Corrupted

Chapter 15

Is this motherfucker serious? "What the fuck do you mean it's too late?" So much for priding myself on my control.

"Meaning no one told me she wasn't doing it anymore." Placing the bud in his mouth, he brings a lighter to it and lights it. "She should have told someone before she changed her mind. She's supposed to be getting banged right now."

My nostrils flare as my anger simmers. He's making fucking excuses to get money. "Just take the fucking money."

He blows out the smoke. "It'll be doubled then."

I approach the table he's sitting at. He flinches slightly, unfortunately, I'm too pissed to revel in it.

"How much?" I pull out my chequebook. I don't have that much cash on me right now and the banks closed.

His eyes widen with triumph. My fingers tighten on the pen.

"One k."

At least I know why he's in a gang. "She owes four and that doubled is eight, not a thousand." Dumb fucker.

Just as I'm about to write it down he speaks, "I'm gonna have to pay one of those skanks to suck off this hard on. So it's one k."

The pen snaps in my hand. This bastard was going to fuck her?

"Oh, and we don't accept checks."

"What the fuck do you mean you don't accept checks?" I swear to fucking god if I stay here a second longer my fist will be imprinted on his face.

He rolls his eyes. "Pigs." He says it like it should be obvious to me.

"The cops won't find out shit." And then I elaborate because he's stupid. "Paper can't be tracked."

"Funny lad," he points the bud at me laughing. "We just don't do it, so you either pay it all off now with cash or tell the hoe to bring her ass here." He taps his junk.

I throw the pen on the ground, and before my brain can catch up with what I'm doing, I shove the table away and grip his throat in a steel grip, my knee digging into his crotch.

The girls' screams are barely audible past the blood pounding in my skull. He coughs smoke in my face as I press my knee harder against him. "You either take the fucking four hundred or the check, I couldn't give two shits as long as this thing—." I press down on him so hard I feel the cheap couch's springs. "— stays away from her."

His face turns red but I don't let up. I can't stop tightening my grip, never mind letting go. I've never lost control like this. Not even when my dad kicked Dariel out of the house for the first time, and in that moment I wanted to break everything in sight.

"What the fucks going on in here?!" I vaguely hear a voice boom from behind me. Seconds later, multiple hands are grabbing me, forcing me off the bastard.

Seething, I pummel around, my fist flying in the air, ready to punch whoever stopped me from decapitating the fat fucker. It halts mid-strike when I see who's in front of me.