77Stucky took Back Road all the way to Highway 48. When he pulled onto the interstate he could hear the sirens exiting. The rage was clawing its way out. There wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. He hadn’t felt this way since his father. The man could derail him with one simple backhanded compliment.
“I would have thought you could blast that buck between the eyes with how tight you had those puny fingers of yours wrapped around the trigger.”
At fourteen, his father expected him to be man enough to move on from nailing deer to nailing the whores he brought home. And of course, there were more backhanded compliments that quickly turned into vulgar scoldings when Stucky didn’t live up to being his father’s “little man.”
Stucky thought he had squelched that rage years ago. Or at least,
