“Then why are you in such a rush to head back there? It’s not safe. They know where I live, Zeth. They know where I work.”
Lacey pipes up from the back again, confident and sure of her words. “You're going to come live with us for a while. And Zeth’s gonna keep you safe. Aren’t you?” She shoves a hand up into the front of the car and prods me forcefully in the arm. I could kill her. Yeah, so I was gonna broach the subject of Sloane coming to stay at the warehouse for a little while, just until things with Charlie resolved themselves one way or another. But I was going to do it more subtly. Try and make it seem like her idea. If she actually came to me wanting protection...how would that change the dynamics of our relationship? It would change things massively. The truth of the matter is, I have ways of getting what I want, and Lacey has just totally screwed with that. She’s completely fucking up my game.
“Sloane can stay wherever she likes.” I affect an air of total indifference. I know the reaction this would normally provoke from a fiery woman—I’ve had an awful lot of time over the years to study people and their reactions to different situations. They would say hell no. They’d rather die than come and stay with me. Even for a day. A single night. Half a fucking hour. But with Sloane, I can never rely on what I’ve learned from other people. She never reacts as I think she’s going to. I’m half thinking she’ll turn around and say okay to the whole thing.
She snorts, cracking her thumb knuckles, awkwardly shifting in her seat. “That’s an incredibly valiant offer there, Zeth, but I think I’ll give it a miss this time, thanks ever so much."
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t too far off the mark with my first guess. She prettied it up a little, but the response is still a hell no. It’ll be about ten thirty by the time I get a text from her, telling me to come get her. She’ll be mad. Angry. Probably say something about how since it’s entirely my fault that she’s jumping every time the house creaks, then I could at least have the decency to look out for her. I bite back the smile that wants to bloom across my face.
“Fair enough. Have it your way.” Such a beautiful thing that her way always ends up being my way. I drop Sloane off at her home just as she requests. I might be leaving her here for a couple of hours, but I'm not a complete punk. I haul ass out of the car.
“Uh, where do you think you’re going?” she asks, her bag in her hand. I head to the trunk of the Camaro and I pop it open. I grab out a piece of my own luggage, and then I open the rear door, bending down so I can get a good look at Lacey.
“I’m gonna be gone for eighteen minutes,” I tell her. She knows the drill; we’ve done this before, although she looks really unimpressed this time.
She holds out her hand. “You’re a fucking jerk,” she tells me. I snap off my wristwatch and I place it in her open palm.
“I know, kiddo. Eighteen minutes.” I slam the door closed, and then I walk past Sloane and up to her front door. She watches me dump my bag and turn to wait for her, arms folded across my chest. She looks like she’s just been doused with freezing cold water. She storms up the pathway, her hips swinging in those tiny little fucking shorts. Seriously. Fuck.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses. “You’re not coming in.”
“I am coming in,” I inform her, leaning back against the door. “You’re going to let me in.”
“No. I’m not.” She folds her arms across her own chest, mirroring my pose. It’s fucking adorable.
“You are. I’m going to make sure none of Charlie’s men are lurking inside. Why do you think I brought the bag?” Her cheeks flush scarlet, and my dick starts to rise in my pants. I know why she thought I was bringing the bag. I can’t help but smirk as I bend down, unzip the duffel, and I pull out the Desert Eagle. I hold it out to her. “You seem to know how to make a man shit his pants with this. Perhaps you’d like to do a perimeter sweep yourself?”
She rolls her eyes, although I see the second’s hesitation there. I expect her to slap my arm and giggle or some shit and then send me into the house to look for the bad guy, but instead she snatches the gun out of my hand. “Fine. Wait here. I’ll go and do a perimeter sweep, and then you can have your gun back and you can leave.”
I rock back on my heels, my face throbbing with the effort it’s taking to keep the smile off my face. I can’t remember the last time I felt the need to fucking smile so desperately. Fighting it back’s as hard as trying to shove a wet cat inside a hessian sack—almost impossible. I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Be my guest.”