CUNT.
The guy’s vocabulary is impressive, to say the least.
I gingerly reach out and touch the dark goo that he’s used to write it. A quick rub between forefinger and thumb, and my assumptions are confirmed—engine grease.
Fucker.
I’m positive he did it knowing I’d have to stop and clean it off before I left. My ears keen to every tiny snap of the trees as I make my way up the drive to the garage. There’s no sign of the prick, but I’m one hundred percent certain that he’s watching, waiting.
Bring it on.
I find a rag and something to get the sticky shit off the glass, then head out the tilted door. With my back to the car, I push the door down, and lock it. The whistle of something solid moving through the air garners my attention, and I drop what’s in my hands as I duck to the left. An aluminum bat lodges firmly in the steel garage door to the sound of a frustrated growl behind me.
Fucking knew it.
“Evening, asshole,” I greet as I turn to face the prick.
He sneers at me, already lifting the bat for another go. To my advantage, the dick has been drinking. His inebriation is clear as he wobbles in his assault, the bat once again missing my head, and taking my shoulder instead.
“You shouldn’t drink before a game,” I taunt, pain spurring me on.
The bastard beat his wife without a care, my father wants to reconnect after seventeen years, and I bury one of my closest friends tomorrow.
I’m ready to dance, fucker.
Our struggle doesn’t last long. The wanker swings with the bat, and then his fists when he loses grip on the handle. But every strike is off, every blow a waste of energy. I duck and weave, easily missing each and every fist he hurtles toward me. The moron stops to catch his breath, and I take the option presented to me.
The gleaming silver one lying at my feet.
“You can’t fuckin’ have her,” he slurs, lunging toward me.
“Neither can you,” I say, and swing the bat high.
He falls to the ground with a grunt, and goes quiet.
Very quiet.
I stare at his motionless body for a moment, adrenalin thrumming.
My fingers search for his pulse, to no avail.
Shit. I finally did it. I’ve killed a man.
I pull my phone out, and dial Ty with shaking hands, all while I watch for any movement at all. Anything.
Nothing.
“What’s up? Did you leave something behind?” Ty answers.
“Man, I need a favor.”
“EVERYTHING OKAY?”
Malice gives me a smile as he walks in the house, but it holds as much promise as asking Santa for an easy divorce this Christmas.
“Fine. Totally fine.”
I spot the clothes in his hands, and his dour mood makes sense. Of course he’d be off when Tigger’s funeral is tomorrow.
“Will you be okay?” I ask, gesturing to the clothes.
He looks down at them, as though he’d forgotten they were in his hands, and nods. “Yeah. I think so.” His eyes lift to me, but they’re tired. “Do you have a dress to wear?”
“You want me to go, too?”
“Of course.”
“Um, I think I do.” If not, I know I have a clean blouse and dress pants.
Malice drops the clothes on the back of a chair, and heads for the sofa. He sits, and waves me in. I take up my spot next to him, and relax the moment he pulls me in to his side.
“Ty asked how you were tonight.”
“He doesn’t need to worry,” I say. “I know it was a mistake.”
“He still feels bad—as he should.”
“Well, I don’t hold it against him.”
Malice kisses the top of my head. “I love you, Jane.”
Something’s got into him, but as usual, he’s stashing it away for himself. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive. Did you hear back from any agents this afternoon?”
I nod, and sit up to retrieve my phone. “I did, actually.” I find the listing, and pass the phone to him. “This one. They said it’s vacant at the moment so we can have it if our paperwork checks out.”
“Make it happen, then,” he says, passing me the phone. “I’ll get my stuff from the house this week and cancel the lease.”
“I feel terrible you’ve been paying for two houses all this time. I want to pay you back when I’m able.”
He smirks, and I feel hope swell that he’s not as down as I’d first thought. “Let you in on a secret. Ty’s been letting us stay here for free.”
“Why say you were renting it, then?”
“Well, I was. Until he knew you were here. He wants to help out.”
For a guy who co-ordinates bounty hunters for a living, the guy sure has one hell of a heart in him.