Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  Her eyes slowly widened. “Oh wow. She left right after the baby was born?”

  “He said she left right after, yeah. Like maybe even a few days after, I don’t know. But not like after a month or anything, it was early. He took off work for six months to bottle feed her. Then he fired the first nanny he hired after the first day. He said he was doing construction work, and he started taking her to work with him. Kept it up until kindergarten.”

  “Holy crap,” she gasped. “I had no idea. That’s impressive. I mean, it sucks that he won’t be in a relationship, but I understand the position he’s taking.”

  “I kind of felt sorry for him.”

  She shook her head lightly, and then looked at me. “You did it with him, didn’t you?”

  I was out of ammunition to divert her attention. I wondered if she’d think less of me, and then decided she wouldn’t.

  I let out a sigh. “Yeah.”

  “You skank.” She chuckled. “I knew you would.”

  “It’s not being a skank if I’m in control of when, where, and how. II needed it,” I said. “And I really enjoyed it.”

  “Your dick fix?”

  I chuckled. “Uh huh.”

  “So, what now?”

  I shrugged. “That’s it. We had sex.”

  “You’re okay with that?”

  “Yeah. We used each other. I was horny, he was horny. We used each other. I kicked him out when we were done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As soon as we were done, I asked him to leave.”

  “Oh wow.” She took a drink of her tea, and then looked up. “He didn’t ask you to give him a lap dance or anything, did he?”

  I worked with Lex at the seafood restaurant during the day, and worked nights at the local strip club. I’d been contemplating quitting, but the amount of money I made was difficult to walk away from.

  “I didn’t tell him I danced. Did you?”

  “No, I didn’t tell him. Did you quit the club already?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Is all Smokey’s worried about is protecting his daughter from meeting someone? I mean, is he willing to like, go out as long as that’s all it is?”

  I wondered about how we left things, and if he’d be receptive to such a suggestion. If it included sex, I was sure he’d see value in it.

  The thought of fucking him again bothered me. Not because I wouldn’t enjoy it, because I knew I would. My problem was that I feared I’d want it over, and over.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think so.”

  “Figure out when your next night off is, and then why don’t you ask him. Maybe we could all do something together.”

  I knew I’d have to make the promise of sex to even think about luring him into a night out with another couple. The thought of doing so wasn’t as exciting as it should be. Maybe it was because I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to continue fucking him without developing feelings.

  After struggling with it for a moment, I decided I could fuck him one more time and walk away safely.

  I gave her a look of reassurance and grinned at the thought of it. “I think I can talk him into it.”

  Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One

  Smokey

  Contentious matters seemed to be handled in the kitchen, and that’s where we were. I stood on one side of the island, and she on the other. It was a good thing there was something separating us, because she looked like she wanted to choke me.

  “We’ve been over this and over this for the last year,” I said. “You know damned good and well that I’m not going to change my mind. You’ve got another month, and then I’ll agree to it. Now, I won’t.”

  She pressed her hands to her hips and glared at me. “He’s not going to wait a month. He’ll find someone else to take out.”

  “Then he’ll find someone else.”

  She shot me a sideways glare. “You don’t care?”

  Upsetting her was the last thing on earth I wanted to do. It hurt me to see her upset, but it would hurt me much worse to see a boy take advantage of her. I wanted to prolong her single status for as long as possible, and the rule of our home was no dating until she was seventeen.

  “It’s not that I don’t care, because I do,” I explained. “I want you to be happy, but I don’t want you to get hurt. The rule is you can date when you’re seventeen. Not sixteen. Not sixteen and a half, and not sixteen and eleven months. Seventeen. That’s the rule.”

  She tossed her hands in the air. “A rule you made up.”

  “All rules are made up.”

  She let out a long sigh, rolled her eyes, and then looked at me. “I want to go on the record as saying that this is the stupidest and most sadistic rule you’ve ever conjured up.”

  “On the record?” I coughed out a laugh. “You’re not in a court of law.”

  “Just as well be. You keep notes. So, keep that one. The stupidest and most sadistic.”

  “I don’t keep notes.”

  “Really? Now I’m stupid, huh?” She shook her head. “You’re brain’s a vault. You keep mental notes. You always have. And you forget nothing.”

  She was right. I did make mental notes, and I rarely forgot anything. I held grudges, too.

  “Stupid and sadistic,” I said. “Duly noted.”

  She glared at me playfully.

  The thought of my daughter going on a date made me cringe. I didn’t care who the guy was, he wasn’t going to be good enough for me. I didn’t want her to grow up, and her going on dates was the last step in her becoming a woman.

  “What’s sadistic about it?” I asked.

  She arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  I nodded and waited for her response. She twisted her mouth to the side, undoubtedly preparing the verbal assault she was going to unleash on me. When she had time to think, she often gave well thought out responses that were indicative of her intelligence, and her odd system of beliefs.

  I mentally exhaled, then reached into my pocket and pulled out my vape. After taking a long pull on it, I waited for her barrage of words.

  She cleared her throat and shot me her signature stink-eye look. “Hell-o. Are you in the house, or outside?”

  I lowered my vape and raised my eyebrows.

