Rage. An uncontrollable and insatiable rage consumed Nash Sheppard. He was being a prick, and he didn’t care who he took his anger out on.
Sunny Nettles was barely earning enough at the small diner to keep the lights on, much less keep food on the table. And some prick comes waltzing into the diner, spouting orders to keep her mouth shut? She had had enough…
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Nash didn’t bother buttoning his pants when he pulled them on. Leaning over, he reached for his shirt and didn’t bother with trying to make it look presentable either as he pulled it up and over his head. Standing, he made his way to his shoes and sat down on the only clean surface in the room. Christ had he had a look around before going to
her bed, he might well have gone on home and jerked off.
“Hey, big boy. Why don’t you come back to bed? I’ll make it worth your while to be late to work.”
He didn’t bother saying anything. His temper, always so close lately,
had gotten him in trouble with more than one hooker of late. Not to mention his family. “Come on. We can make another go of it.”
“No.” Standing after pulling on his shoes, he reached for the cash he had in his pocket. Tossing another fifty on the top of her nasty dresser, he decided it was well past time for him to get out of there.
“You’re not too terribly friendly, are you?” Again, he didn’t answer. Sometimes, it was best to keep his mouth shut. Or so everyone in his family had been telling him lately. “Yeah, I can see you don’t even think of me as a person. Don’t bother coming back either.”
“All right.” As soon as he leaned over to pick up his coat, he felt something fly over his head. Looking at the naked woman in the bed, he glared at her. “You’re getting emotional on me? That’s why I go to your kind and not humans. Less said, no drama and certainly no feelings hurt because I want it done and over with.” “My kind? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He told her shifter and hooker. “I’m not a hooker, you fuck. I’m a prostitute. Where do you get off calling me—get out of here before I call in Mason. He’ll show you the difference between my kind.”
He didn’t have any idea what the fuck that was supposed to mean, but he did get the last of his things and left. Nash was more than happy that he paid at the beginning of his night rather than at the end. It tended to be cheaper, and he didn’t have to linger around trying to figure out what she deemed to be a good price. Once he was out on the street, he made his way to downtown. It was nearly six in the morning, so he didn’t have to worry about too many people on the sidewalks. Even having someone touching him of late would send him into a rage that he couldn’t imagine someone living through if he were to unleash it.
Going by his apartment, he showered and then put on a suit. Might as well get himself to work before anyone else. He wouldn’t have to explain himself, nor would anyone bother him unless his door was open. Keeping it closed and locked had saved his family a lot of wars. All he’d been able to share with them was his anger and more
anger. Nearly turning around and going back home when he saw who was in his office; his mom stood up and told him to have a seat. He could tell that she was in as bad a mood as he was, so he didn’t push her buttons by telling her that he didn’t want to talk to her today. Or any day, for that matter. “How many people do I have to pay off that you pissed off on the way in today, Nashville?”
He just sat at his desk and looked at her. “In the event you didn’t
understand that. It was a question that I wanted an answer for. Who have you blistered with your temper this morning?” “Since I know for a fact that you are aware of when the staff comes in, then I’m not going to answer that since it’s just after seven. And unless you want to add yourself to that list you seem to be wanting to add to, then I want you to know that I’m in no mood to fool with anything you might have to say to me today.” He knew, just as soon as the words slipped from his lips, that he’d pissed off the one person in the world that wouldn’t have a bit of trouble taking him on. Verbally, of course, but there would be no fewer wounds than if it was one of his brothers. “What is it you want, Mother? I’m not in the mood for anything.”
“No, everyone that is around you can see that. Feel it, too. You and your brother have been peeling the skin off of every person who dares to come near you. Yesterday, I had to beg Archie’s secretary not to quit. Then, this morning, I had to handle a very personal call about you. Did you really call someone a hooker?” He wasn’t going to be embarrassed about his mom knowing about his sex life. If she didn’t want to know,
then she should keep her nose out of his business. “Well?”
“One, you knowing that I did that boggles my mind. Why would you even care that I’m fucking anyone, much less someone that I have to pay? Two. Where the hell do you get off coming in here and giving me grief because I got my rocks off?
