Make Me, Sir (Doms of Decadence 5)

“Are we still friends?”

Alex stood and studied the floor, searching for more glass. Reagan watched him rather than Tara.

“Why would you ask that? Why wouldn’t we still be friends?”

“I threw a vase at you.”

“Well, it was an interesting way to be greeted, for sure. But I’ve had friends who’ve done worse. When I was in first grade, Emily Perkins pulled my braid and then hugged me when I cried, we were best friends until she moved away.”

Reagan frowned. She didn’t understand. “As a child, you made friends with someone who pulled your hair?”

“All I meant is, well, I’m not sure what I meant.” She glanced over at Alex who stared at his wife and shook his head.

“What Tara really wants to know is why you threw the vase,” he told her. “And do you have somewhere I can put this?” He nodded down at the pan full of glass.

“I’ll get a trash bag.” She jumped to her feet. Then she glanced down at Tara. “And I threw the vase because I thought you were the intruder. I’ll be back in a minute.” Suddenly she stopped and turned. “I apologize. I forgot my manners. Can I make you some tea or coffee?”

She couldn’t understand why Tara and Alex were gaping at her.

“Did I say something wrong?”

***

Tiny Lowe could be a real son of a bitch when he was pissed off. And right now, he was furious.

“Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it.” He smashed his fist against the punching bag, his muscles burning, sweat coating his body. All he could see was the bastard’s smug face. And Harley’s bruised one, so swollen she was almost unrecognizable.

“Motherfucking son of a bitch. Asshole. Bastard. Jerkwad.”

A soft whistle had him turning. Shit. He hadn’t even heard Gray approach. Not good.

“Glad I’m not that punching bag.”

Tiny just glared at him. Gray held up his hands and moved to the other side of the bag. He held it still. Tiny started to pummel it again.

One. Two.

One. Two. Three.

His muscles ached, strained, but he ignored the pain. This was the only way he knew to safely work through the fury pumping through his veins.

Unfortunately, the surefire way to put an end to the raging anger holding him hostage would also land him in a jail cell.

Damn, might just be worth it to wipe the smile off that bastard’s face.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Gray told him.

Tiny snorted. If it wasn’t his fucking fault, then whose was it?

“The cops caught him. You protected her and the child. They had him. You weren’t to know they wouldn’t hold onto him. Your job was over.”

His job. This had been more than a fucking job. He was supposed to protect them, and he’d failed.

Jab. Jab.

Jab. Punch. Jab.

“You can’t beat yourself up like this. You’ll tear yourself in two.”