  She nodded her head toward my hand. “Do we smoke that ridiculous thing in the house when I’m home?”

  My lungs were filled with 10 cubic feet of 440-degree lemon flavored water vapor. I needed to exhale, but didn’t dare. Not in the house, anyway.

  With my lungs burning and my cheeks puffed out, I shook my head. I’m sure I looked like a teen who had been caught smoking weed by his parents.

  She pointed toward the door. “Outside.”

  I raised my index finger.

  “You have your rules, and I have mine,” she snarled. “Out. Side.”

  After blowing the cloud of smoke out the front door, I turned to face her. “I forgot you were here.”

  “That’s how important I’ve become? I’m transparent?”

  “No, it’s not--”

  “Me and my needs? We’re see through? Invisible Eddie”

  “You know damned good and well that there’s no one on this earth that’s more important to me than you. It’s a habit. I’m getting better.”

  “If you won’t let me smoke one, you shouldn’t smoke one around me.”

  “Law says eighteen to smoke one, so it’s eighteen to smoke one.”

  She twisted her hair with her index finger. “Everyone at school has one.”

  “Maybe they’ve got shit parents.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure that’s the case. Anyway. Sadistic. Here’s why it’s sadistic.” She leaned forward, rested her forearms on the edge of the countertop, and locked eyes with me. “A woman wants reassurance that she’s beautiful. She wants…no strike that. She needs to feel that she’s been accepted by the person
or persons she seeks affirmation from. That confirmation, that reassurance, when it comes? It builds self-esteem. Now, we both know I’m not one of those girls that has low self-esteem, but a little boost from time to time sure doesn’t hurt. Conversely, when a woman doesn’t get said reassurance of her beauty? It whittles away at the fiber of her being. In time, she becomes downtrodden and oppressed. Then, by the time she’s, I don’t know, say 23 or 24, she’s an easy mark for anyone who will give her a moment’s notice. Your knowledge of my need for said reassurance, and lack of willingness to provide it, is nothing short of sadistic. It leaves me to wonder if you actually enjoy seeing my self-esteem pummeled into a pile of mush.”

  “Really?” I cocked an eyebrow. “A pile of mush?”

  “Like wet sawdust. Or, remember when we went to Georgia to see your brother? The grits? Remember the grits?”

  I nodded.

  “That bowl of grits.” She leaned back and gave a quick nod. “That’s going to be my self-esteem if this keeps up.”

  “And going on a date with Jonny the football player will fix that?”

  “His name’s Richard.”

  “You want to go on a date with a guy named Dick?”

  She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Richard.”

  Eddie had more self-esteem than any other 16-year-old girl on earth. She was beautiful, and to keep her reminded of it, I made it a point to tell her every day. She inherited my height, and stood almost 5’-10”. Tall and lean, her blue eyes and well-developed chest set her apart from the masses at school.

  But.

  They were a magnet for the testosterone-filled teenage boys.

  “Richard, Dick, Jonny, Frank, Pete. It doesn’t matter. Tell him you’ll go out with him. Just set the date a month from now. Hell, tell him your schedule is booked up until then.”

  “That’s a ridiculous idea.”

  “It’s a great idea.”

  She shook her head. “Have you always been this way?”

  “What way?”

  “Sadistic?”

  I grinned. “Most of my life, yeah.”

  She scanned me from head to toe, and then looked me in the eyes. “Figures.”

  The timer on the stove beeped, saving me from further criticism.

  “Go wash your hands,” she said. “It’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “I washed them when I got home from--”

  She shot me her signature stink eye, a side-eyed glare. “You’ve been handling that nasty vape thing, and who knows where else your hands have been. Wash ‘em.”

  “Love you, Ed.”

  As she opened the oven door, she glanced over her shoulder. “I love you, too, you sadistic jerk.”

  Chapter One Hundred Twenty-Two

  Sandy

  In hindsight, I realized I should have never agreed to it. I was really enjoying our night out – it was riding on the motorcycle that I should have refused to do.

  Smoke agreed to go on a date with Cholo and Lex. The men, of course, insisted that we ride on the motorcycles. I didn’t object, but I later realized I should have. With his club brother riding at his side, he was comfortable, and he was different.

  He was fun, funny, had a more machismo demeanor, and seeing the differences made him far more attractive. I wanted to despise him for being the way he was about relationships, but I couldn’t.

  Oddly, I respected him.

  After riding to Chula Vista for tacos, we raced through the sparse traffic on the freeway. The sound of the exhaust, the speed, the laughter, and the friendly goofing around proved to be too much. With each passing mile, I was slowly melting into a puddle of lust.

  We excited the highway, and rolled to a stop at the traffic light.

  “We’re headed home, brother,” Cholo shouted over the sound of his exhaust. “Lex is exhausted.”

  “Right on,” Smoke said. “Your turn is one block up, right?”

  Cholo checked the light and gave a nod.

  Smoke revved his exhaust. “On green.”

  Cholo shook his head. “Damn it, Smoke.”

  Lex looked at me and grinned. “They do this all the time.”

  “No guts, no glory, motherfucker,” Smoke taunted.

