the size of this envelope that this isn’t even an eighth of what you owe me.” I handed the envelope over to Brock to start counting.
“It’s ten grand. I’ll have the rest by the end of our agreement. I should have thought to trade her sooner. I don’t have to use hotels anymore, but I do hate having to clean the apartment.” His eyes darted around the room. “Where is the lazy bitch, anyway? She better be doing what I told her to, even though she’s a lousy lay.”
I leapt from the chair and without a thought let my fist fly. It connected with his face and he stumbled back, bumping into one of the tables. With another punch, I knocked him to the floor, leaping onto his chest. My glasses flew off my face and slid across the room.
“Don’t you ever . . . talk about her . . . like that . . . again!”
This wasn’t the first time I’d had to make my point with my fist. Hell, it wasn’t even the tenth. This piece of shit was lucky it was only my fist I was using. I felt the cold steel of my glock shifting against my hip as I swung back again and again.
I didn’t hide behind my muscle. I might have used Brock from time to time, but that was when I had more pressing business, or when the person involved wasn’t worthy of me getting my hands dirty. I had a reputation—one I’d earned. You did not fuck with me, and Elena was mine, at least for the moment, and therefore this guy did not fuck with her either.
Blood splattered across my hands and arms, my shoulders ached and my knuckles were raw. I reached back to take another swing, not giving two shits about the damage I was doing to him, when strong arms wrapped around my chest, pulling me away.
“He’s out cold.”
My breaths came in pants. I looked down. One eye was already swollen shut, his hair, stained red, clung to his head, blood dripped from his nose, which now bent at an awkward angle.
“Get him out of here,” I snarled. “Call someone to stay with the fucker until he wakes up and make it very clear that if ever talks about Elena that way again, he’ll be praying for me to only knock him out.”
“Ashton—” Brock started.
“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” I yelled. “Get that motherfucker out of my sight.”
Brock didn’t argue further. He quietly scooped up Dominic and pulled him into one of the bathrooms at the back of the clubhouse. There were too many people milling around to get him out of the stadium, but I was too pissed to think rationally. I didn’t want to think about the why on that one.
“God-fucking-damn it.” I pulled out my other phone, the one that couldn’t be traced, knowing the only way to fix the situation was a call to Dad. He was either going to be pissed as hell or agree whole-heartedly.
The phone rang a few times before he finally picked up.
“Hello?”
“Dad, we’ve got a problem.”
“Don’t tell me you got arrested.” His voice got louder with each word. I heard Mom yelling in the background.
“I didn’t get arrested, at least not yet.” I searched the room for my missing glasses.