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“It was so nice to catch up with you, Jacob,” Theory said, a generic smile on her face.
“It was,” Jacob agreed. “But I’m not ready to stop catching up." He grinned as he stood up from the Mercedes he'd been lounging on and swayed toward her, moving into her personal space. "You were my one who got away, Theory. I ain’t letting that shit happen again. We were like a perfect stereotype. Star quarterback and head cheerleader."
Theory laughed nervously. "Jacob, we broke up ten years ago. We were kids! We've grown past that."
He reached out to cup her cheek. She flinched but didn't move away. He was definitely going to lose that hand.
"Theory Miller, I could never grow past you. I love you, girl," he exclaimed drunkenly.
Her eyes widened, and she finally grabbed his wrist to try to push his hand down as she took a step back. He stumbled forward, following her.
"That's sweet of you, Jake, seriously. But I'm not?—”
He interrupted her with a nasty laugh. I started to move forward, but his next words made me pause.
"Is this part of the game, Theory? Everybody knows what you like. Your ex made sure of that. Are you doing that now? Cuz you don't have to do it with me, but I don't mind playing the role," he slurred.
He grabbed her arm. She brought her other one up, cracking him across the face even as soft whimpers escaped her. Before he could finish calling her "bitch," I had slammed his face into the hood of the Mercedes. I pulled him up by his collar, enough to make sure he heard me.
“She tried to let you off easy, nigga. I’m not that nice. You were bothering her. Let me help clear your mind so you have space for that to sink in.”
I crashed his face into the car again.
“I understand, dude. Let me go,” he whined.
My response was to try to drive his head through the engine.
Slam.
"I realize how painful our interaction might seem, Jacob, but trust me, shit could be worse. I could be crushing your windpipe for speaking to her,” I said calmly.
Slam.
"I could be using a rusty meat cleaver on your hands for touching her."
Slam.
"I could be feeding your heart to one of the good ol' Emancipation Eagles for saying you love her.You don't get to love her, nigga."
Jacob was tipsy, so two or three smashes would've been enough. But the tears I saw in her eyes had me doubling that before I let his ass go. He slithered to the ground, almost unconscious. I snatched his arm and rotated his wrist externally until I heard the satisfying cracking sound. He screamed and alternated between grabbing his wrist and shoulder. Good—I’d dislocated that joint, too. His whining pissed me off more. Lifting my foot, I brought it down on his hand hard. His wail as the bones broke pleased my soul. Now he knew the consequences of touching her, hurting her. Finally, I stepped back. Prime's guy must've called a partner; the two of them assured me they'd take care of the little mess I made.
"Put him up for me," I requested and received two quick nods.
Theory stared at me, eyes wide. She swallowed before addressing me.
"Targen? Is that- is that what you do?" she asked quietly.
I winked at her, feeling a crazy grin stretch my face.
"For fun and it pays sometimes, too. Can't ask for more than that."
She gaped at me.
I led her away from the Mercedes, moving slowly as she cautiously picked her way across the asphalt in her heels.
"You good?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yes. Targen, you don't have to?—”