42. The Proposal

Boaz’s idea of a men’s day out included slaves being used for target practice. They were on the training field, wielding daggers while two male slaves ran around every which way, wearing a wooden board.

Boaz sent his dagger flying. It hit one of the slaves on his leg and he cried out in pain, sinking to his knees.

Boaz barked out a laugh as blood pooled down the slave’s ankles.

Jerome looked sick to his stomach. Tatum hid his disgust, having had enough time to practice how to school his expression to one of bored indifference.

“Your turn,” Boaz declared, pointing at Tatum. He chanced a glance at his son and shook his head in disappointment.

“I’m convinced I did not father you. If your mother were alive, I would have her tell me who she spread her legs for because it most certainly wasn’t me.”

As usual, Jerome said nothing as his face began getting some of it’s colour back. Tatum felt a strong need to stand up for his friend. His father hadn’t been this cruel. He was tough on his sons