Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  It wasn’t that night, or even the night that followed when my father approached me. It was maybe a week or so later. He knew my friends didn’t do it, because at that time, none of them had a BB gun.

  I was the only one who was ‘responsible’ enough.

  He towered over me with his hands on his hips and his eyes locked on mine.

  Looking down wasn’t allowed, and looking away wasn’t an option, either. Reluctantly, I met his stare.

  The tone of his voice was such that there was no mistaking his disappointment in me. “Brad, did you shoot the garage window with your BB gun?”

  I knew he would probably kill me, or at least ship me away to a camp somewhere for what I had done, but no punishment would be as bad as the punishment I’d receive for lying. Honesty was a part of having integrity, and as my father’s son, I was expected to be honorable over and above all things.

  I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “I work hard to pay for this house. Why would you do such a thing?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  I’d no more than responded, and I knew it wasn’t going to be sufficient. Not with my father, anyway.

  “That’s not an answer. I’ll ask you one more time. Why did you do it?”

  I looked at the hole. After a quick study, I told the truth. “I wanted to see what it would do. The BB gun. See how much power it had.”

  He nodded. “What did you think it would do?”

  “Break it…”

  He scowled. “But you just had to know, didn’t you?”

  I nodded again. “Yes, Sir.”

  “You damned sure didn’t exercise any common sense. It’s going to cost $20 to fix that window. Do you have $20?”

  I had about $2.00, if I collected all the change from my piggy bank. I was saving for a mini-bike at the time. I fought against the lump in my throat. “No, Sir.”

  “Start saving.” He said. “You’re going to pay for it. You understand why, don’t you?”

  “Because I broke it?”

  “That’s right.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “And now, you’re going to pay for fixing it. The decisions you make in life will have a financial effect on you. Some will be bad, and some will be good. This was a piss poor decision on your part.”

  I suspected taking my BB gun was next, and I was right. He told me he’d return it when he could trust me, and to this day, I’m still waiting on it.

  I chuckled a laugh, paused, and looked out over the crowd.

  Most people were wiping their eyes. I realized not all of them were reacting to what I was saying, but some of them certainly were. The rest, by my best guess, were recalling stories of their own.

  I dropped my gaze to the sheet of paper and continued.

  A month or so later, he and I changed the broken piece of glass together. He showed me how to scrape away the caulking, pull the retaining clips, and replace the glass.

  To this day, I still know how to replace a pane in an old double hung window.

  I also know the value of money.

  The lessons my father taught me didn’t stop there. They continued for years, many long after I was an adult.

  “Be honest.”

  “All we have is our word. Be a man of your word. Always.”

  “If you can’t pay for it, you probably don’t need it.”

  “Work hard every day, or your boss will find someone else who will.”

  “Never raise your hand to a woman. If someone else does in your presence, raise your hand to him.”

  “At any cost, stand up for what you believe in. If there’s opposition, stand taller.”

  “No man on this earth is born better than you, or worse. Don’t judge. Ever. A man’s worth will be shown in his actions, but never by his skin color, religion, or lack of religion.”

  In my parent’s home, using derogatory words to describe a race or religion didn’t happen.

  Ever.

  I am the man I am today because of my father.

  He died in his sleep while Tegan and I were laying side-by-side in bed on the night of his 50th wedding anniversary.

  I’m going to miss him dearly.

  But today, I stand tall, I stand proud, and I stand firm in my convictions.

  Because I am Bradley Carson’s son.

  Pop, I’ll try to never disappoint you.

  Proudly, Your son, Bradley Carson II.

  I folded the paper and tossed it on top of the casket.

  And, I wept one last time as they lowered him into the ground.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Tegan

  I sat beside Brad’s and stared at the attorney. Dressed in an expensive suit and wearing greased back salt-and-pepper hair, he looked like a retired car salesman.

  He peered over the top of his wire-framed glasses and sighed. “Your father was an interesting man.”

  Brad nodded and squeezed my hand. “That he was.”

  “With your mother still living, there is no property, and resolving your father’s will shall be rather simple and painless.”

  Brad nodded.

  “There’s a note written to each of you, and as they’re a part of the last will and testament, I can either read them to you, or you can read them privately. Have you a preference?”

  “You can read mine out loud,” Brad said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  The attorney nodded. “You’ll each get a copy of them, but I’ll read what he has written. And, I quote:

  Bradley. I leave you the BB gun you used to shoot the window. One of the many idiotic decisions you’d make through the course of your life as my son, but certainly not the worst. I told you I’d return it when I felt that I could trust you, and I’m quite certain that time is upon me. Lest you worry when this will was written, I ask that you check the date at the bottom, when I signed it. Yes, Son, it took that long. Furthermore, I leave you my coveted Padres World Series ball. You’ve spent a lifetime admiring it from afar, and now you can fingerfuck it for as long as your little heart desires. I must also clarify that I don’t think you or any of your brethren in the club are dip-shits or shit-heads. In fact, I respect each and every one of you. Keep the streets clean of filth, and keep the shiny side of your cruiser up. Lastly, proceed with your life knowing this: you’ve made me damned proud, Son. Damned proud. Just remember this, dip-shit. I’m up here watching you.”

