Page 69 of Gunner

It wasn’t that hard.

“No.”

“Sir, she will have everything she.... what?” My head snapped up when his response registered in my head.

Did he just say no?

“I’m sorry. Did you just say no?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m confused,” I muttered, rubbing my temple. “I thought you wanted me to marry Sarah.”

“Oh, you’re going to marry her,” Mike grinned as he picked up the firing mechanism before cleaning it carefully. “But you don’t have my permission.”

“I’m confused.”

Mike laid the firing pin down on the desk, sat back, and looked at me. “I don’t like you, Gunner. You are a child. More so than Sarah. You don’t take anything seriously. You let your dick rule and you never take accountability for your actions. That is not a man I want around my daughter. To make matters worse, you went back on your word and got my daughter pregnant. Then one of your flings stabbed my daughter because you weren’t man enough to break it off before you moved onto the next woman. So no,Gunner. You do not have my permission to marry Sarah.”

“But you said I had to marry her.”

“And you will,” Mike reiterated before going back to cleaning his gun. “Before hunting season starts.”

Maybe I should have got another cup of coffee. Shaking my head, I tried to make sense of this conversation. He didn’t want me marrying Sarah, but I was going to?

WHAT?

“Mike,” I sighed, rubbing my head. “Help me out here. Either I’m marrying Sarah or not. Which is it?”

“You find that fucker who hit my daughter?”

“Uh,” I hem hawed, shifting in my seat. “Not yet.”

“Where is my daughter?”

“She’s at the clubhouse, resting.”

“That where you plan on keeping her? With all your other women?”

“What? NO!” I shouted, sitting up. “I have a house for that.”

Fuck me. I’d sign the damn thing over to her if it got me out of this room faster. Mike was seriously giving me serial killer vibes, and it wasn’t pretty.

“So, my pumpkin is going to be part of a harem?”

“Huh?” What was he talking about? The man was seriously confusing the fuck out of me. I just wanted to know if I could marry his daughter. I didn’t know this was a test. Was there an essay at the end? God, I hoped not!

“How much money did you make last year?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. How much?”

“A little over one fifty.”

“You own the garage and wrecker service, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”