"Did you know that there are over 300 words for love in canine?" — Unknown
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Chapter 12
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Luke

The unwanted, spoiled, mayor's bastard.

I had heard those labels many, many times over. All from the same three people: my father, my older half-brother, and my stepmother. Over and over.

At first, they hurt. Of course they hurt. They were coming from the people who were supposed to love me most.

That was the thing about hurt, though.

After so many years, you become numb to it. To them, their words, their efforts. You learn the things to say, the things not to say, in order to leave the situation as quick as possible. You learn to take the punch, and carry on as if nothing happened. You learn to shut the fuck up, and you try to survive in the only way you can.

Physically, anyway. Emotionally, there's nothing left, but a fucked foundation that you'll have to somehow build off of. I had done so.

I'd learned how to take the punches. How to clean my own wounds, mentally and physically. I'd learned to abolish their words into nothingness, to turn and twist them until they wouldn't have a hold on me. I learned.

Though, the moment I heard those words come from Maggie Norris's' mouth, all those lessons went out the door. Every pain in the insults I thought were never there, seemed to drown me the second she gave them.

Unwanted. Spoiled. Mayor's bastard. 

It was true. My father reminded me of it every time he saw me. I'd accepted it for what it was long ago, but I'd never expected to hear it from anyone other than my family before.

I didn't care what Maggie Norris thought of me. She could think that I was the worst of the worst, and I'd still sleep good that night. She was nothing, but my employee.

But, fucking shit. Hearing her say that fucked with me.

This was my fourth beer. As soon as she left, I trashed the place a bit to calm my tantrum, then drove home. I considered texting one of the blondes in order to blow off some steam, but I didn't have the time, nor the energy, right now.

I had a plan, though.

Maggie wanted to be a little bitch while I'd been nothing, but gracious. More than that, really. She wanted to dig into my shit in order to avoid her own.

So. I'd show her some real digging.

I had called Preston a while ago to give me something, anything, and everything involving Maggie Norris. A case file so big, I'd never run out of ammunition. I would have traces of her first damn chocolate bar if I wanted to.

A wicked grin teased my lips at the thought. The girl had no idea who she messed with today. I was going to go right over the little timid insults, and get as personal as she had with me today.

I couldn't have any guilt. Most people would have has her locked up ages ago for what she'd done. She was lucky as shit her ass wasn't in a orange jumpsuit, but I was such a good fucking friend that I'd been selfless, and let her work her debts off.

And, this was how I was repaid. Fucking bullshit. Maybe I should save myself the headache and just turn her in.

I ran my palm down the length of my face. With a huff, I shook my head.

Fuck Kade and Kimberly. Fuck em' both. I should have blocked Kade's number; the fucker was more trouble than what was worth. And, Levi would be on the same side as Kade, and their girls, so I was alone in this. Pussy-whipped little bitches.

I knew someone who would be on my side, though.

At the sound of his paws against the marble floors, I turned from the bar, jumping off the stool to catch the fucker before he knocked me into next year. There he was, the only resemble I had to unconditional loyalty.

Fang was a three year old, Rottweiler-Doberman mix. The little shit was the closest thing I had to a friend other than Kade and Levi, just with more attitude, less words, and more slobber.

It was strange how he came into my possession, but he was mine, nonetheless.

Levi and Kade had gotten drunk as shit sophomore year. They'd heard of an illegal dog fighting pit, so the two idiots went, and after setting the other dogs free, stole Fang. They were just trying to be funny since they said we resembled one another: mean.

At three in the morning, they had barged into my house with him, and left. When I woke up, and saw him, slobbering and asleep on my couch, he'd been so skinny and famished, I felt like a sick fuck for just abandoning him, somewhere. He was just a puppy at the time, so I decided to nurse him back to health until I was able to give him away, but apparently, that has been a lie.

Three years later, the little fucker now eats leftover steak from my trash, has his own room in my house,  a television, and even a custom chain. I liked him, and I was pretty sure he liked me. He lets me bitch around, and doesn't pay me or my anger spasms any attention, so, I considered us the best of friends.

His long arms hung on either side of my shoulders as I knelt to him. "Hey, hey," I soothed, lightly patting at either side of his strong body, before I started to massage behind his ears.

I chuckled at his heaven sent gaze, moving to his head. I didn't have enough time to move before his large tongue swept past my cheek. I stumbled back from the force before I caught myself.

I chuckled at him. "I know what you're doing, you little sneaky son of a bitch." He was trying to coax me in for food. And, he knew I'd fall for it. "How do burgers sound?"

