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Page 141 of The Sixth Man (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 5)

19

Wes

It took three knocks, but the guy finally answered.

And fuck, was he ugly.

“Richard?” I asked the smug faced asshole standing in the door.

He looked me up and down. “Wes Hunter? Are you that hockey player guy from years ago?”

Okay.

Now, that pissed me off even more.

“Yes.” I took a step forward, so we were nose to nose. “Are you Richard?” I spat out, just to make sure this was the fuck face I was looking for.

“Yeah, what the hell are you doing here?” He quirked his head to the side, seriously clueless.

“I have a message from Marianne.”

Recognition registered on his face, and he smiled. “Ah, that bitch get her hooks into you, too?”

That.

Was.

It.

I shoved him back with both my hands and stepped into his house.

“Yep, she got her hooks into me, and that’s where they’re gonna stay.”

He steadied himself and frowned at me in disbelief. “Fine, man,” he put his hands, palms up in front of him, “she’s all yours.”

I nodded and continued stalking toward him. “Damn fuckin’ right she is.”

He gazed around. “Then what the hell is your problem?”

I stepped up to him. “My problem,” I shoved him one more time, “Dick, is the fact you like to hit women. In particular, my woman.”

This time, he stepped closer to me. “I never hit her. She’s a fucking liar.”

I leaned in so closely, that I could tell what he’d had for lunch. “My wife doesn’t lie. If she said you hit her—you hit her.”

Next, he pushed me and I stumbled back but kept my footing. “She’s a lying whore, and you know it.”

That.

Was.

It.

My fist connected with his nose, and a jarring pain shot up my arm and into my shoulder.

Fuck, that hurt.

“Son-of-a—” Dick started to say before I got another one in on his cheek.


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