Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81488 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“Today is her day off. Try tomorrow,” Roman stated dryly. That seemed to make Grandpa even more aggravated.
“So, do you share your woman, boy? Just like you’re about to share this money? Say something! DO SOMETHING!”
“What would you like me to say, Grandpa?” Roman questioned calmly.
“Whatever you want to say. In fact, why don’t you call that lil’ girl after we’re through here, and ask if your dear ol’ Grandpa can have a bit of her time? Slide into that warm as apple pie slit between her legs, razor blades and all, and fuck the gold, diamonds and jewels right out of her with a one-two pelvic punch.” Grandpa grinned real evil like, his eyes lit up like dancing black flames. Hoping. Praying. Dying for a reaction. Roman sat there. Stone. Rock. A frozen pond. Lightning splitting his back made of bark. Like the tree. “Since she likes making jewelry, I can make her some jewelry, too… leave a pearl necklace on her titties, or maybe drippin’ down the crack of her big, bubble ass.”
Roman clasped his hands, cleared his throat, and leaned forward. “Coffee? Water?”
Grandpa was visibly vexed. Certainly, of all his grandchildren, the one with the vicious tongue and smartass mouth would not be able to resist getting into a nasty quarrel and sparring match with him after such taunting, bellicose, and abrasive words? Roman used all of his resolve, all of his mental strength and emotional fortitude to remain calm. To not attack. To stand tall and remain unmoved, like the tree. His father’s, Kage’s, Genesis’ and Phoenix’s words played over and over in his mind, helping him to stay on track. It was then, at that moment, that Roman realized something…
Grandpa didn’t want him angry for the hell of it. He wanted power over him so that he could control him, break him down to his core—and he wanted all of this far more than he wanted the money. To be able to control another person’s emotions, gives them domain over your day, your week, perhaps even your life. This was a feud between three people: The father, the son, and the unholy ghost of a demonic man.
Grandpa wanted to hurt him, destroy him from the inside out, and in turn, Roman wished to do the same. Grandpa was laying his burdens down—punishing the child that refused to conform. Beating the boy that didn’t wish to murder a stranger in the forest—through the blood. If he couldn’t have Reeves, Roman would do. His father’s twin…
Reeves was the son who’d turned into a destitute, raging drug addict, seeing meth and crack as better alternatives than walking in Grandpa Wilde’s hoofed footsteps. The one who was motherless and coldhearted. The man who found a good woman and tried to make a family but simply could not. His demons were too strong, his trauma too dark. His mind too gone. His heart too broken.
Reeves loved his sons beyond prison bars… Grandpa hated that even at Daddy’s lowest, he tried to keep his head above water and show care and concern. He hated how his mother, even with all that had happened to her as a child and in her marriage, the trust she’d broken with her children, she still wanted to be his mother—and stand up for her boys. Razor blade pies and regrets. Perhaps she ate her feelings, but nothing could chew at her love and self-worth. Bonnie was a motherfucking queen.
Roman knew nothing of a pie being sent, but he wasn’t doubtful that she’d done it. Mama always had a quiet madness in her… and he was mad, too. Despite it all, THE BLACK SHEEP WAS LOVED. He had brothers who were fucked up as much or worse than him, but they all loved each other.
Grandpa never had that. Love in the midst of dysfunction and bad times. Shit. Now I see what he said was true. Kage was right.
Kage’s words crashed into his head…
He’s jealous of you…
The hairs along his arms stood on end.
Grandpa jammed his hand into his pocket once more to pull out a cigar—a long dark brown one, shaped like a submarine. Or turd. Eat shit and die.
“You can’t smoke in here,” Roman stated as he looked over the contract, his favorite pen in hand.
“What’ll happen if I do?” Grandpa questioned.
“The sprinklers will go off. You’ll ruin your boots ’nd hat.” Roman flipped a page of the contract nonchalantly, burying his face in the minutia. But of course, you being a demon and all, water—unless it is holy water—can’t do shit to you, now can it?
He turned to the last page of the contract, read it, signed and dated it, then handed it back to Grandpa. The old man looked it over, folded it, then slipped it back into his pocket. Then, he rose to his feet, grabbed his pen, and walked around the desk.