Giving It to the Bad Boy Read Online Free Page B

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    television blaring in the background was loud in their small, rundown house. He knew what he would
    find if he went into the living room: either one or both of his parents passed out on the couch. They’d either have a cigarette hanging from their mouths, or from the tips of their fingers, just waiting to fall and start a fire. There had been too many times when that had almost been his reality growing up.
    Reese passed the entryway to the living room and saw his mother sprawled on the ratty, brown tweed
    recliner. Numerous burn holes from their cigarettes littered the upholstery. A bottle of cheap gas
    station bought vodka sat between her thighs. His father sat on the equally disgusting couch, his back to Reese. Just as he turned to head down the hall to the only safe haven he had in their shitty little house, his father’s slurred voice stopped him.
    “Kind of late for you to be coming in, boy.” Smoke from the cigar his father puffed on billowed
    around him. Reese wasn’t a fool to think either of his parents gave a shit about what he did or when he came home. Yeah, it was late as hell, but there were times he hadn’t even come home and they
    never said a word. Clearly his father was in a drunken stupor and decided tonight he’d start shit. It had been a while, so Reese assumed it was due time. His old man stood and turned to face him. Reese
    had seen photos of his dad when he was younger. They shared the same six foot one height and
    muscular build, but that was where any similarities ended.
    “I asked you a question, and you’ll answer me.” His father took a step forward, but Reese had
    long lost any sense of fear for the man. No longer could he touch him, and if he did throw the first punch, well, Reese would throw one right back. He had thought of leaving far too many times to
    count, but he wasn’t foolish enough to not finish high school, at least not after Max had set him straight on that matter. Max, the only decent person who actually cared about him and not what he could do or give them, had helped him through a lot of shitty times in his life. Max, an older man, with a long
    white beard, tattoos covering every inch of his body, and a Harley to match, gave Reese a place to
    come and leave the drama behind. Whenever he felt like the rage was too much he always sought out
    Max and the safe haven the old man’s tattoo parlor provided. No matter what time of day he was
    always welcome. The same couldn’t be said for the house he grew up in.
    “I heard you, but I don’t owe you anything.” The number of times Reese had walked out that
    door and contemplated never looking back was in the hundreds, but despite the fucked-up home life
    he had, he remembered a time when his mom had actually been a … mother. So, he stuck it out,
    worked odd jobs under the table to pay the bills of the household so at least he and his mom would
    have somewhere to go. His father, well he couldn’t give two shits about the man who abused him
    mentally and physically his entire life. His father took another step toward Reese, but Reese refused to back down. He was still primed from the fight earlier, and if Hugo wanted to do this, after Reese had proved he would no longer let himself get knocked down, then so be it. Something flickered in his father’s eyes, maybe realization that something nasty churned inside of Reese, just waiting to be
    released, or maybe he had just wised up after the past two years. Either way, he mumbled to himself, turned around and snatched the bottle of vodka from between Reese’s mother’s legs, and sat back on
    the couch. A moment passed, and Reese clenched his fists, wanting to go over there and burn off the
    rest of his rage. A small voice inside of him, one that he had buried a long time ago pushed up and
    told him to just walk away. He forced himself to turn around and go to his room. Slamming his door
    shut, he lay on his bed and let the only good thing that happened tonight fill his