That’s what the unchanging glance in his eyes translates to. He’s so assertive and confident that it can be seen from a mile away. That’s what pissed me off about him at first glance. The second the driver stopped the car in front of my gate, I found this guy waiting there like a serial killer with some creeper tendencies.
A rush of familiar footsteps reaches me, followed by distinctive gasps and my daughter’s soft voice. “Papa, what are you doing?”
“Stay back, Cecy. I’m going to drive this intruder out and come join you. Kim, call the police.”
A gentle hand wraps around my bicep, and I’m enveloped by my favorite type of warmth as my wife says calmly, “Put the shotgun down first, Xan. We can talk about this.”
“I’ll talk to the intruder’s corpse after I put it to rest.”
“Papa!”
To my horror, Cecily all but runs to the American’s side, grabs his hand in hers as if it’s an everyday occurrence, and meets my gaze carefully, shyly, and then she strokes the side of her nose.
Fuck me.
No.
I’ll pretend I didn’t see her being embarrassed for simply being in his company.
And why the bloody hell is the fucking bastard looking at her with those heated eyes as if he will devour her?
I’ll kill him first. That’s it. The solution for this situation can only be murder.
“This is Jeremy, and he’s…my boyfriend.”
“You’ll be boy dead if you don’t step away from my daughter. Now.”
“That museum-looking thing isn’t even loaded,” he comments dryly.
“Doesn’t need to be loaded if I hit you upside the head with it.” I storm in his direction to do just that, but Kim holds me back, and my traitor daughter has subtly stood in front of serial killer/gangster/lizard Jeremy.
The top of her head barely reaches his collarbone, so the fact that she thinks she can protect him is comical at best.
Or would’ve been if the wanker wasn’t in the process of stealing my only daughter. She’s never stood up to me before. The last time she brought a boyfriend home, that fucking Jonah, she merely smiled and shook her head when I threatened him with bodily harm.
I might have opened a bottle of champagne when she told us she broke up with the tool during her last year of secondary school.
What? No one deserves my baby daughter.
But even I knew there would be a day when she’d have another relationship. It did take longer than I thought. Almost two years—not that I’m complaining. Still, I thought perhaps Cecily had also realized that no one is good for her and would decide to spend the rest of her life with her mother and me.
Wishful thinking.
Because my worst nightmare has come true, and she has a boyfriend. No. I refuse to address him as such. I’ll make sure he’ll leave my house as her ex-boyfriend.
“Papa, can you please put the shotgun down?” she implores, and the fucker subtly moves in front of her so that he’s the one shielding her instead of the other way around.
“Depends. Can the slimy fucker stop touching you and leave?”
“With all due respect, that won’t be happening.” The more he talks, the deeper my hate grows for the cunt.
Not to mention, he’s still touching my fucking daughter.
During my moment of glaring and plotting the best way to throw the fucker into a ditch and dispose of his corpse, the shotgun is sneakily removed from my hands.
I stare at my wife, who’s smiling victoriously while holding the gun at her side. She’s more beautiful than the world and everyone in it, and there’s nothing I want to do other than hug and kiss her. Maybe carry her to our bedroom and make her forget the world exists.
But that can wait until we get rid of the intruder.