Page 55 of A Stop in Time
“Most of all, I certainly don’t shove a goddamn gun beneath their chin after a night of mediocre fucking.” My tone turns snarky. “You might be in a big, bad gang up in Jacksonville, but you obviously know fuck all about how small towns work.
“Because, in less than ten seconds of you walking into the Freebird last night, you would’ve learned if I was a fucking bunny boiler who’d have somebody try to kill you.”
Oppressively tense silence descends over us, and I force myself not to look away from his unforgiving gaze. His lips thin with annoyance. “Nothin’ about it was mediocre.”
It takes me a full five seconds to register his remark. I blink my eyes and give my head a shake. “Please, for fuck’s sake, tell me that wasn’t the only thing that registered in your brain from everything I just said.”
Teeth gritted to a near-painful extreme, I glance around my garage bay, surveying the countless tools that could come in handy.
“If so, congratulations, because you’ve officially driven me to be the violent woman you’ve accused me of being. And I have so many tools I can maim you with.”
My cutting gaze collides with his cool, assessing one, and I cross my arms resolutely. My fingers twitch, but I force myself to keep my cool as his eyes sweep over my features like a damn bloodhound searching for any sign of untruth.
He won’t find any, because I’m not a fucking murderer.
I witness the smallest changes in his features; the tense lines bracketing his mouth ease, becoming less pronounced. His voice is muted as those eyes sweep over my face, continuing their search for any indication I’m bluffing.
“Sorry.” His tone is begrudging, but I can tell he’s fucked up over everything. Who wouldn’t be after their sibling was murdered? And now, after having his motel room and car shot up?
Daniel Madrano poses more of a danger to me than I’d initially predicted. More dangerous than witnessing the softer and more sensual side of him, though, is the compelling urge to soothe him—even after he’s been a supreme asshole.
Jesus, there’s something so very wrong with me.
I cup my hand to my ear and lean toward him. “Can you repeat that in my good ear?”
His gaze pierces straight through me while he forces out the words. “I’m sorry.”
My eyebrows nearly hit my hairline. “Wow. That was super heartfelt. Maybe next time you apologize, dial down the arrogant jackass a dozen or so notches.”
Our eyes hold for the longest beat, and if I weren’t paying such close attention, I’d miss the uptick of one side of his mouth and the slight softening of his gaze.
I avert my attention from him and adjust my ponytail, attempting to regroup. My breath rushes out on a loud exhale. “Which asshole told you to head here, anyway?”
Something unidentifiable flickers in his gaze, disappearing in a flash, before he mutters, “Some twisted fucker, I guess.”
Sarcasm bleeds from my voice. “Gee, do you think?” I shove my hands in my back pockets. “If you agree to set aside your major dickish tendencies, I might be able to find some replacement tires to hold you off till you can order new run-flats. They’ll at least be road-worthy enough to get you on your way.”
That way, he can get the hell out of here a bit faster. I know the sheriff told him not to leave town, but Daniel can certainly leave here. And he needs to.
As soon as possible.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. When he grips the back of his neck with one hand, for a moment, he looks like the vulnerable man from last night who told me about his sister. “I’d appreciate that.”
I cock my head to the side and raise my brows pointedly. “Just so you know, I’m charging you extra for all your assholery.”
His mouth twitches faintly. “I’d expect nothin’ less.”
I flick my eyes to where he’s tucked his gun in the holster beneath his untucked shirt. “You planning to pull that on me again?”
Assessing eyes sweep over me in a way that’s more akin to a caress than his previous animosity-packed suspicion. “You plannin’ to give me a reason to?”
“I didn’t give you a reason to begin with,” I toss back. “And I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your sister.”
A pause lingers between us. He finally exhales slowly. “I get that. Still doesn’t explain why I was directed to you.”
I shrug. “People are afraid of things that are different.” I raise my hand, gesturing to the scars along my face. “This falls smack-dab into that category.”
“Yeah.” That single word tells me he doesn’t buy that excuse, and honestly, I’m not sure I do either.