"I don't know, man. A steak sounds like heaven, right now."

I froze in my spot, as did Fang. His head swung to inspect our visitor, but I already knew who it was without even looking.

With a scowl, I raised from my spot by the bar, and glanced toward the front door.

My older, half-brother, Vance, was grinning ear-to-ear at me. My expression must have contradicted his sick joy, because that dumbass grin of his only grew until it appeared painful.

Vance opened his arms, as if he actually expect me to even willingly touch him. "What's up, little bro?" When I remained in place, he shrugged, letting his arms fall. "Still not much of a hugger, huh?"

Rolling my eyes, my attention fell to the growl below me. Shit. I placed my hands around Fang, carefully.

There was no way in hell I was going to let him get surrendered for attacking this shithead. Vance had tried to provoke Fang on several occasions, and as badly as I wanted to let him rip a chunk out of the fuckers' ass, I wasn't risking Fang's life for my ego.

"I see that you still haven't gotten that...creature on a leash," Vance spat, his eyes darting between Fang and I with disgust.

My hand stroked down Fang's hard back, before I patted it. I knew he remembered Vance, and even if he didn't, it wasn't too hard to realize that he was a fucking ass. By his warning growls, I figured he did.

I moved my eyes to the still-grinning prick in front of me. "How did you get in?"

I didn't know where he was planning to go, or if he even was planning on it at all, but he was dressed too pristinely. A grey, nearly sparkling silver tuxedo that hugged all 6'0" of his figure. Some let his height fool them, but that didn't matter.

I'd fought the fucker so many times, I've lost count. Size didn't matter if you were a whiny, little pussy, and that, he surely was.

His brown hair was gelled back so badly, it made it look like sweat. I caught hints of some expensive cologne, to which no doubt our father bought him. His sickly pale skin had only worsened over the years, probably from all the drugs he'd taken.

Most of the news articles claimed we looked alike, or could be twins, which was bullshit. The only thing that was remotely similar between us were our eyes. Dark blue and full of hate, stemmed directly from our father.

Vance was three years older than me. Even though he was twenty-two, you'd never realize it. The pussy still had his mother cut his steaks, and even a toddler had a better emotional intelligence than him. In all honesty, he was all the worst parts of either parent.

A part of me was grateful that my father hated me. If he hadn't, we would have spent time together, and I would have turned out like Vance. The fucker was always looking for acceptance, and never finding it. Spoiled and hooked on god knows what. A disgusting rapist.

Beatrice, his mother, claimed all the articles were false, but no one was that fucking stupid. A man didn't have that many allegations without at least one meaning something, and the victims weren't just pulling the stories from their ass, either.

And, a spoiled boy who'd never heard no before? There was no way in hell he'd accepted it from women that he thought actually owed him something.

I already hated the bastard, and that was more than enough reason to add to the list of why I wanted nothing to do with him. I didn't fuck with rapists or women beaters, regardless of who they were, or how much money denied the accusations. I genuinely didn't have it in me to give a fuck about him as a brother, nor a person, but for some reason, this fucker was my number one stalker.

Even when I was gone, he kept up with the shit. It was ridiculous.

"You know we all have keys," Vance chuckled, shaking his key at me. I should have known. "Just in case."

"Okay," I sighed, running a hand down my face. "Let me rephrase this shit: what the fuck do you want?"

Dark eyes cruised over my figure, before they met my own. I saw something glisten behind them before he shifted past me, purposely bumping into my shoulder. Dumb fucker was so thin, he nearly knocked his own self back into the wall.

"Well, if that's how you always greet your guests, then it's no wonder you're so alone, little bro," he mused, his voice so steady, it weirded me the fuck out. His eyes circled the bar I had set up in the kitchen, next. "Nice little setup you have here, though."

My jaw tensed. "That's how I greet pussies."

His eyes snapped up to mine. "Who are you talking to?"

"Let me see...I wasn't talking to myself." I glanced up, down, sideways, even to Fang. "Mhm, not to you either, bud." Then, I met his eyes again. "I guess that leaves you. You know, the little pussy who likes to force hisself on women?"

Vance slammed his hand onto the bar, already lit up. "You better watch that mouth of yours, like."

I nearly cackled at his 'authority.' Vance was one of those people who wanted to be in charge so badly, they never realized that they were working behind the real boss the entire time. He was even starting to sound like our dad.

Leaning against the counter, I crossed my arms. "I'm starting to want you to make me, bitch."

He stepped forward, and I did the same. My expression begged him to swing; I needed a fight after today.