When she stood up, so did he. He could see the anger in her eyes and hoped to Christ, she’d back off. “Go home, Mom. I’ve got a great deal of work—” The hand to his face hurt. Not the pain of it, though, that did sting, but the fact that he’d driven his mother to slapping him. When the other side of his face exploded in pain, he took a step back from her. His mother wasn’t a typical mother. Beautiful, she was tall, nearly as tall as he was at six feet four inches and slight. But she was a shifter, the same as he was, and she could, if she wanted, release as much of her cat as she deemed necessary. It appeared that she thought this was one of those times to release a great deal of her.
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but if you ever use that tone or language with me again, I will end you, Nashville Peterson Sheppard. I won’t regret it nearly as much as you will when I stand over your bleeding throat and watch you die.” His cat, usually right out there ready to do battle, curled back and away from his mother. “If you think that I’m the least bit wary of doing it, then you just try me.”
Stretching his neck, it popped. When he bent his head to do the other side of his neck, he heard the distinguishable sound of claws unsheathing. Taking another step back from his mom, he looked at her claws. Even with the light shade of pink nail polish she had on them, he knew them to be lethal. And that she was finished with fucking with him.
“This is me talking to you in a low, somewhat calm voice. Gather up what you need from this office and go home. Don’t you dare set foot across the threshold, or help me, I will do as I said to you. You’re not to be here, not even to call in, until I grant you access to this building. Do I make myself clear?” He said yes through clenched teeth. “This, whatever this is that you’re doing or feeling, myself and the rest of the staff here have had enough.” When she turned on her heel, it was on the tip of his tongue to speak again. He knew as well as he was standing there that it would not end well for himself, but Nash
couldn’t stop himself. As his mother paused at the door, her claws still out where she could use them if necessary, she looked at him once again.
“I don’t know who you are anymore. None of you. For the last several months, more I think, it’s been a war between the six of you, and I’ve had enough. Don’t push me, Nashville. If you do, I swear with all that is holy that there will be no saving you. I’m finished with you.”
When she left, closing the door quietly behind her, Nash stood there for several long minutes, trying his best to get his temper under control. There was nothing he could do. So, wiping his hand over the top of his desk, he roared along with the sound of breaking glass, computer equipment, and whatever else was atop his desk.
His apartment wasn’t any place he wanted to be, either. After tossing what was left of his briefcase and laptop in the back seat of his truck, gunning the motor, he left the parking garage and drove. Nash didn’t care if he hit someone, got a ticket, or anything else happened on his way out of town, but lord help the person or persons that decided that they wanted to speak to him.
At noon, he pulled off the highway to get himself something to eat. He wouldn’t have bothered, but his head was slightly off, and his cat felt like he was chewing at his insides. Pulling into the first place, he saw that there weren’t that many cars in the lot. He got out and went inside. As soon as he was told to seat himself, Nash knew that he
should have left and used one of the million-and-one drive-thru places rather than having a face-to-face with anyone right now.
When he was handed a menu, Nash didn’t bother looking at the person but stretched his neck, popping it several times before glancing at the water-stained menu and handing it back to the person.
“Don’t speak to me. Ever. Just bring me two number ones and a pitcher of water with a glass of ice. No talking. No questions.” He looked at his options. “Scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, and hash browns.”
The menu was snatched from his hand, and a few seconds later, a set of silverware wrapped in a paper napkin was slammed on the table in front of him.
The glass of ice was next. Several of the slippery chunks went slithering across the table when two large pitchers of water joined the glass. He might have found it funny, but he got what he wanted and didn’t care how the person’s feelings were crushed. Not bothering to look around, he sat at his booth and contemplated his mother’s threat. There was no doubt that she would do as she said. When their father had slapped her around one night, they found his body cut to ribbons in the field next to the baseball field where he and his brothers had played ball. There was no doubt that he had suffered and badly. His father had been a bastard all their lives. But that night, he’d not taken his temper out on them but their mother.
Author Kathi S Barton 