Falk Clan Tales - Chapter 92: Chapter 92
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Earlier that evening…
“It’s not me. It’s you, babe.”
Roger’s whiny voice annoyed the fuck out of Minnie. Always had, she thought as she watched a moue of distaste spread across the face she’d once thought boyishly handsome.
“You stupid fuck, that isn’t even the saying,”
Minnie had raged at him.
This was why her folks said to never date a human. Roger Singer was a lousy lay, a terrible manager, and he’d been stealing from her for months. She snarled as she skimmed the list of lame ass descriptions he’d used to label his frivolous spending at her expense.
“It’s not my fault—you hired me, Min,” he whined some more, using the nickname she fucking hated. “If you can’t afford a manager of quality, then your art will suffer, babe,” he began, his condescension almost enough to pull her Wolf forward.
We can gut the human. Leave him to wallow in his own putrid stench.
Minerva snorted. She sometimes wondered if her Wolf wasn’t some straight up Ancient Greek warrior reincarnated or some shit. The she-Wolf was quick to temper and deadly with her sharp fangs and enormous claws.
Keeping her supernatural side secret from the normals she infrequently dated was always difficult, but she’d never felt comfortable sharing her Wolf with Roger. Now she knew why. Thank fuck.
Grrrrr.
“God, you’re like so cold all the time,” he said, mansplaining his infidelity. As if it mattered. “Pushing me away the last few weeks, I’m just human, Min. I have needs. But even though you couldn’t meet them, I stuck around for you, Min. I’m hurt you think I would use you—”
“Ohmyfuckinggawd. You did use me, Roger. For fuck’s sake, look at all this. Look at these so-called legitimate expenses. Business appearance fee? You charged $750 to a department store that only sells women clothes, and I know you didn’t buy me anything from that store, you lying, cheating sack of shit,” Minnie snarled and poked him in the chest with one, too long to be human claw.
Shit. She needed to keep her cool. She paced away from him, continuing to read down the list of ridiculous expenditures.
“It’s not cheating, babe. You broke up with me.”
“I broke up with you after I found this Roger because you were cheating. I kept you on as manager because I thought you were good at your job. But after finally looking at the books after the last two shows, I see you ripped me off for almost 30% of my earnings.”
“I am entitled to make a living too, Min—”
“Yeah, you are. But not from mooching off me. What is this, Roger? Manager vehicle service and maintenance- you charged a $40,000 car to me? Health & Wellness fee—this is a massage parlor, you exploitative fucking pervert!”
“You know, if you keep calling me names, I am going to have to quit on the grounds of mental cruelty,” Roger said, pouting at her from across the West Village art studio where she kept a tiny storage unit to house some of her sculptures.
Her favorite New York City art gallery, Deirdre’s Dungeon, had booked her for the whole month, and her opening night show had sold out. She should have been celebrating, but here she was, dealing with this bullshit.
There were a couple more weeks left till Christmas, and Minnie had a ton of work to do to get more pieces ready for the gallery. She had promised Deirdre more of her fantasy miniatures for the holidays, but how was she supposed to create when she was being robbed blind?
Minerva Lykos—celebrated sculptor, and Macconwood Pack Werewolf—was being taken for a chump by this baby-faced human and his tiny pencil dick. How humiliating!
What. The. Actual. Fuck. Was. Happening?
Minnie closed her eyes and counted to ten before turning to look at the revolting male, “Roger, you are fired. I’ve already called the bank and all the studios I deal with. You are cut off from all of my accounts and business relationships. You have one week to pay me back every single cent you stole, or you will regret it. Do you hear me, Roger?”
“A week? I don’t know, Min. I mean, how am I supposed to pay you back? You know, maybe we can work something out—”
Next to the clueless little boy expression he often preferred, Roger’s wannabe smolder was on Minnie’s top ten worst facial expressions list of all time.
So fucking gross. How the hell had she ever messed around with this cretin? Minnie pressed her thumb and index finger to the space between her eyes and rubbed. The migraine building there would be a whopper before her Werewolf’s healing abilities kicked in.
“Come on, babe. How ‘bout you get on your knees and give me a little head to help that headache—”
“Ohmyfuckinggawd,” she groaned. “Please, do not tell me you are propositioning me! And that’s not even how that works, asshole. You should have offered to give me head, not the other way around. UGH! Roger, just hand me your keys.”
“My keys?” he asked, scratching his head.
Poor Roger. Cursed with a small dick and a small brain. It was best to cut her losses now, but that didn’t mean she had to pay for this idiot’s departure. Not waiting for him to move, Minnie reached into his coat pocket, took his keys, and ignored his petulant stare.
So unattractive.
“But those are my keys!”
“Are they? You’re lucky I like red,” she muttered and stalked over to the cherry red Camaro SS convertible parked outside.