Fang growled, again, then let it build into a great big, bark. Vance glowered down at the dog, sweeping his leg back to kick him. I reacted quickly, shoving Vance so hard into the stool, his back nearly molded into it.

Immediately, I tugged Fang by his collar to lead him out. There was no way in hell I letting Vance cry victim when Fang bites him, but I'm not letting the fucker lay a hand on my dog, either.

Fang was a big ass dog considering his breed, but I managed to get him out of the room in time. His whines sounded out from behind the door, before I heard his body plop down onto the floor, near the threshold. I could easily handle Vance on my own, but Fang was still outside, ready to pounce if I demanded it. That's why the spoiled fucker was my best friend.

"You little—" Vance bellowed in disgust, roughly shoving either hand down the length of his suit. "How dare you put your hands on me?"

I jerked back around to face him, entirely, marching over to where he stood. "I don't give a fuck what type of shit you think you're entitled to, but you don't ever put your hands or shit else on him."

His mouth fell slack, his nostrils flaring. "You—"

My palm were itching to smack the shit out of him, right now. "Shut the fuck up," I hissed over him. "Because, if he would have bit your skinny, crack-pipe shaped ass, you would have thrown a pity party big enough for the entire fucking world to see."

My head was beginning to ache the longer he stood here. I didn't like him being in my house, or near me, in general. "I'm not in the mood for your shit, Vance. You and dad haven't visited me ever since I moved in, so why now? What the fuck do you want?"

I'd been alone emotionally for nineteen years, but physically, it'd been five years now. I could count on one hand how many times my dad had visited, and each and every one of them consisted of a beating, or a demand.

Usually, Vance would have carried on with the teasing, and the snide comments until either one of us exploded. This time, though, he must have seen the no-bullshit, warning set in my eyes, because he made sure to shove the bitchiness down before it got him slapped.

He pulled at the collar of his suit, clearing his throat to announce, "Dad is throwing an event next Saturday. Like a ball."

I snorted. "A ball?"

A smirk found his dry lips. "I know that being wanted at anything is new to you, Palce." I wasn't sure what he was trying to instigate with using my mother's maiden name. I planned to go by that, anyhow. "But, dad claimed that he needed all of us together, in the same room, same place, all that shit. You have to bring a date, dad said. The theme—"

Fuck that.

"Okay, yeah, quit talking." I waved him off. "I already have an answer: I'm not going."

"What? Yes—" His nostrils flared for a moment. "It's not up for discussion."

"What? You too scared to tell daddy no, so I have to go, too?" Pussy.

"Absolutely not." His pale face only reddened until it couldn't any longer. "Dad trusted me to deliver this message to you, because he knows that I'm the responsible son."

I rolled my eyes; here the insecurities come again. If I didn't do anything, these fuckers hated me. If I did something, they still hated me.

I simply couldn't win the game. That was why I stopped playing.

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, go ahead." I took my previous spot at the kitchen island, reaching for the bottle of scotch. "I'm not going, either way." Once I had my glass, I downed the scotch, stuffing against the burn down my throat.

I casted a glance behind my back to see him growing even closer.

I turned, dangling the glass in one hand, and the bottle in the other. "The fuck are you still here for?"

Vance's head tilted, that same mischievous grin finding its way to his lips, again. I cocked my head at him, my hand tightening around my bottle.

"You know, dad told me to relay this message, since you've always been a little...difficult," he started, clasping either hand together. "If you don't attend, your mother will be the one to pay the price."

I froze, the bottle halfway to my glass. My eyes raised to meet his. "Say that again for me?"

I knew what he said, but I needed the clarification that he was this fucking stupid to say it, again. He knew the warning behind my words, but he was too fucking stupid to take it.

Either leg brought him closer to me. "I said," he cleared his throat. "If you don't attend..." he grew closer and closer until we were only a hair distance away, his voice falling to a taunting whisper, "Your whore of a mother will finally die."

If it were possible to feel everything and nothing at once, here the fuck it was. I didn't even know how he knew about my mother, but he was out of his mind if he thought he'd be able to walk away after saying that.

I nodded to him as a thanks, and instead of pouring my drink, the bottle went to my lips. I took the biggest sip, then placed it down so gently, I thought I hadn't touched it.

I raised my eyes to Vance, who was watching me with a sick grin. "Mhm," I hummed, nodding at him. "That's what I thought I heard."

I hopped off the stool, popping my neck. I hadn't fought this fucker in a minute.

His cocky demeanor wavered at me, before I saw the panic set in stone. "Wait—"

Before he could finish, I swung my fist so hard, I literally rendered him speechless.