  Cholo checked the light and then glanced at Smoke. “On green, asshole.”

  Lex clutched Cholo’s waist like her life depended on it.

  “Hold on,” Smoke said over his shoulder. “Tight.”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and sank my thumbs between the inside of his jeans and his hips. “Okay.”

  I watched as the cross-traffic light turned to yellow, and held my breath. The sound of the exhaust bellowed behind us in a deafening tone. When the light flashed from red to green, Smoke released the clutch.

  We launched forward like we’d been rear-ended by a truck.

  The back tire screeched, the front tire raised up, and we shot ahead of Cholo’s bike by a few feet. Smoke leaned forward, pressing his chest onto the gas tank, and I followed, flattening my boobs against his back.

  The exhilaration was something I hadn’t ever felt.

  He shifted gears, and Cholo caught up to us. After shifting again, Cholo passed us by a few feet. I took a quick look over Smoke’s shoulder, and noticed we were going over 100 miles an hour.

  My heart shot to my throat.

  I glanced up. The light ahead turned to red. Both motorcycles, as if pre-programmed, decelerated, braked, and eventually came to a stop.

  Smoke cocked his head to the side. “Lucky prick.”

  “Fuck you, Smoke.” Cholo said. “My shit’s faster. I outweigh you by thirty at least, and we’re riding two up. That old sled is junk.”

  Smoke glared at him. “Two up?”

  Cholo grinned. “Yeah. Me, Lex, and the baby.”

  The light changed to green.

  “See ya, fat ass,” Smoke shouted.

  Lex waved, and they turned to the left. Without speaking, Smoke and I rode for a few miles through town. I enjoyed the relaxing ride just as much as the racing, but in a different way. For me, the motorcycle provided three things.

  It was a mode of transportation, something very exciting, and it could also be very relaxing.

  During our ride, I got lost in the smell of the ocean breeze, the low drone of the exhaust, and the feeling of having my arms wrapped around his waist. And then, he pulled into my driveway.

  My heart sank.

  I’d told myself this would be the last time we’d see each other, and after having such a wonderful night, I knew I’d have to honor my personal promise.

  I thought of never seeing him again sickened me, but it was necessary.

  He switched off the engine.

  I removed my helmet, clutched it in my hands, and then took a slow deliberate breath.

  One last time, that’s it.

  He stepped off the bike and reached for my hand. “Sorry about that race, but I just had to.”

  With the help of his guiding hand, I carefully got off the motorcycle. “Oh, that’s okay. It was exciting.”

  He smiled, revealing dimples that I didn’t know existed. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

  He took the helmet, put it in the compartment, and looked at me. His mouth twisted to one side, and he wagged his finger at me. “You remind me of that chick that sings country and dances on T.V.”

  I wondered who he was talking about, but his explanation didn’t narrow my mental search to much less than 10,000 women.

  “Oh yeah, her,” I said sarcastically.

  “Burlesque.” He snapped his fingers, and then pointed at me. “She was in that, too. Won dancing with the stars a couple times.”

  I thought about it, and when it came to me, my eyes went wide. I swallowed hard, and stared at him in disbelief. “Julianne Hough?”

  “Yeah,” he said excitedly. “You look just like her. It’s been buggin’ me. Glad I figured it out.”

  I didn’t want street races, fish tacos, and panty-melting compliments. I wanted h
im to be an asshole. I wanted him to fuck me one last time and leave angry after I said something sarcastic, pointed, and shitty.

  I wanted him to not answer the late night drunken texts that I was sure would follow. I wanted him to eventually get so aggravated with me that he blocked my phone number. I wanted to tell him to get on his motorcycle and ride away. I wanted him to be angry and disappointed with me.

  At least if he was it would make everything easier.

  Instead, I reached for his hand. “Let’s go in.”

  As soon as I extended my arm, I realized what I’d done. I expected him to pull away. In fact, I wanted him to. Filled completely with his compliment, I became lost in that moment. I’d simply forgotten who he was.

  The unavailable single hot dad who just so happened to be a sexy biker.

  His handsome looks made it easy to forget. In looking at his face, it was almost impossible to see him as anything other than gorgeous.

  But, he didn’t pull away.

  He simply stepped beside me and followed me up the walk.

  And, with each step we took, I lost a little more of my desire to push him away.

  * * *

  If it was going to be the last time, I decided it was going to be my way, or no way at all. He had no idea it was our final night together, and I had no idea of telling him. At least not yet.

  I’d walked into the kitchen to get a bottle of water while he draped his kutte over the back of the couch. When I turned around, he was standing between me and the living room, wearing only his jeans and a wife beater.

  The jeans were tight enough that they revealed a slight bulge in his crotch. Naturally, my eyes fell to it. The outline of his cock garnered my complete attention. After a moment of admiring his thickness, I took in each muscular inch of his long torso.

  Upon reaching his eyes, I stopped.

  I swallowed heavily, blindly reached for the counter, and parted my dry lips. “Come here.”

  With meaningful steps, he sauntered toward me. In those six strides, his swagger seduced me. Denying his bravado was impossible. When he walked, it was a firm reminder of the sexual beast that dwelled in his being.