8
Brock
Ihave very little warning before things turn to shit.
This time, it’s in the form of a door slamming, dragging me from the most sublime sleep I’ve had in years. I barely pry my eyes open before an unwanted voice intrudes.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Goldie shrieks and tries to dive off me. I catch her in my arms and steady her, making sure she’s covered as the figure walks into her bedroom.
Mark Fletcher.
It’s sometime in the middle of Sunday night, which means he’s returned early. And he’s just walked in on me post-plowing his daughter.
I should feel shame but I don’t. I’m more concerned by Goldie’s distress. She’s pressed up tight against me and I feel the panicked racing of her heart. I wrap her arms around her and brush a soothing kiss over her forehead.
“Goldie?” her father demands, shock and fury lacing his voice.
“You make a habit of walking into your daughter’s room without knocking?” I snap. I don’t give a shit that he’s her father. I don’t want his eyes on her. Hell, I don’t want him anywhere near her. Ever.
Goldie gasps against my shoulder, but I maintain eye contact with the guy fuming in the doorway.
“Hey, Dad.”
Fletcher’s jaw ripples in fury. Which he wisely keeps under wraps. Any aggression against my honey and he’ll slide from my shit list onto my kill list.
“This wasn’t the…how I expected to find you after a year of being gone,” he bites out at her.
She stiffens and looks upset.
It takes the fact that I woke up with my dick still inside his daughter—and that I’d most definitely end up back in prison if I dismember him before I accomplish what I came here to do—to keep me where I am.
“I’m nineteen, Dad. I’m not a kid anymore. And…” She casts me a furtive glance and I’m thrilled when she seems to gather some strength from me. “You didn’t exactly knock, did you? So if you don’t mind, can I have some privacy, please?”
Fletcher’s anger grows, but short of standing there watching us, he doesn’t have a choice but to leave. “I want to see you in the kitchen in five minutes.” He starts to turn away then pauses, his eyes searching mine. “Do I know you? You look familiar,” he says, eyes narrowed as he tries to place me.
My teeth bare with my fury.
I ease Goldie off me, stifling a groan at the warm grip of her pussy.
Yeah, I’m dying to punch Fletcher for making me lose this snug heaven, but I can’t put this off any longer.
I make sure she’s covered before I answer him. “I should fucking hope so. You put me behind bars for three fucking years for something I didn’t do. But it’s your lucky day. I’m here to give you a chance to correct that, counsellor.”
Beside me, Goldie jerks in shock. Possibly at my savage tone of voice. Possibly because she senses there’s more to this than I let on.
My gut churns at what that could mean down the line, but for now, I need to deal with Mark Fletcher. I’ve waited too long to make things right and now he’s in front of me, I realize that my life has been on hold since that night in the bar.
I need to put this to bed and start living again. Hopefully with Goldie at my side.
Years of locker room dressing and undressing in front of dozens of teammates has whittled away any self-consciousness when it comes to nudity.
And it gives me a sick little kick to see Fletcher scramble back when I rise from the bed with evidence of what I’ve been doing with his daughter all over my body.
His eyes check out my tattoos, the more tasteful ones I had before I went inside and the few, less salubrious expressions of my fury during my incarceration.
But it’s the familiar one on my left pec, the one of the bloodied fist clutching a sword, worn by most of the Warrior team members on their jerseys that snags his attention and confirms my identity to him.