Dangerous Love: You Are My One and Only Bride novel Chapter 1808

That single over-the-shoulder throw seemed to have thrown the father’s bravado out of his skull. He laid on the ground, stunned for a few seconds, before scrambling to his feet. “You… You f**king cheated! You snuck on me!”

Jackson flicked a loose strand of his bangs away from his forehead, nonchalant. “Meh, you were just slow. You’re welcome to try pointing at me again if you don’t believe me. Personally? I maintain it’s best to talk this out, but hey, if you want a tussle, who am I to deny ya’? Honestly, Jackson West has never lost to anyone in a fight.”

Jackson… West? A strange, foggy sense of familiarity surfaced in the father’s mind. He seized onto the vagueness and tried to conjure more details, but regrettably, the man turned out to have a skull several times too large for his brain. “Pahhh, you can be Jackie East or North or whatever for all I care! I can point at you however I want, man; what’re you gonna do about that?! It’s not like I’m desperate enough to be seduced by your money, and I’m definitely not letting this unforgivable humiliation against my son go unpunished. I’m gonna knock your f**king teeth out, pretty boy!”

Jackson curled his fingers in the man’s direction as though beckoning him to come closer. “After you, tough guy. Is this gonna be a mano-a-mano or a foofaraw? Suits me fine either way—whoever ends up cry-dialing 911 is a p*ssy!”

The father, goaded, was just about to bust out an attack when one of the relatives suddenly paled.

He yanked the man out of the fight and warned him in an undertone, “Listen, you don’t think… this could be the CEO of West Industries, do you? He looks frighteningly similar to that guy… I heard the CEO’s got actual fighting skills, too, and judging from the way he threw you down just now, I’m really starting to wonder if we’ve accidentally pissed off the wrong sort of person, man. What was the surname of that brat who bloodied Chubby Chuck’s nose again? It can’t be… Tremont, right? Mate, I ain’t pissing no Tremont off!”

The father’s face turned into a death-like shade of ashen. “N-No bloody way it’d be that coincidental, right?”

Panic was practically carved into the relative’s face by now. “You better check if we’ve waded into a minefield, man! Don’t go digging our graves because you’re too dumb to realize sh*t!”

The father, skeptical, turned to face Arianne. “What’s your son’s last name again?”

“Why would you like to know, jerk!” she snapped.

Smore, though, made a smug face. “The name’s Tremont—Aristotle Tremont. Come on, I dare you; try to touch me! And then I’ll order my dad to cook you for dinner!”

Arianne spanked the boy on his bottom with an intuitive swing. “Brag again, and you’ll be grounded for a month!”

“This is for pushing Ari back in the hospital, jacka**! Mark my words, if Mark Tremont himself were here, your payback wouldn’t be as simple as this!” she announced loudly—before ducking behind Jackson’s back in fear of the man’s retaliation.

She swore to God: knowing you have the back of an almighty pugilist to duck behind is the most empowering thing in the world!

The corner of Jackson’s lips twitched involuntarily. It was so like his wife to remember every single transgression someone made just so she could make them taste retribution later!

When the mother watched her husband’s new pretense as an obsequious yes-man despite them humiliating him, her growing spleen blew up. “Are you people bloody nuts? My son is the one who’s the victim, yet you’re asking us to say sorry and repay you?! And to touch my husband with that dirty han—”

Her husband cut her sentence short with a hard deck across her cheek. “The f**k do you know, woman?! Do you want to see me dead so soon?!”