Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
“I call it fucking child abuse.” Damon’s blood was rising, feeling like it was about to pop through his fucking veins, his fingers clenching so hard his knuckles ground into his palms.
This fucking explained everything.
The bruises. The sneaking out. The exhaustion, working late nights at a bar.
And why Chris had felt like he’d had to hide, and might get in some kind of legal trouble if he got caught.
Mother fucker.
“Yeah, well, you can fuckin’ rejoice, ’cause it’s over now,” Drew snarled. “Kid ain’t shown up for a week. He’s fucking fired anyway. Not even worth the six bucks an hour if you can’t show up to work.”
“Six dollars an hour isn’t even minimum wage.” Rian spoke with haughty scorn. “You really have no shame, do you? Do you know where your ‘generosity’ landed Chris?”
Drew let out a snort that was more of a barking burp. “Do I fucking care?”
“He’s in the hospital.” Damon tried to take several calming breaths before he just—just—he didn’t fucking know, he just knew he couldn’t, but whipping around to face Drew had been a mistake when he just wanted to rip that fucker’s smug, self-satisfied face off. “He’s fucking on a goddamned IV. Dehydrated, beat to fuck, hasn’t been fucking sleeping. You feeling good about that? You feeling good about those life skills, huh? Teaching him it’s okay to let people abuse him?”
With a look of utter sneering contempt, Drew said, “I just gave him what he wanted. If he’s old enough to wanna work, he’s old enough to take responsibility for his own goddamned deci—”
Damon felt that hard, trembling fury rising to a break point...but before he saw it coming, a pale hand came plowing in from his peripheral vision.
As Rian drove himself forward and, with all his weight, flung himself at Drew and smashed his clenched fist right into the middle of Drew’s face with enough force that he cut off mid-word in a garbled cry, his mouth slewing to one side, his nose flattening, his head rocking back.
Before Drew dropped to the ground, stumbling and crumpling and lying there in a groaning heap, his keys spilling into the dirt, his jaw and the corner of his mouth already puffing with a thick purple bruise, a trickle of red spilling from one reddened, busted nostril.
“Uh.” Damon stared down at Drew, shock knocking the fury right out of him to just leave him confused and frozen. Then he looked up at Rian, who stood over Drew, breathing hard, his hair wild, eyes snapping, face flushed, knuckles a hard-hit red. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
“One of us had to. You wanted to, I would gather.” Rian offered him a strained smile that did little to hide the brimming anger leaving him vibrating with tension. “I’ll not let you get in more trouble than I would for it.”
Damon smiled back grimly. “Watching you was satisfying enough.”
“Fuck you,” Drew slurred, forcing the words around his swelling face as he clumsily dragged himself upright, sitting up and starting to gather himself to his feet. “You wanna go to jail on assault charges? I’ll—”
He cut off with a strangled sound, cringing back, as Damon dropped into a crouch in front of him, bracing his hand between his spread thighs and leaning forward—nice and close and fucking personal.
“You are going to sit the fuck down,” Damon said firmly. “Because we got some phone calls to make ourselves. How you feel about twenty to thirty in prison, Drew? You even know what the Massachusetts child labor statutes are? ’cause I’d bet my next year’s paycheck you don’t have a youth employment permit signed by his parents. Not even a forged one. I doubt you even checked his fucking ID.” And while horrified, angry awareness dawned in Drew’s shallow eyes, Damon rocked back, standing. “Sit there,” he ordered, looking down at that disgusting excuse for a man, contempt rising up on the back of his tongue like sickness. “Stay. Don’t try to ditch town, either. I will fucking find you and drag you back by the scruff like the dog you are. And don’t even think about retaliation.” He tossed his head toward a still-glaring Rian. “You come after him, you deal with me. Got it?”
Drew looked like he’d rather swallow raw meat than agree—but after a few moments he nodded slowly, looking at Damon with such pure loathing it filled the space between them as if it had physical substance, texture.
And Damon let it roll right off him, smiling and showing all his teeth. “Good boy.”
He turned away, then, catching Rian’s arm and nudging him gently. They needed to leave—now, before this turned into a brawl and they all ended up down at Omen’s little two-room police station explaining things to the town’s full complement of seven police officers. They ought to get the cops out here anyway, and quick, before Drew panicked and thought maybe running was a good idea after all.