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“I’ve heard of him taking property, houses, boats, racehorses, and cars, but never a woman. This isn’t his normal behavior.”
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“The kind of breakup that ends with a cheating husband dead in a burned-out car in the Ninth Ward?”
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“Fine, don’t tell me, but if you really want to do this, I can recommend a good henna artist only two blocks away.”
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A growl fills my throat and fire burns in my gut as I make out the words. Property of No Man
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With the same defiance that carried me into a henna shop, and then on these extravagantly expensive stilettos into the presence of the most feared man in this city tonight, I make a decision.
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I can grieve and hate at the same time, so why can’t I desire and hate at the same time?
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She lifts her glass. “Not yours either. To the good men out there who still exist, even if they’re not perfect and sometimes a little downright bad.”
“Who fucking touched you? Heads will roll, and I’ll swing the goddamned ax myself.”
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“And don’t forget the toy, or I’ll take it as a direct invitation to bend you over the dining room table and fuck your tight little cunt while they serve the first course.”
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A spine of steel won’t help me with Mount. Titanium is required. The only person who can decide who and what humiliates me is me, and I won’t give him that power ever again.
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Fucking bastard. The slur is getting repetitive, even to my ears. I need to come up with something new to fully express this level of fury.
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