Scout’s jaw clenches, and he narrows his gaze. “Better question is, where’s Winston’s Dirty Whore?”
Perry curses, stepping forward like he might deck this kid at Mother’s ball. That’s not happening on my watch. These shitheads would love for a Constantine to lose control. I shoot Perry a dark look that has him relaxing, letting me take the lead. Once I’m sure he’s not about to knock Scout’s head off, I step closer to the guy, loving that I outmatch him on height, weight, wits, and fucking money. I don’t even have to remind him he’s less than me. He knows it. He can feel it in the power of my gaze.
“Show him the picture, Sully,” he grits out, not moving back.
Sully pulls out a phone, handing it to his brother. My nerves buzz, because I know he’s about to show me something that’s going to piss me off. Her phone is crammed with filthy shit we’ve done. This guy is going to throw it in my face, probably try to blackmail me. I know his type.
Hyenas.
Like Keaton said, we’re lions, and I will pick this fucker’s bones clean. In the figurative sense, though I wouldn’t mind seeing him bloodied up by my fist. But that’s not what hurts for little spoiled psychopaths. You don’t beat the shit out of them. No, you shred their lives and the few things they care about. I already know I’m not going to be satisfied until I’ve ripped away everything that matters to him.
“I forgot to mention,” Scout snarls, “my sweet sister won’t be making it to your birthday ball, Constantine. She’s had quite a bit of a dress fiasco.”
I can intimidate most men with just a simple glare, but his words make my chest squeeze painfully. “Your taunting is getting boring, little boy. What do you want?”
“To warn you.” His lips twist into a cruel smile that probably scares the shit out of his peers, but it only serves to infuriate me.
I arch a brow at him. “I’m a Constantine. We don’t take well to threats.”
“Too fucking bad,” he growls, thrusting the phone in my face. “This is only a taste of what I’m capable of.” I realize it’s not her phone, but it’s a picture of her on it.
Ash.
My beautiful, wrecked, messy girl.
But not ruined by my hand.
No, this shit stain in front of me is responsible. He’s desperate for my wrath—has a fucking hard-on for it. As much as I want to break the bones in his face with the phone, I school my explosive rage, containing it with a disinterested shrug.
“You can assault a woman half your size,” I clip out, my eyes burning holes into him. “I see very clearly what you’re capable of.”
A waiter stops to offer champagne. I grab two glasses, handing one to Perry. My brother is watching me like a hawk, barely containing his own anger, but taking a page from my book and keeping it in check.
The psycho triplet twats are seconds from exploding.
I guess they’re used to getting their way.
But I’m not a little girl or their motherfucking mommy.
I’m a goddamn Constantine.
And I always get my way.
Right now, I want to see them lose their shit. They think they’ve won, but they’ve only caught me off guard. As soon as I can, I’m going to upend everything in their world. Hell, I’ll destroy Manda while I’m at it if I have to just to get through their thick skulls that fucking with Constantine property is a big, big no-no.
“We know all the sick shit you and Ash do together,” Scout snarls, his face turning crimson as he poorly attempts to rile me up. “We know you pay her for it too.”
I smirk at him and then quickly down my champagne glass before patting his chest. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Mannford. Some filthy sex videos aren’t going to bring down the king of this city. Try again, kid.”
Sidestepping the brat, I make my way into the throng of people, my mind racing. Sure, I might not show Scout that he’s ruffled me, but he has. Beneath the boiling of my blood is an innate urge to find Ash.
She’ll be here soon.
I took care of it.
Through gritted teeth, I hiss at my brother. “Start talking and fast.”
“She’s here,” Perry assures me. “Jac and Gus are getting her ready.”
As though I have a sixth sense when it comes to Ash, my eyes weave through the crowd, seeking her out. I find Keaton walking in with Tinsley, but Ash isn’t with them.
My sister, always the belle of every ball, prances forward in a blue dress that sparkles and moves like water as though she’s wading through cerulean waves.
It’s not Tinsley.
The fierceness emanating from the blonde is not my baby sister. It’s a familiar one I know intimately. Lifted chin. Steady feet. Not an ounce of hesitation as she parades in on my little brother’s arm pretending to be a Constantine.