Page 76 of Disgrace

Really fucking pissed off.

Where in previous fights he would make sure to keep his punches clean, and not hit Andino somewhere it would do lasting damage—like his face—John just didn’t care. He needed to get some of his goddamn anger out, and since Andino had been the cause of that anger in the first damn place, here they were.

It didn’t take long before Andino figured out John was not going to calm, or back down. He tried holding John down, but that didn’t do anything for either of them. Andino got his own hits thrown in, too, but John barely felt them at all.

Maybe after the third or so punch John landed to Andino’s head did the trick—he didn’t really know what it was—but his cousin figured out this was not like every other time they went to blows.

Either way, Andino pulled back, and rolled away from John. He laid to his back on the floor, and stared up at the ceiling. It took all the willpower John had not to roll over, and start fucking up the man again.

Outside the office, dishes clattered. Footsteps echoed just beyond their space as the employees continued to work.

It would be comical.

If it wasn’t so fucking sad.

“So fucking lucky Snaps wasn’t here today,” Andino snarled under his breath.

John let out a hard exhale, and scrubbed his now-sore hands down his face. “Where is he?”

“Haven took him to the spa.”

Side-eyeing his cousin, he said, “The fucking spa.”

“He likes it, okay. They rub him down, bathe him, and give him treats. It’s their thing—she takes him once a week.”

“He goes to the spa once a week. Are you serious? He’s a dog.”

“A dog that would have ripped your face off for this bullshit.”

Fair enough.

“Fuck,” Andino muttered, touching the spot above his eyebrow with his fingertips. “I think you cracked something in my face.”

“Not going to apologize for that.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

John’s jaw clenched so hard, his goddamn molars ached. The anger that had damn near controlled him for the entire day before, and this morning, was still entirely present. Apparently, there was no getting rid of it.

He tried using one of Leonard’s techniques, which meant John had to make a conscious choice to put his reactive nature aside when something got to him. Whatever it might be—anger, or something similarly overwhelming. He needed to try and give it some time to settle, and then handle it appropriately.

Clearly, that had not worked.

Here he was.

“They change your fucking meds, or something?” Andino asked.

That hit a nerve.

John’s fist came out like lightening, and landed hard to Andino’s kidney. His cousin’s air came out in a sharp whoosh, and then a low fuck followed right behind. Sweet satisfaction curled through John.

“Don’t take cheap shots at me about being bipolar, or my meds. You fucking asshole.”

“All right, all right. I kind of deserved that one,” Andino grumbled through pants of air. “Jesus Christ, that hurt.”

“You deserved it a little more than kind of, prick,” John replied. “You’re putting her in a lot of fucking danger, Andino.”

“What, who?”