“Min, you can’t take my car!” he yelled, following her out the door.
“Motherfucker, you bought a car in my name, with my money, right? That makes it mine.”
She opened the door, dropped her oversized bag in the passenger seat, and when Roger started running alongside the car, yelling and crying real fucking tears on the sidewalk beside her, Minnie had finally had enough.
“Come on, Min. Who else is gonna deal with your temper?” he yelled the question, stepping off the curb, arms wide.
That was it. The last straw. Going after her insecurities only pissed her off more. Minnie drove through a puddle of muddy slush, pointing the front of the car so the wheels churned up the guck and flicked it all over his nice new suit.
Prick.
Good riddance, snarled her Wolf.
He stood there gasping, spitting out slush and Minnie pressed the pedal to the metal on the new to her snazzy muscle car.
“Fuck you, Roger,” she yelled and turned up the volume. With some classic rock blasting, she drove all the way to her hometown of Maccon City with the top down—fuck the chill.
Minnie never shed a tear throughout the entire drive. Her inner Wolf was too damn mad for that mushy nonsense. But now what? She owed the gallery big time, but there was no fucking way she was staying in the city or anywhere else near Roger.
Her Wolf was liable to tear the fucker’s throat out. No. Minnie needed a reprieve. Her family had gone away for the holidays, thinking because Minnie had the hottest little gallery in the West Village hosting her art for the entire holiday season, she would not be around. They’d taken advantage of her absence and booked a trip to Tahiti.
Yay them.
Christmas used to be such fun, but it was hell on her now. Sure, she would have been busy and staying in the condo she still shared with that asshole Roger had she not intercepted a call from Merlin Banking Solutions asking for approval for a charge on a ten thousand dollar men’s watch to her business account.
She wanted to ask if it was a digital watch, since there was no way that moron could tell time otherwise. But what did that say about her?
Minnie had been so desperate for a connection she let some weak-willed human part her thighs for the last two years. Not that he did, with any regularity or success, to her undying disappointment. Good thing for batteries and adult toys.
When was the last time Minnie had orgasmed with Roger, or any other living person, for that matter? Far too fucking long. That loser was out of her life for good now, and she was glad. It was like having a weight off her shoulders, or as her Aunt Tanya once said about her ex-husband.
“Minnie, girl, leaving that man was like having a really gnarly hemorrhoid removed from my ass crack. Relief, girl. I felt nothing but relief.”
“Relief, Aunt Tanya. I get it now,” she murmured, but her words were lost in the wind as she raced down the parkway.
She had made one stop and packed up as much stuff as she could from her condo. Before she left, she’d tipped the doorman to box up all of Roger’s shit and toss it in the alley, after allowing him to keep what he wanted first.
She’d paid for it all, so technically, it was hers. The doorman, Otto, was grateful, and being a fellow Werewolf, Minnie trusted him to do right by her. Her grandmother’s beach house was about ninety minutes away at the speed she was driving.
Sure, it had seen better days. Okay, fine, it was a wreck. She wished her Werewolf night vision wasn’t that good when she finally spied the property. Hot mess did not begin to describe it.
Damn. How had she let it go this long without repairs? She knew how. That motherfucker was supposed to pay to have the property maintained while she worked her ass off and tried to break into the art scene.
Minnie had meant to visit more, but she’d been working on her career, losing herself in her art, and trusting the wrong person to take care of her business.
“I’m sorry, Gran,” she murmured as she got out of the car.
She grabbed a few heavy bags and started to walk up the stairs when her phone rang. Shit. Ten missed calls, and the jerk still did not get the hint. Sighing heavily, she clicked the little green button and made to answer, but Roger was screaming at her.
“GODDAMMIT, Minnie! You locked me out? Threw out my stuff—”
“Owwww! Dammit,” she yelped, stepping on something cold and sharp as she tried to get a word in edge wise while Roger screamed like the whiny little bitch he was.
Ugh.
Minnie’s eyes teared as she hopped inside. What the hell was that—a sword? She cursed, grabbing her foot, mind reeling. The jerk on the other end of the line was still raging. He even had the audacity to threaten her with a lawsuit.
Was he fucking kidding? Her foot felt like fire was shooting through it, and she hopped flamingo style across the room to what was once her favorite place in the entire world. Eyes round as she allowed her Wolf to enhance her vision, Minnie sucked in a sharp breath.
Her childhood happy place was a disaster. Kinda like her life. She needed a change, was desperate for it, but there was only so much a Wolf alone could do. Her family was gone. Her bestie was busy with a new mate and would be useless at the moment. If Minnie was going to fix her life, she needed to start now. This place might be the answer to her needs, but it was falling apart and smelled like mildew and cat piss.
Step one in the fixing my life plan—clean Gran’s house.
