Unwritten Rules (Filthy Florida Alphas 3)

“Jesus, Marcum. I don’t want to see that shit,” Ghost and Topper yell.

“I don’t mind,” Babs says and I wink at her while I drain my dick.

“Thanks, darlin’,” I tell her.

“Anytime,” Babs laughs as Topper swats her on the ass.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Max questions with a roar when he opens the door. I’m still pissing. I guess all that alcohol had to go somewhere. “Jesus Christ old man, what in the hell are you doing?”

“You and I need to have an understanding Maxwell.”

“One where you take a piss on Tess’s flowerbed at midnight?”

“Just watering them. See, I’m not fucking old, the old prostate works just fucking fine.”

“Fucking hell,” Max mutters from behind his hand. “Top why in the hell are you letting him out in this shape?”

“You know your old man. Not an asshole alive can stop him when he gets something in his head.”

“In case you assholes were wondering, I can still fucking hear too,” I tell them, shaking my dick dry. I turn to see Babs looking at my dick. “It still works just fine too,” I tell her with a grin.

“Marcum, dude, don’t make me kill you,” Topper says, pulling Babs to him.

“You could try.” I shrug.

“Oh stop it both of you. You know I’m not going anywhere, you old fart. But a girl can be taken and still look. Jesus, I’m not dead and he’s packing a monster,” Babs laughs.

“She’s got a point there.” That comes from Tess, and that’s something that I don’t want. My daughter-in-law should never see my dick. I zip up my pants quickly.

“Tess, darlin’, you just forget you saw any of this.”

“I’ll try. What’s going on with you, Dad?” she asks softly and she doesn’t call me Dad often, but when she does, I find I like it.

“He’s here to get killed if he keeps flashing you his fucking cock.”

“That! That right there! I’m sick of this Maxwell! Tess is a daughter to me! I don’t think of her like that! You’re wrong for even thinking that shit.”

“Marcum, you aren’t making a bit of sense.”

“To be fair, he wasn’t at the club either,” Topper adds and I flip him off.

“Or in the truck,” Ghost responds.

“Fuck you, fuck all of you,” I growl. “Sorry for the language, Tess.”

She grins. “It’s okay.”

“This is Maxwell’s fault,” I grumble.

“It usually is,” Tess answers, and Max frowns at her. She reaches up and kisses him and the sight makes my heart hurt. Max deserves this. He went through hell. He totally deserves it…

Or at least he did before he tried to fuck with me.

“You put shit in my head and I can’t work around it!” I growl.

“Uh… I think I’ll go make some coffee. I’m thinking we’re going to need it. You guys staying?” she asks the others.

“Wouldn’t miss a minute of this, honey,” Topper says.

“Same here,” Ghost adds, “But, I’d rather have a beer.”

“I’ll be in the house when you guys move this in. Dad, I love you, but if you could be just a little quieter so Maddie sleeps, I’d appreciate it.”

“You got it darlin’,” I yell.

Tess winces.

“Think you’re beating a dead horse there, Kitten,” Max says, pulling her close and kissing her temple.

“Be gentle,” she whispers, and I don’t know what she’s talking about, but it’s sweet. Yeah, Maxwell deserves this—if he wasn’t such a fucking prick.

“All right, old man. Why don’t you come inside and let’s hash this out?” Max responds when she disappears back in the house.

I blink because fuck… I think there might be two of them.

Maybe I am a little too drunk…17Max“I’m not coming in,” Marcum growls. “You and I are going to have this out, Maxwell.”

I step outside, closing the door, trying to keep what noise I can out—just so Maddie can sleep. I’ve learned that my father doesn’t let things go easily. I’ve rarely seen him drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this drunk, so I figure he’s definitely not going to be cooperative.

“Fine. Would you like to tell me exactly what we’re having out?”

“Don’t play stupid, boy! You know what you did! You messed with my fucking head and that shit is messing with my dick!”

“Jesus Christ,” I mumble rubbing the side of my face. I need more sleep to deal with this. “What in the hell did you let the son of a bitch drink, Top?”

“Vodka… Devil’s blend. Not sure how much, Dawg. God’s truth it could have been the whole damned bottle.”

“Fuck, he’d be dead,” I argue, but from looking at the shape Marcum is in, I can’t completely dismiss what Top says.

“I could always handle my liquor,” Marcum brags. If the old man could get a look at himself right now, he might think twice about making that boast.

“Fine. Then tell me what’s going on, Marcum. It’s late and I was in bed with my wife and I want to go back there.”