“The band as in the three of us. Why? You gonna come out and show your support?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Tried that once. Didn’t end so well.”
No shit. More like he showed his ass. Dude got six sheets to the wind and showed up and made a scene. Dallas had to escort him out to keep me from knocking his ass out. He said some very unflattering things about Dixie, and she was his girlfriend at the time. My blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.
“Yeah. I remember.”
He snorts. “I bet you do.”
“You got a problem with me, McKinley? ’Cause if I’m honest, I’m not your biggest fan. But I’m not really losing any sleep over whether or not you plan to start me up a fan club, either. In some way, I think that makes us even.”
He regards me warily for a full minute before responding. “You hurt her. You’re still hurting her. And I have a feeling the little detour you took on your way home after the wedding has more to do with you wanting her to play in the battle than trying to patch things up.”
This guy is something else. “Let’s be real for a second, man. You don’t know me. You don’t know jack shit about me other than local rumors, and let’s face it, if we all believed those, I’d be able to get this chop shop shut down with one phone call.” His eyes widen and he keeps his mouth shut. Enjoy being speechless, asshole. “Yeah, so, I don’t know. Maybe don’t waste your precious time worrying about my intentions with Dixie. And I won’t worry about your dad’s intentions when he does thousands of dollars’ worth of work for cash only.”
Just when I think I’ve won, dude laughs. Straight-up laughs out loud like I am damn comedian.
I arch a brow and cross my arms over my chest. “Something funny?”
He takes longer than necessary to compose himself. “Yeah. You. You’re hilarious.”
“Which part exactly did you find humorous? Just so we’re clear.” I narrow my eyes, hoping he gets the message about just how close to an ass beating he is.
I can hear Ashley telling me to keep my nose clean if I want to get off probation anytime soon, but the rage is already beginning to rise to the surface. I need my damn drum kit. Now.
Once he’s got a hold on his giggling, McKinley stares me straight in the face. “Just so we’re clear, I was particularly amused by the part where the local drug dealer, you know, the one that takes sexual favors as payment from anything with a *, threatened to rat out my dad.”
The shock on my face must show. I didn’t know that was common knowledge, but there it is.
Dixie doesn’t know how far I fell the year she was in Houston, but Jaggerd McKinley obviously does. What I can’t work out is why he wouldn’t have told her already and gotten me out of his way.
“No wait, wait,” he says mockingly, as if trying to stave off another fit of laughter. “It might’ve been the part where the strung-out cokehead told me I didn’t know jack shit about him when I’m the one who rebuilt Dallas’s truck last year after you nearly killed him in it. News flash: the Amarillo PD don’t go out of their way to protect lowlife scum like drug users and distributors so I got a nice, long look at the details on the paperwork when it passed through here for insurance purposes. So, who knows, man. I guess it’s a toss-up on which part of your bullshit speech I found the most entertaining.”
There is no trace of humor in his voice. He’s good and pissed now and so am I.