“It’s not me. It’s you, babe.”
Roger’s whiny voice annoyed the fuck out of Minnie. Always had, she thought as she watched a moue of distaste spread across the face she’d once thought boyishly handsome.
“You stupid fuck, that isn’t even the saying,”
Minnie had raged at him.
This was why her folks said to never date a human. Roger Singer was a lousy lay, a terrible manager, and he’d been stealing from her for months. She snarled as she skimmed the list of lame ass descriptions he’d used to label his frivolous spending at her expense.
“It’s not my fault—you hired me, Min,” he whined some more, using the nickname she fucking hated. “If you can’t afford a manager of quality, then your art will suffer, babe,” he began, his condescension almost enough to pull her Wolf forward.
We can gut the human. Leave him to wallow in his own putrid stench.
Minerva snorted. She sometimes wondered if her Wolf wasn’t some straight up Ancient Greek warrior reincarnated or some shit. The she-Wolf was quick to temper and deadly with her sharp fangs and enormous claws.
Keeping her supernatural side secret from the normals she infrequently dated was always difficult, but she’d never felt comfortable sharing her Wolf with Roger. Now she knew why. Thank fuck.
Grrrrr.
“God, you’re like so cold all the time,” he said, mansplaining his infidelity. As if it mattered. “Pushing me away the last few weeks, I’m just human, Min. I have needs. But even though you couldn’t meet them, I stuck around for you, Min. I’m hurt you think I would use you—”
“Ohmyfuckinggawd. You did use me, Roger. For fuck’s sake, look at all this. Look at these so-called legitimate expenses. Business appearance fee? You charged $750 to a department store that only sells women clothes, and I know you didn’t buy me anything from that store, you lying, cheating sack of shit,” Minnie snarled and poked him in the chest with one, too long to be human claw.
Shit. She needed to keep her cool. She paced away from him, continuing to read down the list of ridiculous expenditures.
“It’s not cheating, babe. You broke up with me.”
“I broke up with you after I found this Roger because you were cheating. I kept you on as manager because I thought you were good at your job. But after finally looking at the books after the last two shows, I see you ripped me off for almost 30% of my earnings.”
“I am entitled to make a living too, Min—”
“Yeah, you are. But not from mooching off me. What is this, Roger? Manager vehicle service and maintenance- you charged a $40,000 car to me? Health & Wellness fee—this is a massage parlor, you exploitative fucking pervert!”
“You know, if you keep calling me names, I am going to have to quit on the grounds of mental cruelty,” Roger said, pouting at her from across the West Village art studio where she kept a tiny storage unit to house some of her sculptures.
Her favorite New York City art gallery, Deirdre’s Dungeon, had booked her for the whole month, and her opening night show had sold out. She should have been celebrating, but here she was, dealing with this bullshit.
There were a couple more weeks left till Christmas, and Minnie had a ton of work to do to get more pieces ready for the gallery. She had promised Deirdre more of her fantasy miniatures for the holidays, but how was she supposed to create when she was being robbed blind?
Minerva Lykos—celebrated sculptor, and Macconwood Pack Werewolf—was being taken for a chump by this baby-faced human and his tiny pencil dick. How humiliating!
What. The. Actual. Fuck. Was. Happening?
Minnie closed her eyes and counted to ten before turning to look at the revolting male, “Roger, you are fired. I’ve already called the bank and all the studios I deal with. You are cut off from all of my accounts and business relationships. You have one week to pay me back every single cent you stole, or you will regret it. Do you hear me, Roger?”
“A week? I don’t know, Min. I mean, how am I supposed to pay you back? You know, maybe we can work something out—”
Next to the clueless little boy expression he often preferred, Roger’s wannabe smolder was on Minnie’s top ten worst facial expressions list of all time.
So fucking gross. How the hell had she ever messed around with this cretin? Minnie pressed her thumb and index finger to the space between her eyes and rubbed. The migraine building there would be a whopper before her Werewolf’s healing abilities kicked in.
“Come on, babe. How ‘bout you get on your knees and give me a little head to help that headache—”
“Ohmyfuckinggawd,” she groaned. “Please, do not tell me you are propositioning me! And that’s not even how that works, asshole. You should have offered to give me head, not the other way around. UGH! Roger, just hand me your keys.”
“My keys?” he asked, scratching his head.
Poor Roger. Cursed with a small dick and a small brain. It was best to cut her losses now, but that didn’t mean she had to pay for this idiot’s departure. Not waiting for him to move, Minnie reached into his coat pocket, took his keys, and ignored his petulant stare.
So unattractive.
“But those are my keys!”
“Are they? You’re lucky I like red,” she muttered and stalked over to the cherry red Camaro SS convertible parked outside.
“Min, you can’t take my car!” he yelled, following her out the door.
