There was a man who had found himself in paradise.It was everything he'd hoped for, dreamed of, and worked toward. He had a girlfriend wrapped around his finger and a general life of ease. He should be happy...but he wasn't
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"You son of a bitch." His arrest wasn't more than two weeks ago and Freddie didn't care. Here he was, sure he was about to get arrested again, because he was not going to stop until Patrick was beat to within an inch of his life. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, no doubt in his mind who it was that had given Maureen those bruises. Never mind that he was the cause, it was Patrick who had decided a beating was the necessary solution to finding out your girlfriend had cheated. And if he didn't know...it was that much worse.
"Please, I almost dare you to try to deny that you hit her."
"I thought that was supposed to be you," Freddie shot back before the tinge of guilt could get in the way. The guilt no longer had anything to do with Patrick as a person at all. It had to do with the fact that he'd slept with someone else's girlfriend. "But apparently you're doing a hell of a lot more than that."
"She cheated on me with someone, Freddie...and you're the one living in her spare room," he replied smoothly. He studied the man closely, looking for any hint that he was right. Any twitch, any blush, any sliding glance. Maureen wasn't the first girl who'd dallied and Patrick had always found out. He'd known about Dudley Douchebag...even if Angie had thought he was an idiot.
"And that gives you the right to hit her?" Freddie returned. He didn't even bother to address the fact that he was sleeping in Maureen's spare room. "I care about her because she was the first person here to really give a damn about me." There had been others. Prior. And...well, Guy, he supposed, but that was physical.
"You make it sound like I beat the hell out of her," he snorted. "It was an accident. What did she tell you? That I'm a bad boyfriend? Did she tell you I'm in love with her? Or did she even say anything at all, Freddie? Did she tell you anything, or did you just guess it was me...the way I guessed it was you who was in her bed?"
"You mean the way you're grasping at straws?" Freddie laughed. "Sure, she offered before she knew you. I turned her down." That, at least, was the truth. "And the one I'm much more likely to have in my bed is its former owner." Also true. Stone cold sober, he'd sleep with Prior over Maureen.
"Me, on the other hand, I have the fact that you think she slept with someone else and the way that you haven't denied hitting her yet. That's called hitting pay dirt."
Sounding just as smug, but with a glint of menace in his eye, he continued, "And if you hit her again, I can guarantee it'll be the last thing you hit.
"You're very macho. Love the alpha male thing. Are you going to whip it out and start peeing on her leg soon? Maybe you're the one that hit her," Patrick said as he folded his hands. He looked absolutely unfazed by Freddie's outburst and threat. In truth, he was simply reminding himself that a crowded kitchen was no place for a satisfying strangling.
"You can quit worrying about Maureen. She's my girlfriend and soon she might be more than that. She doesn't need someone like you, Freddie. She doesn't want someone like you."
"You don't get ownership rights. She might be your girlfriend, but she's my friend. And if she didn't want someone like me in her life, I'm sure she would have had no problem with kicking me out before this." Freddie snorted. "And before you decide that it's a wonderful idea and go force her to do it, I'll know it was you, now, and not her."
"Maureen can do whatever she wants," Patrick said smoothly. "I'm sure she'll decide what to do when I tell her about this. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear how you threatened to kill me. I'm sure the police will like to know that, too. Really, Freddie...I fear for my life. Does this place even have restraining orders?"
Freddie laughed. "Kill you? You don't think much about my creativity, do you? I just said you wouldn't be able to hit her again. Just like I'm sure the police would like to know about men who smack their girlfriends. Really, I'm the good guy here looking out for her best interest."
"People here fight all the time. There's a club for it. There's a ring in the New Atlantic neighborhood. I know a couple guys who fight on a weekly basis. There's very little here that's as pervasive as sex and violence," he replied. "I didn't hurt Maureen. I mean, come on, Freddie...you must not think much of her if you think she'd stay with someone who hit her on purpose. So tell the police whatever you want. You're grasping at straws, too."
"Or maybe I'm just not underestimating..." He almost said 'my opponent'. "You. You think you're incredibly charming, don't you? And I bet some people even think you are. I know people who think they're charming and underneath, they're as rotten as they come. So no. No, I don't think I'll believe your bullshit and I'm not dealing with the police at all. I'm just giving you a friendly warning that if Maureen comes home with another black eye, you and I are going to have a problem."
"We already have a problem," Patrick said, smiling malevolently. "But you knew that before you ever said anything."
He had no doubts now that Freddie had been the one. He'd ask Maureen directly and see if the bitch had the balls to lie to his face or of she'd admit it. Either way, Freddie wasn't getting a piece of her again.
And Patrick knew ways to not leave bruises. He could leave scars that were far worse.
Funny. Here was a man he probably disliked more than Sergievsky. He'd never thought it would happen. But at least the Russian had never hit Florence. "And the serpent reveals itself," he said in answer to Patrick's tone. "But too late. I'm bored here. I could be better employed." He didn't see that he was going to get anything out of Patrick and the man already suspected he'd been the one who had slept with Maureen. Better to leave well enough alone for now and come back when there was a serious problem.
"Please, I almost dare you to try to deny that you hit her."
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"What do you care?"he asked placidly. "Are you the one fucking her?"
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"Me, on the other hand, I have the fact that you think she slept with someone else and the way that you haven't denied hitting her yet. That's called hitting pay dirt."
Sounding just as smug, but with a glint of menace in his eye, he continued, "And if you hit her again, I can guarantee it'll be the last thing you hit.
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"You can quit worrying about Maureen. She's my girlfriend and soon she might be more than that. She doesn't need someone like you, Freddie. She doesn't want someone like you."
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He had no doubts now that Freddie had been the one. He'd ask Maureen directly and see if the bitch had the balls to lie to his face or of she'd admit it. Either way, Freddie wasn't getting a piece of her again.
And Patrick knew ways to not leave bruises. He could leave scars that were far worse.
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