Page 196

When I finally turn the corner, the bastard sitting with my low-life father floats an early afternoon cocktail to his lips.

“You!” I scream, lunging toward his back.

My father’s wrinkled face tightens in shock, but he’s too slow to stop my advance. Wrapping my forearm around his neck from behind, I squeeze like my life depends on it—because it does.

“You think you can walk freely after doing what you did?”

I feel him squeal like a little bitch from underneath my forearm. A shaky attempt at breathing, which only forces me to tighten.

“What the fu—” he gasps, and I tighten my hold. Still, even choking him at this angle feels like nothing compared to what it should be.

This fucker shouldn’t dare have the ability to breathe after what he did to her.

“Answer me, asshole!” I yell, not giving a damn who can hear me.

“Jett,” Mr. Holland’s stern voice cuts though the noise, but not nearly enough for me to stop.

Releasing him, I spin him like a fucking ballerina, knocking his head into the wall just beside the booth. Plates clank and photos shatter from the wall where they were just hung, drawing a ruckus around us.

“You think you can abuse people without any consequences?”

I can’t even see straight. My skin burns the closer I get him.

“Are you insane?” he croaks, daring to question my sanity when his actions are far more deranged.

Unable to stop the fury, I draw back my fist, my other hand gripping his lifeless neck. I feel a small touch behind me, a weak one, though it’s a tell-tale sign for me to stop what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t. I can’t. With all the power in my body, I lunge my arm forward, my knuckles connecting with his nose, savoring the crunch of his bone beneath my fingers.

“Dude, what the fuck?” he shouts, and I let him go, only to watch as he hunches like the wimp he is. “You just fucking broke my nose.”

“I should’ve broken your goddamn neck,” I bite out, gathering saliva and spitting in his face.

Flashes of Fia’s terrified face play on repeat in my mind. My stomach threatens to heave its contents at the thought of me not being around to protect her. At how scared she was that night. At how no meant nothing to this motherfucker, when I know she must have said it too many fucking times.

Feeling a strong hand on my shoulder, my father pulls me away from the bastard.

“Would you relax. Everyone’s looking at us,” Arthur says, giving me what I’m sure he thinks is a fatherly command.

“That’s all you give a fuck about, isn’t it? What it looks like,” I shout, causing a show this time, because I couldn’t care less who the fuck is looking at these sick bastards.

“Jett, calm down.”

“No!” I yell. “You think I’m going to let a sleaze like this walk freely and not make him pay for what he’s done.”

I’m loud, really fucking loud, but I don’t give a damn. I’m sure the women this asshole touched were loud too.

Make no fucking mistake, I will yell for them.

Inching close to my ear, Mr. Holland’s rough tone vibrates my spine as he says, “It’s being handled. Lower your tone and sit.”

I look down at my bloody knuckles, then back at the limping fucker I want so desperately to chase after as he turns down the hallway for the restroom. Staggering toward the other side of the table, Mr. Holland rushes to him.

In my seat, a frightened waitress notices me and comes hesitantly to the table, eyes wide and scared.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Can I get a scotch, neat?”

With a timid nod, she writes it down with the shake of her pen.

“Matter of fact, make it a double.”