  The attorney paused and looked up. “That’s the end of yours.”

  I glanced at Brad. He fought not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. A prideful grin covered his entire face.

  I squeezed his hand in mine.

  The attorney cleared his throat, and then looked at me. “Tegan? What about you?”

  I sighed. “Read it.”

  He nodded and then looked down. “Tegan. You came into my life like a thief, stealing my heart, my modesty, and my Son. I’ll be forever grateful that you came when you did, for I am convinced that in your absence, my son would have perished an early death, and losing him before he found true love would have killed me a second time.

  I leave you with the Scrabble game that I built my relationship’s foundation on. Before you refuse to receive it, and I know that’s what you’re thinking, think again. I already talked to Deann, and she wants you to have it. Take care of it, it’s old and ancient, just like I was when we met. I ask that you use it to build the foundation of your relationship, and based on the promise I’m going to ask you to keep, I suspect you’ll do your best to make that happen. Insert a “wink* here.

  Boyd’s Salvage in Encino has a door for your car that’s pre-paid. Call and ask for Rico, he’ll ship it to you, or you can pick it up. Have Brad put it on, it should take him 30 minutes. For him, it’ll sting a little, knowing he’s replacing the door that wrecked his bike, but repairing a car is the kind of shit men do for women they love.

  Last things always come last, and I’ll close in saying this: Kid, I love you. And I know that on the d
ay you showed up, you kicked Brad’s ass, regardless of whether or not you ever admitted it.

  Don’t hesitate to do it again, if he needs it, that is.”

  He set the paper on his desk and looked up. “Brad, your mother has your BB gun and your baseball.”

  He looked at me. “And, Tegan, she has your Scrabble game.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Any questions?”

  We looked at each other, shrugged simultaneously, and both said “no” at the same time.

  As we walked out of the office, Brad looked at me and laughed. “I can’t believe that asshole is making me fix your car.”

  I chuckled. “I can’t believe he’s giving you your BB gun back.”

  “I can,” he said. “He knows I’m a man now.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “It’s a secret,” he said. “Between him and me.”

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Pee Bee

  She laughed until I thought she was going to pee her pants. After catching her breath, she looked up. “Really?”

  I flipped her my middle finger. “It’s a fucking word.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You went to college, right?”

  “Fuck off, kid,”

  “P-I-G,” she said. “Six points.”

  “A word’s a word. And six points is six points.”

  “We’re playing for stakes. And, they’re high. Don’t you want to win?”

  I didn’t. I really didn’t. “I’m trying babe. I really am.”

  But, I wasn’t.

  “Okay,” she said.

  She studied the tiles on her rack, twisted her mouth to the side, and then burst out laughing.

  Using an existing U, she spelled a word using all her letters. After she placed the tiles down on the board, I looked at her in disbelief. “What the fuck is that?”

  “That, my dear, is a word worth enough to seal my win, I’m afraid. And, it’s nothing short of a miracle that I had those letters. Truth be told, it sends chills down my spine to spell it.”

  I stared at it. M-U-Z-J-I-K. It made no sense. “You’re making shit up, now. You’ve been challenged.”

  “A muzjik,” she said “Is a Russian peasant.”

  “And if it isn’t in the dictionary, you’re going to be an American peasant.”

  I grabbed the dictionary, flipped through the pages, and found the word. She was right, a muzjik was a Russian peasant. Aggravated, I considered throwing the dictionary down – just to be a shit - but remembered it was fifty years old.

  I placed it in the box carefully, then stood. I took a bow. “Turn relinquished, my dear.”

  “Thank you, honorable sir.”

  In ten minutes, the game was over. After tallying up the points, she declared the score. “502-312”

  “Ouch,” I said. “That bad?”

  She bit her bottom lip, nodded, and then shrugged. “Sucks, huh?”

  “Kind of.”

  “So, what’s it gonna be?” I asked.

  “Haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Let me think on it for a few minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  There was nothing she would assign me that I’d argue with, that was for sure. We’d been playing three nights a week for the last four weeks, and my father was right. Playing Scrabble built an incredibly solid foundation for a relationship.

  If he knew we were playing for stakes, he’d probably laugh.

  In the end, I was sure he’d be pleased with my idea to do it, though. The punishment for the loser was bringing us even closer yet.

  “I decided,” she said.

  “I can’t wait. What?”

  “The upside-down thing from the first night. That’s an awesome trick.”

  Licking her pussy wasn’t punishment, it was heaven. I lowered my head in false shame. “You sure?”

  She nodded eagerly. “Yep.”

  I stood, pulled off my shirt, and tossed it aside.

  She wagged her finger toward my jeans. “Pants, too.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll leave them on.”

  “Afraid not, loser. Get ‘em off.”

