Unwritten Rules (Filthy Florida Alphas 3)

“You hear me man?” Topper asks, and until that moment, I didn’t realize I had completely tuned everyone out. I jerk my head up to look at him. It’s then I notice he’s uncovered Babs’ tit and is palming it in his hand, basically milking the DDD morsel.

Yeah. I really fucking need to get laid.

“What’s up?” I ask motioning for a Proby to bring me another drink.

“I asked if you had heard from Weasel?”

“Nah. Not that I expected to.”

“What are you going to do with the girl?”

“Who knows,” I growl, and down my shot in one gulp once it’s refilled. I lift the glass and the guy fills it again.

“Ghost is sweet on her,” Babs says, taking a break from nibbling on Topper’s neck.

“She’s only been here for a few weeks.”

“Doesn’t matter. He wants her.”

“He’s always looking for a new place to stick his dick,” I answer. I’m lying out of my ass. Ghost has had his turn with the club talent, but he’s more reserved than any of us. Truth be told, he’s a good man. I was thinking about giving him the greenlight with Toi…until… Maxwell.

This is all my son’s fault. He put this damn thought in my head about Toi.

About having Toi.

“This is his fault.”

“Whose fault? What are you talking about, Marcum?” Topper asks.

“Maxwell! This is his fucking fault. Smartass boy. He’s trying to fuck with his old man.”

“Marcum, old man, you aren’t making a lot of sense here,” Topper mumbles.

“You sure ain’t, honey,” Babs adds.

“You got damn nice tits, Babs,” I compliment her.

“Thank you, honey.” Babs laughs.

“How much have you had to drink, man?” Topper asks, and I shrug. I haven’t been counting the shots or the drinks. I’ve been here since I left Toi and its dark outside now. I can see that through the window. That means it has to have been more than a few hours.

“Maxwell needs to learn you can’t fuck with me. Everyone knows that,” I complain. “Everyone but my own flesh and blood.”

“Dawg respects you, old man.”

“He doesn’t yet! He keeps wanting me to fuck her, but I’m not about to fuck her!” I mutter. I drink down another shot and motion for another one.

“Marcum, honey, maybe you should slow down the drinking.”

“Maybe I need to drink more.”

Topper reaches over and grabs the empty bottle the Proby left when he filled my last shot, warning me it was the last of the stock. He looks at it and whistles through his teeth in a long, annoying call.

“Fucking hell, Marcum. Devil Springs Vodka? Did you drink this whole bottle?” he asks, waving it in front of me like a damn moron.

I don’t know if I’ve had the whole bottle. I drank whiskey, somewhere along the line he made a flaming shot, and eventually I just started downing whatever he gave me. I can hold my liquor pretty good, but even I can admit I’m drunk off my ass at this point. It doesn’t matter. Topper is just trying to distract me. He’s always taken up for Max and he wants to keep me busy so I don’t go kick my son’s ass.

“I’m going to Max’s!”

“What the hell are you going to do there? Shit, I bet you can’t even walk.”

“I’m going to tell him he’s an asshole,” I growl. I stand up, holding onto the table for a moment. I am a little dizzy. Topper might be right and I’m a little drunk. “Still sober enough to kick my oldest son’s ass,” I mutter, beginning to walk out.

“Not sober enough to drive. Ghost, take Marcum out to Dawg’s,” Topper hollers.

“The fuck he will. This is Ghost’s fault too. I ought to kick his ass.”

“What the hell did I do?” Ghost asks, as if the fucker didn’t know.

“She’s not going to be my stepmother!” I growl.

“Marcum man, I think maybe you need to sleep that shit off.”

“Max’s stepmother,” I mutter, knowing I got it all wrong. “Fuck it. I have to go talk with Max.”

“I’ll take you man, I got a feeling this is something I want to see,” Ghost says. I look at him and then haul off and hit him. He’s playing some fucking games because his head keeps moving but I manage to catch him. I pulled my punch, I guess, because he keeps standing. “What the hell was that for?”

“I don’t like the way you look,” I growl.

“I’ll make note,” he says.

“See you at Dawg’s,” Topper says, carrying Babs out of the room.

“Why can’t I ride with you?”

“Taking my bike, and no offense, man, but I’d rather have Babs riding bitch than you.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Have been for years,” he says, laughing.

“I need to clean out the club and start all over. You assholes are stinking up the place,” I growl to Ghost, walking toward his truck.

There must be a hole in the asphalt outside, because I almost fall in the parking lot. Ghost reaches out to catch me, but I knock him away, managing to stand on my own.