“So where’s Zo??” Greg asks me as we sit in the car, waiting for my uncle to get home.
“Still in Morocco with her parents. Figured I’d let them have some time together since it’s proving to be a little harder than I thought to win their trust back,” I tell him.
“And Owen? Anyone heard from him?” Greg turns around in his seat, eyeing Pyro in the back. “What about you, sneaky link?”
“Once again,” he groans, “it was just for fun. You guys take things too seriously.”
I laugh and turn my attention back to the big-ass house my uncle now lives in. Owen is off getting married in Italy, and Jack is backpacking his way through Europe, so today’s little excursion rests solely on the three of us.
“He’s busy getting married, but he’s still going to make sure this is swept under the rug for us once we’re finished,” I tell them.
“Fucking wild that his family is just marrying him off like that,” Greg murmurs to my right.
“Right?” I muse.
“Car,” Pyro says, and I feel the atmosphere between us all shift.
I get a brief glimpse of my uncle as he drives past us and pulls into his driveway, waiting for the garage door to open, and then I watch as it closes behind him. My entire body is taut with anticipation and raw fucking rage at the sight of him. Now that I know what he did, how he touched her… I shake my head to clear it.
“I’m going in.” My voice holds steadier than I feel.
“We’re right behind you,” Greg says as they both get out of the car and follow me up to the front door. It’s a stupidly normal-looking house with stucco walls and a clay tile roof. I roll my neck as I lift my hand to knock. It only takes a moment before he’s answering.
“Wesley,” he says, the shock clear in his eyes. He’s not aged well since I saw him last. His hair is almost completely grey, and his beard is peppered with silver as well. He’s no longer bigger than me, and it pleases me to see he seems nervous.
“Andrew,” I say, matching his tone before I push my way past him and into his house. I feel the guys follow me inside.
“Please, come in,” he says dryly. I look around his mundane living room. It looks like it was decorated a decade ago and never touched since.
“I’ll get straight to the point, Andrew,” I tell him. I turn around, and he’s still standing in his little foyer, his arms crossed, with Greg and Pyro flanking him. “I know what you did to Zo?.”
“That’s what this is about?” he asks, rolling his eyes. The outright disrespect almost makes me black out in anger. “The girl asked for it, Wesley. She was on me like a bitch in heat from the moment she turned eighteen. And if we’re being honest, she had a thing for me before she was legal. She was always hanging around me, flaunting that tight little body in her cheerleading uniform.” He takes a few steps toward me. “Let me guess, you’ve had a taste of that sweet pussy? It’s good, isn’t it?”
I throw a punch, and he goes down like a sack of shit. He groans and wipes blood from his mouth and nose. Before he can stand up, I kick him in the stomach and then again in the ribs, feeling euphoric when he screams. He spits blood at my boots, and I squat down to his level.
“I’m going to beat you until you’re on the brink of death, Uncle,” I tell him, reaching out quickly and grabbing his hand, twisting it to break his wrist. He cries out and rolls on his back, holding his limp wrist to his chest. “I won’t leave this house until you’re begging me to end your miserable excuse for a life.”
“I’ll check the rest of the house, make sure there’s no stowaways,” Greg says, stomping off up the stairs.
“I got downstairs,” Pyro shouts up to him before jogging off.
I grab him and pull him back to his feet. He wobbles and clutches his broken wrist to his chest as he groans.
“You touched her without her permission,” I say, holding his shoulder as I throw a punch to his gut. “You raped her, taking something from her that she can never fucking get back.” Another swing. He coughs, and blood spews across my shirt and face.
“All of this over a piece of pussy?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to catch his breath. He’s bent over at the waist, leaning his weight into my grip.
I knee him in the groin and let him fall. I grab his unbroken arm, twisting it around so that he’s forced to lie on his stomach and kick it at the elbow. It bends at the incorrect angle as he screams, and drool sprays onto the hardwood floor beneath him.