Truly His | (Book 2) 18+

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HAYDEN
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"Hayden, I'm going to shove my foot so far up your ass, you'll feel it in your goddamn stomach!"

Dad watched from the kitchen counter as I basically flew down the stairs, his stare nonchalantly moving from me to his crazy wife as she held not a sandal, but a whole ass four-inch Louboutin heel in her hand, a murderous glare painted on her face.

She was hungry for blood—my blood. If there was one thing that terrified me about Emara Black, it was how terrifying she became when she was angry... but there was no one else that could soothe her than her husband.

My saviour.

"What did you do to your mother this time, Hayden?" He asked with a sigh, leaning against the counter. I could hear him chuckle as I ran around the opposite side of the dining table that Mom was on, watching her steps closely.

"Nothing!" I exclaimed. "I swear—"

"The little shit was smoking weed in his room and burned the bedsheets I worked really hard on for him!" Mom shouted. "You know I don't give a rat's ass about your stupid herbs but the second you ruin my expensive silk bedsheets, your ass is mine."

I swear I screamed like a little girl when she flew over the table to grab me. I narrowly missed her vicious attack and hid behind my father, hearing his laughter through mine and Mom's bickering. He wrapped an arm around her waist and grabbed the heel, hitting her on the head with it.

"How many times do I need to tell you not to kill our children?" Kade mumbled to her, trying to calm her erratic breathing. "This is why your father was so scared when you told him about Mel—this happened with the last one when they accidentally ripped your blouse."

"That's not a surprise," I muttered, jumping back when Mom took a threatening step towards me.

"Now, Hayden," Dad slowly spoke, "what do you say to your mother?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, huffing. "I'm sorry for burning the bedsheets, I'll help you fix them."

"Good. Now, Emara," he said, tilting her head up when she refused to look away from me. I let out a small breath of relief when her eyes softened as she stared at my father, followed by a sigh. "What do you say to our son, baby?"

Her eyes moved to mine and I showed her a sheepish grin.

"Don't give me that look, Hayden," she said half-jokingly. "You get that from your father and I hate him for it. I'm sorry for considering the thought of stabbing you with a Louboutin."

Dad snorted, keeping his arms around my mother. When her back was towards me, he gave me a pointed look, which was another way of him saying "you're welcome—again".

Don't get me wrong, I loved my mother. I worshipped the ground she walked on, and she was basically my guardian angel since I was little. I rarely bothered her with anything, always did as she asked—hell, I loved cooking with her, too, because she was always so energetic and fun. I was the biggest mama's boy on the face of the planet and she knew that. But it never stopped me from being a teenager, and it never stopped her from showing the temper that Grandpa gave her whenever I was acting too much like one.