Page 37 of Necessary Cruelty
Thirteen
My hand is already movingto turn the open sign on the door to Closed as I address Jake and the other girl whose name I don’t try hard enough to remember.
“You both have about five seconds to decide if you’re staying or going. I know what I’d recommend, but I consider it only fair to give people enough rope to hang themselves.”
The stubborn look on Jake’s face doesn’t bode well for the rest of it remaining intact. He has the nerve to turn to Zaya, who just shakes her head quickly, obviously recommending the smarter choice.
Amber, Ashley, Alaska — whatever her damn name is — grabs Jake’s arm and pulls him toward the door. Like the true coward he is, he lets the tiny Asian chick who looks like she is roleplaying as a pioneer woman propel him toward the door, but not before asking Zaya if she’ll be okay.
Zaya waves him away, but the glare she levels at me is hot enough to burn.
We’re both burning, baby.
The other girl stops just short of the door and spares a glance at me. “Always nice to see you out and about, Vin. I assume the weather in hell isn’t favorable enough for you this time of year and you’re planning for a summer there.”
Inwardly, I appreciate the attempt to grow a backbone, but the stony look on my face doesn’t change. “Two seconds left. Last warning, Allison.”
“It’s Amelia, actually.” She rolls her eyes, but still yanks open the door and pulls Jake toward it. He hesitates, but takes another step away from the counter, gaze still on the girl he’ll only have over my lifeless body.
Dude wants to play big man on campus but still does what he’s told. If anything, I’m doing Zaya a favor by making sure she sees how easy it is to make him back down.
But then Jake shakes off Amelia’s hand on his arm and turns to face me. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”
My head tilts to the side as I stare him down. I’m taller, something I relish even though it wouldn’t matter if he was on the starting line of an NBA team.
I own this town and everyone in it.
“Jake Tully.” My voice has taken on the lazy quality that will be his only warning, assuming he’s smart enough to hear it. “Your dad is trying to open that new medical practice downtown, right? I heard the remodel has been seriously delayed, though. Getting those permits straightened out can be a real bitch.”
My father owns the only construction company in town worth working with, and it’s pretty much impossible to get any permitted work done in this town without going through Cortland Construction.
We snipe all the best labor and ruthlessly suppress the competition. I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. If the building contract isn’t with us, then the work doesn’t get done.
I see the wheels turning in the idiot’s head while he tries to decide if I’m bluffing.
Spoiler alert: I’m not.
One phone call, and his daddy’s precious medical practice will never get off the ground, at least not in Deception. The family will probably have to go right back to whatever basic bitch place they came from.
It’s tempting to do it anyway, whether he happens to be smart enough to leave or not.
But I play fair, even when it seems like I don’t. It’s not my fault that I’m the only one who knows the rules of this particular game.
“What’s it going to be?” I ask, voice a low murmur. “Daddy’s dreams go up in smoke in five…four…three…two….”
“I’ll be right outside waiting for you.” Jake says it to Zaya, but he doesn’t look at her as he slips through the door after Amelia and lets it slam shut behind him.
I turn the lock with a decisive click before crossing my arms over my chest and turning to face the girl that I’m strongly considering throwing through a plate glass window. The fact that I’m even here, about to beg her to help me keep what already belongs to me, is frankly infuriating.
My imagination is already running wild thinking of all the different ways I could make her suffer.
Zaya isn’t cowed when I turn my glare back on her. The annoyed look on her face says more than words. Happy now?
This is a first, even for us. Me showing up in the Gulch and in broad daylight. I wouldn’t normally leave my kitchen garbage in this part of town, much less my Maserati. But desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.
This close to her, her work apron looks even more ridiculous. The thing is at least four sizes two big and makes her look like she’s wrapped in a bright orange tarp. On anybody else the get-up would look like a bright orange sack, but her slim form gives it an almost endearing quality, like a kid playing dress-up in their mother’s closet.
It’s too bad that her mother skipped town years ago and that slim form is a result of skipping every other meal. Nothing against ten-year-old boys, but she shouldn’t have a body like one.