“Motherfucker, you bought a car in my name, with my money, right? That makes it mine.”
She opened the door, dropped her oversized bag in the passenger seat, and when Roger started running alongside the car, yelling and crying real fucking tears on the sidewalk beside her, Minnie had finally had enough.
“Come on, Min. Who else is gonna deal with your temper?” he yelled the question, stepping off the curb, arms wide.
That was it. The last straw. Going after her insecurities only pissed her off more. Minnie drove through a puddle of muddy slush, pointing the front of the car so the wheels churned up the guck and flicked it all over his nice new suit.
Prick.
Good riddance, snarled her Wolf.
He stood there gasping, spitting out slush and Minnie pressed the pedal to the metal on the new to her snazzy muscle car.
“Fuck you, Roger,” she yelled and turned up the volume. With some classic rock blasting, she drove all the way to her hometown of Maccon City with the top down—fuck the chill.
Minnie never shed a tear throughout the entire drive. Her inner Wolf was too damn mad for that mushy nonsense. But now what? She owed the gallery big time, but there was no fucking way she was staying in the city or anywhere else near Roger.
Her Wolf was liable to tear the fucker’s throat out. No. Minnie needed a reprieve. Her family had gone away for the holidays, thinking because Minnie had the hottest little gallery in the West Village hosting her art for the entire holiday season, she would not be around. They’d taken advantage of her absence and booked a trip to Tahiti.
Yay them.
Christmas used to be such fun, but it was hell on her now. Sure, she would have been busy and staying in the condo she still shared with that asshole Roger had she not intercepted a call from Merlin Banking Solutions asking for approval for a charge on a ten thousand dollar men’s watch to her business account.
She wanted to ask if it was a digital watch, since there was no way that moron could tell time otherwise. But what did that say about her?
Minnie had been so desperate for a connection she let some weak-willed human part her thighs for the last two years. Not that he did, with any regularity or success, to her undying disappointment. Good thing for batteries and adult toys.
When was the last time Minnie had orgasmed with Roger, or any other living person, for that matter? Far too fucking long. That loser was out of her life for good now, and she was glad. It was like having a weight off her shoulders, or as her Aunt Tanya once said about her ex-husband.
“Minnie, girl, leaving that man was like having a really gnarly hemorrhoid removed from my ass crack. Relief, girl. I felt nothing but relief.”
“Relief, Aunt Tanya. I get it now,” she murmured, but her words were lost in the wind as she raced down the parkway.
She had made one stop and packed up as much stuff as she could from her condo. Before she left, she’d tipped the doorman to box up all of Roger’s shit and toss it in the alley, after allowing him to keep what he wanted first.
She’d paid for it all, so technically, it was hers. The doorman, Otto, was grateful, and being a fellow Werewolf, Minnie trusted him to do right by her. Her grandmother’s beach house was about ninety minutes away at the speed she was driving.
Sure, it had seen better days. Okay, fine, it was a wreck. She wished her Werewolf night vision wasn’t that good when she finally spied the property. Hot mess did not begin to describe it.
Damn. How had she let it go this long without repairs? She knew how. That motherfucker was supposed to pay to have the property maintained while she worked her ass off and tried to break into the art scene.
Minnie had meant to visit more, but she’d been working on her career, losing herself in her art, and trusting the wrong person to take care of her business.
“I’m sorry, Gran,” she murmured as she got out of the car.
She grabbed a few heavy bags and started to walk up the stairs when her phone rang. Shit. Ten missed calls, and the jerk still did not get the hint. Sighing heavily, she clicked the little green button and made to answer, but Roger was screaming at her.
“GODDAMMIT, Minnie! You locked me out? Threw out my stuff—”
“Owwww! Dammit,” she yelped, stepping on something cold and sharp as she tried to get a word in edge wise while Roger screamed like the whiny little bitch he was.
Ugh.
Minnie’s eyes teared as she hopped inside. What the hell was that—a sword? She cursed, grabbing her foot, mind reeling. The jerk on the other end of the line was still raging. He even had the audacity to threaten her with a lawsuit.
Was he fucking kidding? Her foot felt like fire was shooting through it, and she hopped flamingo style across the room to what was once her favorite place in the entire world. Eyes round as she allowed her Wolf to enhance her vision, Minnie sucked in a sharp breath.
Her childhood happy place was a disaster. Kinda like her life. She needed a change, was desperate for it, but there was only so much a Wolf alone could do. Her family was gone. Her bestie was busy with a new mate and would be useless at the moment. If Minnie was going to fix her life, she needed to start now. This place might be the answer to her needs, but it was falling apart and smelled like mildew and cat piss.
Step one in the fixing my life plan—clean Gran’s house.
End of Falk Clan Tales Chapter 92. Continue reading Chapter 93 or return to Falk Clan Tales book page.