Page 159 of Merciless

The second I get to the door, I peer through the peephole.

“What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath as my brow wrinkles.

In his impatience, he knocks again, scaring the shit out of me, making my heart skip a beat.

Gripping the handle, I rip the door open and face him.

“What?” I bark, making it clear that his presence here is not welcome.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” JD says, grinning like the cat who got the cream.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl, stepping into the space I created to show him that he’s not welcome to even look, let alone step inside our house.

“Been sent to check in,” he says absently, his eyes everywhere as he takes in his surroundings. As if he hasn’t already done that while he was waiting for me. “Nice place you’ve got here. Very secluded.”

“Which leads me to wonder how you found it.”

“I said it was secluded, not invisible.” He rolls his eyes, making him look like the irritating asshole that he is.

“Why are you here?”

My grip on the doorframe tightens as my patience wanes. I’m too fucking hungover for this shit.

“Boss’s orders. You know what it’s like.”

“Victor sent you?” I ask, my brows pinched with confusion.

When the fuck has that motherfucker ever cared enough about anyone to insist on a home visit?

“Just doing as I’m told, man. Can I?” he asks, stepping forward, right into my personal space as if I’m giving off ‘come in, let’s party’ vibes.

“The fuck, man?” I bark, forcefully shoving him back.

“Alright,” he says, his eyes dropping down my body quickly. “No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

I growl.

“You look like you need a coffee. And did you know you’re bleeding?”

“I’m fully aware of the situation.”

“And you kinda look like you’ve lost your puppy.”

My teeth grind.

“I haven’t lost anything; she’s been stolen.”

“Your wife and a puppy. Dude, you really are having a bad week. I planned for this, you know,” he says, finally taking a step back, making me sigh in relief. “And I’ve got just the thing you need.”

I should slam the door behind him and forget he ever graced my doorstep with his annoying presence, but my curiosity gets the better of me.

I watch as he rummages inside the car for something before he emerges with two take-out coffees, a bag of what I’m assuming are pastries, and a big ass, irritating fucking grin.

“Best motherfucking pastries in town, and fresh from the oven.” He holds the bag up, waving it in my face, letting the scent wash through my nostrils. “Perfect hangover cure.”

“I’m not hungover.”

“You’re a shitty liar, Maverick Murray. Now move aside, we’ve got a date with some delicious buttery pastries.”