The sounds of retching snap me back to reality, and I pull the car over just in time to see Terry hurl all over my seats. God. Gross. I guess he was telling the truth about needing to vomit. My bad. Still, yuck. I swing my door open and charge around to his side of the car. I take his shirt and haul him out. He stumbles and falls to his knees beside the car, continuing his throwing up.
I take a spare towel from my trunk, which I keep on hand for these exact reasons, and lean in to start scooping up the disgusting-smelling vomit. I’m dry-retching and cursing at Terry, who has suddenly gone quiet. I jerk out of the car and spin to see him running off through the trees. Seriously? With a sigh and a sympathetic look at my heels, I reach down, toss them off, and charge after him.
Because of his drunk, high, and stupid state, I manage to catch Terry before he has even made it half a yard. I reach out, nabbing the back of his shirt and yanking until he stumbles and falls backwards. I lean over and get in his face. “First, you try to drug girls so you can do God knows what with them. Then you throw up in my car. Now you’re trying to pull a runner? Terry, you’re starting to piss me off.”
“Just let me go,” he cries. “I won’t do it again.”
I roll my eyes and order him to his feet. His arms still bound, he slowly gets up. Then, as if running and being caught, twice, wasn’t enough, he starts kicking out at me. I grind my teeth and dodge his foot, but while I’m doing that, he uses his head to slam against mine. My head spins. Terry, who is clearly proud of himself, lunges a third time. I lash out, catching his shoulders and pinching his pressure points so hard, he cripples with a scream.
“You kick me again, you’ll be unable to reproduce, which really, is me doing the world a damned favor. Now, walk.”
He does as he’s told, squealing in pain as I shove him forward. When we reach my car, I pull out the gun from the glove compartment and aim it on him as I unbind his arms and make him clean out every trace of vomit. When he’s done, I shove him in and get in. It still smells, but at least there’s no longer chunks of God knows what spread about.
I bring Terry in and offload him quickly. Julio is the only one there when we arrive, and he does a double take when I shove Terry into the cells in the back rooms, where we hold anyone we collect for the police till they follow up. I know he’s reacting like that to me because I have a black eye. Well, I’m assuming I do given the pain radiating through my skull. But, in typical Julio fashion, he says nothing and just takes Terry, grunting at me.
I need to get home.
I drag myself out of the building and into my car. The drive home is slow, and my head is pounding by the time I get there. I park the car down the road in the only spot I can find and walk the rest of the way to my apartment. I reach the front gate and freeze. Raide is standing at my door, arms crossed, leaning against it casually, like he’s been here a thousand times.
My heart begins to pound.
“Why the hell are you at my house?” I cry. This is not good. Not cool at all. He can’t know where I live. This is bad, bad, bad.
He pushes off the frame, his eyes narrowed as he starts walking toward me.
I take a step back, putting my hand up. “Stop right there—don’t you come a foot closer.”
“What happened to your face?” he asks, taking a step closer.
“Seriously, I’ll crash-tackle you to the floor!” I cry, waving a hand in front of his face.
His eyes flash and his lips twitch. Yeah, yeah, of course that’s funny. Of course I couldn’t take him to the floor. Still, I’m having a bad day and I’m tired. He’s pissing me off. He kissed me—how dare he freaking kiss me!—and now he’s at my door looking so damned good, it hurts.
“Lady,” he says, his voice dropping low. “I said what the fuck happened to your face?”
“Why are you at my house?” I demand again, becoming frustrated.
“Followed you the other day after the café, needed to make sure I knew where you lived, in case you decided to keep stalking me. Now, I’m goin’ to ask once more, and you’re goin’ to answer me. What happened to your face?”
“For the last time, I was not stalking you!” I cry.
He growls and reaches out, curling a hand over my shoulder and pulling me forward. “I don’t like repeating myself, Gracie. Now, answer me.”
“Bossy,” I mumble. “Terry managed to head-butt me.”
He flinches. “Your cousin did that to you?”
I want to laugh out loud at that, but I don’t. “Yeah, he was high, he didn’t want to be taken home. Shit happens. Now, can you move? Because I want to go to bed.”
“You put ice on that?” he asks, nodding to my eye.
“No.”
“Right, then let me in, and we’ll sort it.”
I laugh and step back, waving my hands. “Oh no, you don’t. I’m not letting you anywhere near my house.”
He raises his brows. “Standin’ on your front lawn, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe, and I didn’t invite you to stand on my front lawn. So now it’s time you leave and I go to bed. Okay? Great. Have a nice night.” I step past him and head toward my front door.