Derk stalked out to his truck, hopped inside, and gunned it toward the city. How messed up in the head was she that she didn’t see what every other man did? What the hell kind of number did her ex do on her?
Rubbing the back of his neck, he understood if there was any chance of getting M underneath him, he was going to need to work on her self esteem issues. Which, shouldn’t be too difficult because the chick was gorgeous. All he’d need to do is pull out his smooth words, and he’d have her between his sheets in no time. Problem solved. Itch scratched. Move along.
Once again, his fucking phone interrupted his thoughts about Mackenzie.
“What,” he barked.
“Homestead,” the man on the other line said then disconnected.
In twenty minutes, Derk needed to focus on the job at hand. In the meantime, he could entertain himself in traffic with plans to get balls deep into Mackenzie.
***
“Where is the fucking money?” Derk demanded menacingly.
“I…I…I don’t know,” the twenty-five year old punk sputtered.
He cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t know.”
“J…J…Jim w…was s…supposed t…to bring it,” the kid said, then pissed his pants.
Derk narrowed his eyes. Maybe he should cut the kid some slack for having lost control of his bladder functions, what with a Glock pressed to his temple, but he refused. Couldn't the thief die with some dignity?
“Well, why don’t you call Jim,” Derk drawled. He’d been hired to recoup money stolen from one of the territory leaders. It wasn’t unusual in the mob community for the measly runners to think they could get one over on their bosses and some cash mysteriously come up missing. When that was the case, a lesson had to be taught. Usually broken limbs were favored as a scolding. Unfortunately for the kid knelt before him, he and his buddy had taken tens of thousands that didn’t belong to them.
“O…o…okay,” the kid said and gulped.
Handing the kid his own cell, the idiot punk took two tries to enter the correct number because his shaking fingers wouldn’t work. Derk was quickly losing patience. The moron finally entered Jim’s digits into his cell and hit send. Yep, now Derk had good ol’ Jim’s number. Dumb. Ass.
By the slight remaining color in the punk’s face draining, it was clear his friend wasn’t about to answer the call.
“He‒”
Didn’t get to finish that sentence. Derk pulled the trigger, the silencer muffling the discharge sound of his weapon. He plucked his bloody cell out of the kid’s hands and wiped it down on the dead’s tee. He then took a seat in the corner recliner of the small, two-story home that needed major upkeep. Time to wait for Jimmy.
9
Mackenzie spent all day with her mind an utter mess. The last thing she needed in her life, when she was desperately trying to pull herself together emotionally and financially, was a hardcore, scary-ass...whatever the hell he was. Except, she found herself consumed by savory thoughts about Derk throughout the day.
How he moved, like a lethal panther; sleek, quick, and powerful. His deep, dark voice that rumbled out of that granite hard chest. His dark eyes that turned black when he grew angry. His chiseled jaw and high cheek bones, slanted nose that looked as if it'd been broken once or twice.
"Hey, whatcha doin'?" Kayla said, surprising her.
She set down the romance novel she'd borrowed from her roommate. It wasn't as if she'd been concentrating on the read. Damn it. Not even a group of five extraordinarily sexy former military Special Forces agents who opened up a security firm in Texas could distract her from Derk.
She sighed. "I have a problem."
"You have many problems right now, girlfriend."
"True." She chuckled nervously.
"What type of problem?" Kayla plopped down on the sofa next to her.
"I sort of met a guy," she said. Really, how did she classify what happened with Derk?
"Oookaaay, how do you sort of meet a guy?" Kayla asked.
"Well, he kissed me at the bar last night, and‒"
"Wait! What? He kissed you? How? Details¸" her friend squeaked.
Mackenzie explained the entire bar incident, then the walking home scene, the events at the apartment, and finally this morning.
"Holy hell," Kayla whispered.
"I know."
"First, there's so much wrong with this. Second, this is so hot," she said.
"How do you figure?" she squealed.
"Well, that bar kiss thing. Hello, every chic-flick scene was covered in that one smooch. Hot with a capital H. Second, him coming to your rescue, again, straight out of a movie. Then showing up on your doorstep going all caveman and wanting to know why you were walking home—which I can't argue with. You should have called me," Kayla scolded. "But here's the concern. How the hell did a man, who doesn't know you, find out so much about you so quickly? That is stalkerish."