“f**k that! I’m not meant to be the don,” I roar. “That was him. That was his path. Not mine.”
“Well, tough,” Jax retorts, shoving at my chest. “That’s what you are now. You are Don Solovev.”
My eyes burn with anger. “Don’t f*****g call me that. That’s not my name.”
“Don Leo Solovev,” Jax enunciates slowly.
“Motherfucker!” I bellow, launching myself at him.
My fist slams into his face. Jax stumbles back, though he doesn’t fall. The fact that he’s still on his feet doesn’t sit right with me. My pain requires more.
I hit him again. He almost loses his footing and his eyes pinwheel wildly in their sockets, but he manages to stay standing, that stubborn motherfucker. It pisses me off that he is upright, that he is whole—and most of all, that he was right about what I need.
Breaking s**t
