“No.”
That was the same voice that said the man would be pissing blood for a week, and I found that I kind of liked him.
Reaching down, I picked the man’s head up by his hair, and turned him to look at me.
“You took a picture,” I said angrily. “Do you know which one I’m talking about?”
The lower half of the man’s face was covered with blood.
“No,” he said.
Tears and snot were intermingling with the blood on his face, and I sneered at him in disgust.
“Let me remind you,” I pulled out a photo I printed out and shoved it up against his face, letting the blood hit the paper and smearing it hard into his face.
He cried out.
“How about now?” I asked, pulling it back slightly. “Do you remember now?”
He started to fight back and I grinned, dropping the photo on the ground.
The man with the deep, amused voice behind me picked it up, and then cursed.
“You did this, Tyson?” the man asked.
Tyson, the douche that deserved way worse than an ass beating, threw out a punch that landed on my arm and grazed my bicep.
I retaliated by dropping my knee down onto the man’s balls and grinding down.
I followed it up by kicking the man’s knee, causing it to turn sideways—likely breaking his kneecap in the process.
He bellowed in pain, unsure what to hold—his balls, his nose, or his knee.
I stood up and started to back away, and he tried to follow.
So I dropped back down, the weight of my knee on his chest.
It was a miniscule try, but I had to give him credit. Most men would’ve been down and out by now.
“Stay the fuck down,” I growled, leaning my knee into the man’s sternum. “I ever, ever, see you share something this offensive again, I will rip your goddamn eyes out and shove them up your ass with the rest of your head.”
The man nodded, licking his broken and cracked lips.
I stood, this time happy to see he wasn’t going to try to follow.
Turning to my bike that was still running at the edge of the parking lot, I started towards it, uncaring that the men surrounding me watched me with wary looks.
“Truth?”
I looked up to see a bearded man holding the photo.
His beard was much larger than mine, and tied in a goddamned braid.
“What?” I half snapped.
“My name is William.”
I shrugged.
His mouth twitched.
“I’m Randi’s husband. Verity’s best friend.”
Understanding dawned.
I held my hand out as I said, “Nice to meet you.”
He took my offered hand and shook it twice before letting go.
“I like what you did back there. Had I known, I’d have done it myself four days ago,” he promised.
I shrugged.
“I just saw it this morning. Been dealing with funeral arrangements for my grandparents.”
And waiting for my family to make it into town.
Not to mention finishing up a class session.
And avoiding anything that had to do with Verity.
Any sympathy on her part would cause me to break down, and right now I needed to be strong.
Because if I wasn’t strong, I would cry like a goddamned baby.
“You ever need anything, a favor, I’m here.”
I studied the man’s face, noted his sincerity, and nodded once.
“Thanks.”
With that, I mounted my bike—having gone back to the seatless one—and throttled it up as loud as it would go, sparing one final glance at the piece of shit still on the ground, before I rode away, back to my workshop and all of the problems that plagued me.
Chapter 8
Beards make my nipples have minds of their own.
-Verity’s secret thoughts
Verity
“What are you doing?”
I looked up at my best friend, tears dripping down my face, and shook my head.
“Nothing,” I said as I tried to wipe away my tears before she saw them.
She sighed, and took a seat next to me.
“Is it that man, or is it the meme again?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“Both.”
And it was, but more of the sadness was directed toward Truth than my own fat ass at the moment.
“I still can’t believe someone would put that on Facebook. You didn’t even look bad! Seriously, it was you sitting on the back of a bike…though, I am fairly sure I could see the pink thong you bought at Victoria’s Secret last week.”
William started to chuckle darkly next to me, and I flipped him off, causing his smile to widen.
William and I had a weird relationship.
I started dating William first, and after a few weeks of dating, we both knew it wasn’t going to work.
Then came in Randi.
I introduced her to him, and they really hit it off.
Flash forward six months, and they were engaged to be married. Now, six years later, they were married with five kids.
Literally, five kids.
And I wasn’t sure that Randi was done yet.
William liked keeping her pregnant, and Randi liked making William happy.
It was vicious cycle, and one that would only end if one of them got their baby makers taken care of.
“So, I had a thing happen at work today,” William started. “You’ll never guess who got his ass kicked.”
My heart leapt into my throat.
“Was it Tyson?”
Was that a hint of hope I heard in my voice? You bet your ass. I hated Tyson with a passion.
“Yep,” he confirmed much to Randi’s and my amusement. “Got his ass kicked thoroughly. By a big ass biker with a beard that has almost as much grandeur as mine.”
I snorted, my hand going to my neck where Truth had given me a slight beard burn the last time I’d seen him…held him.
“Yep. Guy made sure that little fucker will be pissing blood for a week, thank God.” He started to chuckle darkly. “The boss man told him to take a week off to get rid of his menstrual pains.”
I rolled my eyes, but inside, deep down, I thought it was funny.
Tyson was a douche.
He’d never missed an opportunity to give me hell, and since he worked with Kenneth and William, I saw the little bastard at all the company functions.
Though, Kenneth was a big boss, the douche canoe who made sure everyone was doing their jobs correctly and thought he was better than all the grunts and peons at the company.
William was one of those peons, though not because of any lack of trying on the company’s part in attempting to get him to take on more responsibilities. He just plain didn’t want the job, and he liked it exactly where he was.
He made damn good money as a machinist, but he just didn’t want the extra headache of having to deal with assholes like Tyson.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” I hesitated. “Do you…do y’all think I should go to the funeral?” I licked my dry lips. “I don’t want him to think I’m stalking him, but I want to be there…just to show my face. Let him know I care.”
Randi’s face softened. “I think you should go.”
“I don’t know,” I murmured.
William, Randi’s husband, butted in then.
“I think you should go, too.”
I blinked, startled to hear him offer an opinion.