Rage boils through me, and I fight the urge to plant my fist in his face. Age-old instinct has me stepping toward him until an old man comes shuffling through the parking lot and inserts his cane between us.
“All right now, boys. Time to get ’em out and measure, or get on home.”
“I think I’ll take the latter,” I say.
I’m pretty sure I hear Logan mumble something about me losing in a dick-measuring contest, but the old man is already speaking again and holding up a purse I recognize as Holly’s.
“You know where her gran’s house is?” the old man asks me.
“Mostly.” Logan’s instructions were cut off midway through.
The old man nods. “You just need to take a right, go a half mile, and it’s the first house on the left after the power lines. If you hit the railroad tracks, you’ve gone too far.”
His decidedly country directions are easy enough. He holds the purse up higher. “This is hers.”
“Thank you,” I say, reaching out to grab it, but the old man jerks it back before I can.
“You take care of that girl, or I’ll have your balls in a sling.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t even know what that means, but it’s the third threat I’ve received today.
Snatching the purse out of his hand, I nod. “Duly noted.” I turn for the car, but Logan isn’t quite done yet.
“Her bedroom is the one at the top of the stairs. You can’t miss it.” His words are tinged with triumph, and once again I want to put him on his ass in this gravel parking lot.
“I don’t want to know why you fucking know that.” My voice comes out rough and deep, and I almost don’t recognize it.
Logan smirks and tucks one thumb into the pocket of his jeans. “Calm down, rich boy. It ain’t like I popped her cherry.”
Why he’s choosing to bait me now, I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care. I also don’t want to drag my lawyer out to Bumfuck, Egypt, to bail me out of jail, even if the charges are justifiable homicide. So I take the high road; I threaten him.
“You do know I can afford to make you disappear, right?” I round the car and reach for the driver’s side handle, pausing in anticipation of his response.
Logan leans against a black truck parked next to the Cadillac, and I’d bet my jet it’s his. “Out here, a man does his own killin’ and buryin’. I know miles of mine shaft where you’d never be found,” he drawls.
I straighten and take his measure. “I get that you’re a cocky son of a bitch, but what’s your angle here?”
He meets my gaze without hesitation. “I didn’t like the way Holly looked when she rolled into town, and you’re the most likely cause.”
I imagine her looking tired and stressed to the max, the way she did before everything went to shit last night at the MoMA event, and I want to get her back to her grandmother’s house to take care of her properly. Last night left a lot to be desired on both our parts, but I’m here to fix whatever broke between us.
I keep my words steady, even as my temper flares hotter. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
Logan shifts his shoulders back, and his hands tighten into fists at his sides. “I’m making it my business.”
I glance at Holly, passed out in the passenger seat, before looking back to Logan. “I don’t have time for this right now, but if you’ve still got a death wish in the morning, you know where I’ll be.”
He shoves off the truck and steps toward me, and this time it’s my hands balling into fists. “Some of us have to work in the morning. Like me, on your wife’s piece-of-shit car that broke down the second she pulled into town.”
I curse under my breath. “Don’t bother fixing it. I’ll buy her something when we get home.” I don’t know what she was driving, but I’m guessing it wasn’t the Maserati I’d pick for her.
“You sure she’s leaving with you?” Logan says smugly.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I won’t allow for any alterative outcome.
“That’s the same answer your wife gave when I asked her if she wanted to get drunk tonight.”
I grit my teeth as I yank the door open. Logan is still leaning against his truck as I pull out of the parking lot of the bowling alley, gravel flying. I swear his smug smile grows bigger, and I hope the stones chipped the paint of his truck. Fucker.
We make it to Holly’s gran’s front porch before she starts puking again, and I know it’s going to be a long night.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow, Holly and I need to have our own come-to-Jesus talk.
My head pounds and the light cutting across the room hurts my eyes, even though they’re still closed. I make a sound that I think qualifies as a moan, but it’s guttural enough to be an animal noise. Rolling my head to the side, I see a glass on the nightstand, and pills beside it.
“Thank you, Logan,” I mumble.
I almost fall out of bed when a deep voice answers, “It wasn’t Logan.”
I shoot up in bed and regret it instantly as nausea roils in my gut. “Creighton?”
He’s seated in the tiny chair that belongs to my vanity. He looks ridiculous because he’s big enough to crush it.