“Good evening, Easton. Did you enjoy the show?” Owen asks with a friendly tone.
“I only caught the finishing act. Gotta say, I didn’t care much for it,” he snarls, his glower never wavering from me.
“Pity. There’s no accounting for taste. Scarlett’s voice is that of an angel, hence the stage name,” Owen winks at me, unaware that the endearment only infuriates Easton more.
“I best be leaving you with your friend. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetheart,” Owen says before leaning in and placing another kiss on my cheek.
Owen passes Easton, chuckling under his breath, amused at the irate devil he just left me alone with. When he’s out of the room, Easton slams the door shut behind him, making me jump with the force of it.
“What the fuck was that about?!” Easton shouts.
It’s so unlike him to lose his cool in such a way, but as he pounces on me, I smell the liquor on his breath, the culprit behind his violent outburst.
“You’re drunk.”
“What I am is fucking furious! Now tell me, what the fuck was Colt’s dad doing here?!”
“He was just congratulating me on my performance,” I lie.
“Bullshit!”
“Easton. Go home. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“Did you fuck him?” he roars, leaving my jaw agape.
“What did you just say?”
“You heard me! Did you fuck him?!”
The sound of the slap I deliver across his cheek surprises us both, but considering the accusation he just made, he deserved that and so much more.
“Go home, Easton, before you say something we’ll both regret.” Although I feel like he already has.
There are dark rings under his eyes, but it’s the storm brewing in them that is the real cause for concern. He’s not thinking straight. If he were, he would see how preposterous he’s being.
“You did, didn’t you?” he rasps this time, his even tone accelerating the beat of my heart. “Where did you do it, huh? On this vanity right here? Against the wall? On that couch? Where, Scar?!” he belts, gripping my forearms. His body is trembling with so much rage that his hands end up shaking me.
“Take your hands off me, Easton. Now!” I order through gritted teeth.
He stares me down, disdain in his stunning gray eyes, before finally releasing his hold on me.
“How could you?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I reply bitterly, hoping he can’t hear the hurt in my voice.
“You know what? Fuck this, and fuck you! I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“And I know you?! Just leave, Easton,” I shout, feeling my tears begin to prickle behind my eyes. “You’ve done enough damage for one night.”
“I think you’re right. I should leave. There’s nothing for me here anyway,” he spits out before storming out of the room in the same violent manner he stormed into my life.
Because that’s what Easton does—tilts my world off its axis, leaving nothing but carnage in his wake.
And I should hate him for it.
But instead, I hate myself for feeling like he just stomped on my heart when I can’t remember when I had given it to him in the first place.
Chapter 21
Easton
My knife slices into the sirloin steak as if it were Owen Turner’s smug face being cut up. I have never hated someone as much as Colt’s father, and that’s saying something, since hate has always been my go-to emotion in relation to most people.
“Easton, baby, you’ll end up breaking the plate if you continue like this,” my mother teases with a soft grin. “Do you want to talk about what has made you so upset?”
“Not really, no.”
“Maybe we can help,” she insists, throwing a conspiring smile over to her husband, her gaze silently pleading with him to help her out.
Dick takes the hint, placing his fork and knife down, his clasped hands going under his chin.
“Out with it, Easton. You’ve been in a mood all week. It’s upsetting your mother.”
“I got my shit handled, thanks.”
“Language,” he reprimands sternly. “You obviously don’t have it handled. Don’t think I don’t know you missed school this week, either. So, whatever is on your mind, just tell us so we can fix it.”
“If this is your idea of a father and son moment, then I’ll pass. I’m not going to share my personal shit with you, Dick, so stop fishing.”
“Easton, we are only trying to help,” my mother pleads, her gray eyes filled with worry.
Fuck.
“Fine,” I huff out, putting my own cutlery down. “You’re a heartless dick, Dick, so maybe you can help. What would you do if you found out someone was messing with something that belongs to you?”
His sinister grin is immediate, but so is my mother’s disappointed frown at my thorny attitude.
“I’d make sure they were properly put in their place and make an example of them.”
Of course he would.
Richard Price isn’t known for being made a fool of. Ever. His enemies know not to fuck with him.
“That’s if whatever we are talking about was truly mine, to begin with.” He looks over to my mother and then back to me. “Is it?”
I give him a clipped nod, my back molars grinding so hard that they may break my jaw.
“Then I’d ensure it’s well-known. Set my claim, so to speak. Have you confronted the person in question?”
“No,” I admit furiously.
“Then that’s your first mistake. Don’t hide from confrontation, Easton. Be a man, and deal with it head-on. You’ll respect yourself more if you do.”
Dick goes back to eating his steak, but my mother isn’t as eager to let go of the conversation. I take a sip of my water and almost choke at her next question, “Is someone bullying you at school?” Dick just laughs under his breath at her query.
Would threatening to leak your sex tape count as bullying, Mom? Because then, yeah, we’re all being fucking bullied!
“Easton is not being bullied, Naomi. You should know your son better than that,” he teases lightly, amused at the absurd idea.
Even though The Society is definitely being a handful, at this very moment, they aren’t the ones who have my heart in a twist.
Scar is.
But I guess Dick is right. If I want answers to what the fuck is going on between Owen and her, then I have to go to the source and ask them myself. Unfortunately, I can’t go to Scarlett since I fucking ruined it all with my brutish, drunken behavior last time I saw her. I let my temper get the best of me that night, and if I’m honest, I haven’t been able to simmer it down any since. Not when the image of them lovingly whispering to one another is still firmly planted in my mind.
I can’t see Scarlett again like this. Not while I’m still a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any given second. Confronting Owen while I’m conflicted with this murderous rage doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, though.