“Where to?” Saint asks, encouraging my focus to him. He’s dressed similarly to his brother, but his shirt is a couple of shades lighter. It makes the brightness of his blond locks even more noticeable, and they take the focus off his kiss-swollen lips.
When awkward tension fills the air for the next several seconds, Saint bounces his eyes between the three pairs staring at him. “I was thinking we could grab a bite to eat before hitting the nightclub scene?”
I vomit a little when Sloane purrs, “Did I not satisfy your palette this morning?”
Maddox maintains his quiet front.
The closeness of the Walsh siblings is well documented, so I’m confident every sordid detail would have been shared with Maddox by Saint this afternoon, so why isn’t he responding with a morsel of disgust?
As put off by Maddox’s quiet as me, Sloane tiptoes her fingers up the buttons in Saint’s shirt. “I’m just playing. I’m famished. Food sounds divine.” She twists her torso to face the silent party for two in the back. “You guys?”
“I could eat,” I reply, ignoring the twisted knot in my stomach saying otherwise. “You?” I shift my eyes to Maddox, who is acting nothing like the man I dined with yesterday. When silence is the only reply I get, I whisper, “I can go if you’d like?”
Not giving him the chance to answer, I request for Sloane to drag her seat forward so I can climb out the way I entered. Her knees brace the glove compartment before Maddox’s hand shoots out to grip mine, halting my exit. Although he doesn’t say anything, he must non-verbally announce to Saint he’s happy with his plans because I’m thrust into my seat by Saint planting his foot on the gas pedal.
I would have preferred for Maddox to straight-up say he’s fine with me being a tagalong, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers, and I’ve been a beggar longer than I’ve been a woman.
8
Demi
“The cucumber was wrapped, so why is it no longer consumable?”
I peg an uneaten portion of a breadstick at Sloane. “It was wrapped in a condom.”
Maddox remains quiet—as he has for the past two hours—but I hear Saint choke on his whiskey when Sloane says, “And? Latex will preserve it better than plastic ever would.”
“Sloane…” Needing backup, I swing my eyes to Maddox. “Will you help a girl out? Please.”
Steam almost billows from my ears when he shrugs instead of speaking. He hasn’t spoken a word to me all night. Not one. He flirted with the waitresses, smiled at the women making gaga eyes with him in the booth across from ours, and even stopped to chat to a random stranger when he escaped my clutch for a thirty-minute bathroom break. He’s being a dick, and I’m about ready to call him out on it.
“What’s with you tonight, Maddox? You’ve barely spoken a word, and not one of them has been directed at me, but when I tried to out-talk you yesterday, you beat me three words to one.”
Frustrated and perhaps a little upset about his second nonchalant shrug, I toss my napkin into his face before sliding out of the booth. I understand his ego was stung when I left him high and dry in the wee hours of this morning, but that doesn’t give him the right to be an ass. Call me a cock tease, tell your friends I’m a bitch, but don’t take me out in public then make me feel worthless. If I wanted to be treated like scum for the world to see, I would have accepted my uncle’s offer of a last-minute invitation to dinner. He doesn’t care if I’m circled by Buddhists on sabbatical or being hungrily eyeballed by the men in his crew, he disrespects me as often as possible.
I have to put up with his crap because he’s my uncle.
I don’t need to take it from Maddox.
“I’ll come with you.”
I stop Sloane’s exit of the booth by pushing down on her shoulder. “I’m fine. I can find my way home. Enjoy the rest of your night.” I shift my eyes to Maddox. Just like every other time I’ve glanced at him tonight, his eyes aren’t on me. That won’t harness my retaliation, though. “I hope she chokes on your smelly gym socks, dick.”
I miss the spray of whiskey spurting out of Saint’s mouth since I sprint for the exit. I refuse to hang around and watch Sloane and Saint convince Maddox he should go after me. I’d rather they let bygones be bygones because if I get any angrier, I may not keep Maddox off my uncle’s radar as I have the past two years.
My uncle’s business needs fighters, and the main part of my job being his ‘personal assistant’ is to locate the best fighters in the area. I make the gig sound as unappealing as possible when I approach the top contenders at local boxing gyms. I tell them the conditions are atrocious, that the boss is an ass, and ramble on about how they could face charges if they accept my uncle’s offer, but the instant they scan a couple of thousand per fight on the contract I’m forced to present to them, they act as if my warnings have no steam.
I don’t know what happens to the men once they’re umbrellaed under my uncle’s wing. I’ve heard rumors some of them have gone pro, but since those claims are mostly issued by my uncle, I don’t give them much credit. I just know that no matter what, being in favor to my uncle always ends poorly. You’ll be lucky to escape with your life.
I increase the length of my strides when my name comes tumbling out of the asshole’s mouth who refused to talk to me all night. I’m tempted to rile him that my storm out forced him to interact with me, but he isn’t the only one immature enough to give someone the silent treatment.
It only takes half a dozen strides for Maddox’s anger to get the better of him. I’m not surprised by his short fuse. All the males in his family are known for being hotheads. “If you’re planning to walk back to Hopeton, you’re walking in the wrong-fucking-direction.”
After folding my arms under my chest, I take a sharp right, then continue on. We walked for hours last night when we had nowhere to go, so I’m sure my legs are up to the task when my stomps have purpose.
“Try again,” Maddox barks out in a dull, angry tone.
I peer up at the sky before cursing my uncle’s name in vain. He blew up my phone so effectively the first hour of my ‘double date,’ my cell phone battery died almost forty minutes ago, so I can’t access Google Maps. Considering I’m shit at paying attention to my surroundings, I have no clue which part of Ravenshoe I’m in.
I could have sent my uncle’s calls to voicemail, saving me some charge, but since that would lead him to believe I was purposely avoiding him, I didn’t. It’ll be easier for all involved if he believes I left my cell phone at home. Less lethal.
“Now keep going straight for another forty miles,” Maddox says when I take another sharp right. “Or better yet, swallow your stubbornness and accept my offer of a ride home.”
When he nudges his head to his motorbike, it takes everything I have not to scream. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact he’s demanding I go anywhere with him or that he prearranged an exit strategy like he knew this is how our night would end. Whatever it is, he isn’t the boss of me.
“Dem—”