  I let out a faux sigh, and then unbuckled my belt. By the time my jeans hit the floor, she was standing in front of me, naked as the day she was born.

  “Bend over the chair, so I can pick you up.”

  She turned toward the chair, bent at the waist, and lowered her upper body over the breakfast table.

  I stood for a moment and admired her. There was no doubt she was a beautiful woman, but it wasn’t confined to her looks alone. Who she was far exceeded what she looked like.

  I stood behind her, pressed my chest against her back, and tilted her head to the side.

  “I’m going to tongue fuck you until you pass out,” I whispered into her ear.

  “Do it,” she breathed. “Loser.”

  I pressed my mouth against hers, and kissed her. It seemed I only kissed her two ways. It was either a peck on the lips, or it was my best attempt to replicate the kiss we had in the burger joint.

  And this kiss was the latter of the two.

  After a few long, hard minutes of kissing, I pulled my mouth from hers.

  “Holy crap,” she said.

  “Holy crap is right,” I whispered into her ear.

  I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air in front of me, upside-down.

  She straddled my shoulders with her thighs, backed her ass against my face, and pressed her pussy against my willing mouth.

  I gripped her upper thighs with my hands, spread her pussy wide with my thumbs, and shoved my tongue inside of her as deep as I could.

  After a few minutes of precision pussy-licking, I pulled my mouth away and began to concentrate on her clit.

  A few seconds into sucking her swollen nub, she began to moan.

  “Babe, you’re killing me,” she whined.

  I flicked my tongue against her clit while I massaged her pussy with both thumbs.

  Rhythmically, predictably, and with the precision of a surgeon, I concentrated on circling her clit with my tongue, and then sucking it. Circling it, and then sucking it.

  As she often did, she sucked my cock on and off, forgetting I even had one.

  Don’t get me wrong, she played plenty of attention to my cock, just not when I was sucking her pussy. It seemed when my tongue was inside of her, she simply lost focus.

  Still hoisted in the air with her pussy pressed to my face, I nibbled her clit lightly while I fingered her.

  Her mouth found my cock.

  I closed my eyes, found my happy place, and began to circle her clit with my tongue.

  She lifted her head.

  “Cum in my mouth,” she said. “Before you kill me.”

  She’d had multiple small orgasms, but nothing noteworthy.

  I felt her mouth encompass me entirely. With her hand on my balls and my cock down her throat, she forced the tip against the back of her throat repeatedly.

  In response, I fingered her and tortured her clit.

  Her scent filled my nostrils, and drove me into a pussy licking frenzy.

  Within seconds, her body began to quake.

  I felt my balls tighten. An aching ran through me, warning me of my limited time. If she didn’t stop sucking, I was going to come down her throat. As much as I knew that was what she wanted, I wanted hers down my throat more.

  I focused on her clit, fingered her with passion, and carefully sucked her clit with precision.

  As she began to release herself into my willing mouth, I had every expectation of her lifting her head, but it never happened.

  Instead, she buried my cock deeper in her throat.

  I returned the favor, pressing my tongue into her.

  As I released my orgasm into her warm mouth, she did the same for me.

  Together we moaned, groaned, and came like two people who were madly in love with each other.

  And that was exactly what we were. Two people, madly
in love.

  In a relationship with a foundation formed from the results of a taped together game inside fifty-year-old cardboard box.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Tegan

  “Beat your ass like a fucking drum tonight, huh?” He said in a sarcastic tone.

  I gazed down at him.

  His hands were behind his head, his biceps were flexed, and he was laying comfortably on his back. His face was covered in a smug grin.

  Me?

  I was the loser of the night, and I was riding his cock in cowgirl position.

  And with Brad’s dick inside of me, in that position, I felt like I was being impaled.

  I bucked my hips wildly, taking his complete length inside of me with each cycle of hip’s movement.

  “I asked you a fuckin question, loser!” he bellowed.

  I wished I could have responded, but doing so was impossible. With his hands pressing down against my shoulders and his muscular legs thrusting upward against my down stroke, talking while riding his cock wasn’t even an option.

  He stretched his arms wide, and then reached for my boobs.

  Oh God, yes.

  He caressed my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, while he cupped my entire breasts in his massive hands. I arched my back and continued my search for just the right angle.

  A tingling ran through me from my nipples to my clit. I’d found it.

  “If you don’t cover my balls in come,” he said. “I’ll make you go again.”

  I was exhausted. We’d had sex twice already. Losing was one thing, but the punishment shouldn’t last an entire afternoon, even if it was sex.

  I closed my eyes, concentrated on the feeling of having him inside of me, and hoped I could finally end the afternoon with one last mind-blowing orgasm.

  His hands slid down along the outside of my torso, his thumbs grazing along my ribcage, and his fingers dragging along the small of my back.

  My hips continued their seemingly endless task of riding the entire length of his dick, and my mind began to spin from exhaustion, dehydration, and malnutrition.

  I felt his fingers pry my ass wide – which always drove me insane – and then…