Kylie throws her hands up.
“Not even one threat? The Vincents did worse to Benson when he went for Lilah, and they like him.”
Ha. Apparently she’s thinking the same thing.
She flicks her gaze between all of them as they blink at her innocently.
“He did give up his home and city life to come out here and be with you. Heard all about that,” her father says with a shrug. “Sounds like a good man to me.”
I’m glad her father approves of my stalker tendencies.
Now I can appreciate their level of crazy a little more.
Fully relaxed with an extra dose of confidence, I take a seat on the last vacant recliner near the door. Kylie mutters something about the men in her house being anticlimactic before disappearing into a back bedroom.
As soon as the door closes, all five men look at me, humor vanishing, and they lean forward, eyes narrowing.
All the light air is sucked out and replaced with thick, suffocating tension.
Okay, feeling less confident now.
“My girl went to LA last year, and came back distant, quiet, and then started hiding herself away,” George growls, and I swallow hard.
He gestures to the wall on the far side that is loaded down with canvases, then gestures to the hallway that has paintings lining every single inch of it.
“She only paints like that when she’s hurting. Blues don’t get used unless she’s miserable. I knew it was a boy. Bill said you came here from LA to chase a girl, then you kissed my girl. The way I see it, that boy must have been you.”
Thank fuck she didn’t tell him about Felicia.
“Yesterday, my girl was herself for the first time in a long time. Today, she comes traipsing in here without a speck of blue paint on her. You make sure she stays that way. I see one new painting with blue, and I’ll tear your limbs off one-by-one and feed them to the fucking bears, before I turn the rest of these goons loose on you.”
He gestures to the four cousins who are cracking their knuckles like a bad cliché, and rabidly eyeing me like they don’t want to be held back. Did the one on the left just growl at me?
“You tell her I threatened you, and I’ll break all the bones you need,” George Malone adds.
I nod in understanding, because I’m not really sure what else to say to that.
“I’ll know if you tell her. She gets all smug when we threaten people. I like to wind her up and make her feisty, because my girl is happier when she’s feisty,” he adds with an oddly chipper tone.
I nod again. I’ll agree to anything. Five-to-one odds are never good. Five-armed-to-one-unarmed odds are even worse.
“And one more thing,” he says, eyeing the others in a silent-conversation kind of way.
They get up and walk out without having to be told. As soon as they walk out, shutting the door behind them, George Malone levels me with a cool, terrifying look. “One word to Kylie about who you saw me with, and I’ll hang you up by your ankles and let the boys use you like a dart board until they get bored. You understand?”
“Never once considered saying a word,” I tell him honestly.
He opens his mouth to speak again, possibly to threaten more body parts on me, when Kylie suddenly emerges with a bag over her shoulder, still wearing my clothes.
Her father suddenly starts laughing, shaking his head, his eyes on me.
“You don’t say,” he says, confusing the fuck out of me. “This one is a funny guy, Kylie. Keep him around.”
I force a smile, trying to go along with his crazy charade, and Kylie rolls her eyes while scowling at him.
“You’re a terrible excuse for an overprotective father,” she grumbles.
He just grins and winks at her. “My girl can take care of herself,” he says.
She turns toward me. Like a suicidal fool, when she smiles, I forget my life is at stake and smile back at her.
“You ready to turn into some troublesome woodland creatures?” she muses.
Now I’m just confused. Really.
“The first hit on the trooper is ours,” Kylie calls over her shoulder, heading out the door.
“You kids have fun. Don’t get caught,” George says in a light tone, grinning at us.
Kylie walks out, and I turn around in time to see George’s fake smile vanish like it was an illusion all along. His eyes narrow and he mimes a throat-slicing gesture on his neck before pointing at me.
Right. Got it.
I just nod like a bobble-head doll—because how the fuck else do you respond to that?—and walk out, following Kylie, who hops in on the passenger side of my Jeep.
Then we go to be woodland nuisances.
Because every time I think I’ve reached the maximum capacity of weird, this town just gets weirder.
This is my Thursday.