Page 30 of Good Boy

"Save it. You and Cynthia can both take your manipulative games and shove them up your asses."

Zander looked like he wanted to say more, but I turned away from him, stalking toward the door without another word. My pulse pounded in my ears, but not loud enough to drown out his further pleas. He tried to get my attention once more, his pathetic voice bouncing off the walls of the hallway as he followed me into the house. Words geared up on the edge of my tongue, but as soon as I turned the corner to head back into the dining room, Weston was there. His face laced with concern, and then anger as he passed glances between Zander and I.

I stormed off in the other direction, desperate to get the fuck out of the house. Weston called after me, his voice calm at first, but it soon became sharp.

"Darius, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Ask your wife,” I shot back and yanked open the door to his BMW.

He stopped in his tracks, beams of light from the car erasing his silhouette as I drove past him.

The tension in the air was palpable as the car pulled up to my condo. Cynthia, my ever-obedient wife, had feigned ignorance when I questioned her about why Darius drove off like a bat out of hell with my car.

I let the door slam shut once I entered, and tossed my suit jacket onto the plush chair near the entrance. My mind had raced with thoughts of Darius throughout the entire ride home. What the hell happened between him and Zander? And how the fuck did Cynthia get involved in their mess? It made no sense. Neither one of us even had contact with Darius until he returned home almost a week ago.

My heart pounded in my chest, fueled by an annoyance I couldn’t control. But deep down, beneath the irritation, I felt something else, an ache that burned like hot lava in my veins as I thought of Darius.

"Darius!" I shouted as I made a beeline toward my study.

I poured a glass of whiskey, took a large swig, and waited for the liquid to burn a hole in my soul. Mother only served wine during dinners, and it always pissed me the fuck off. I finished the glass and slammed it down on the tray. I glanced at the clock and cursed under my breath. Just once, it would have been nice to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Letting out a sigh of relief, I slipped off my Oxfords and untucked my dress shirt, feeling the comfort of casualness as I circled the condo. I stopped in the fitness room. He wasn't there.

"Where are you, you little shit?" I muttered under my breath, determined to find him and get some answers.

I went to his bedroom and with a gentle push, I widened the crack in the door. The scent of his shower seeped out from under the door. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the doorframe. He finally appeared, sauntering out of the bathroom with damp skin, wild, freshly washed hair, and a pair of sweats low on his hips. My cock hardened as he walked around the room, the outline of his dick clearly visible through the fabric.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked sarcastically, clearly aware of my presence, but refusing to acknowledge it properly.

I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure. "You and I need to have a serious talk," I said, stepping forward.

"Go choke on a cock," he snapped back.

I geared up to give him a piece of my mind, but then my phone rang. Cole's name flashed across the screen and I ignored it. Whatever issue he had would have to wait.

" Tell me what happened with Zander."

"Fuck off, Weston," he spat, shoving me aside as he tried to walk past.

His brash attitude ignited a spark of anger within me, and I couldn't help but react. I grabbed his arm, shoving him into the nightstand with enough force to make the items on top rattle.

"Fix that bratty attitude of yours before I make you fix it," I growled.

We stood there, mere inches apart, our breaths heavy and labored. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough that anyone walking in would have choked on it.

"Or what?" he said, his eyes tightening at the corners. A blaze burned behind them, daring me to follow through on my threat.

"Or you'll regret it.”

As much as I wanted to maintain control, I couldn't deny the fucked-up possession that stirred within me at the thought of teaching him a lesson.

"Is that supposed to scare me?" He smirked. "Save your fucking threats for someone who gives a shit."

"Why can't you just answer the fucking question?"

Darius leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Go ask your dry-cunt wife what happened."

I couldn't take it anymore. I grabbed a fistful of his dark-brown hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look me in the eye. "She's being tight-lipped. So fucking tell me or I'll bend you over and fuck the answer out of you."

Darius stared me down, his eyes burning like embers in a fire. He didn’t move an inch. "Zander said Cynthia set the whole fucking dinner up. But I know better. I know you were behind it because Cynthia doesn't know shit about my life."