BISHOP: You got it.
KYSON: You’d be surprised.
BISHOP: I gotta handle some more things and get them settled in. I’ll be back soon. It’s not rocket science.
KYSON: I dunno. Let me carve you up into a thoughtful human being, so I don’t have to keep your dumbass reason for being out there a secret anymore.
KYSON: Because I know damn well it has something more to do with Bubba and Hardy’s daughter. He in trouble?
BISHOP: No, Scarlett. Apparently, she’s here running from an ex-boyfriend.
KYSON: I’m coming up.
BISHOP: No need, brother. I got it. He’s bound to grow some balls and show up again.
KYSON: She shouldn’t be there. That place is a fucking hole in the Earth that should’ve been blown up years ago.
BISHOP: No, shit. I was going to take pictures for you and everything to show you how scenic it is. She’s staying up at the house with my niece.
KYSON: It’s been three weeks.
BISHOP: You said that already.
KYSON: I’m still coming up.
BISHOP: Dude, no. Stay down there and watch the fam.
KYSON: Dude, no. Do you know how hard it is to keep Emmy and Mills at bay? They’re talking about coming to see you all because you won’t answer the phone like a normal human being.
I really don’t give a flying shit, to be quite honest.
Mills is a pesky fuck, and Emmy…with her comes the need to touch her, the will to kiss her, and the headache that follows right afterward.
Not only has she continuously been sending me pictures of my dog, him eating fast food, sitting on the couch with her, and sleeping on her fucking bed, but she’s making me jealous of my own damn pet.
And with Mills and Em comes everyone else on B723.
I can deal with the boys and Blue, but Emmy cares so much that I’m starting to believe that the woman requires therapy or a bowl to smoke just to chill.
She has some sort of overlying anxiety that she needs to get tampered down, and last time I checked, I wasn’t a head shrink.
BISHOP: Do you think I should answer the phone?
KYSON: Stop being a smart fucking ass.
BISHOP: I rest my case then.
KYSON: The girl is losing her damn mind.
BISHOP: That’s her problem, and you’re just searching for a way out.
KYSON: Then fucking give me one.
BISHOP: Tell you what…if I don’t have this done in the next forty-eight hours, you can bring your happy ass up here.
KYSON: Deal.
BISHOP: And make sure you watch my dog.
KYSON: Emmy has that handled.
BISHOP: Grab my dog.
KYSON: Should’ve thought of that prior ‘ole boy.
BISHOP: I’m seriously not fucking around.
EMMY: Attachment
I’m surprised that I can actually see anything from how slitted my eyes are when her text comes through on cue like a damn sitcom.
It’s a photo of her and my dog cuddled up on a couch with a blanket. A completely dangerous thing for her to do.
Because my dog may just go off and assassinate himself from her overbearing ass.
However, she’s absolutely beautiful. Her whitish-blonde hair cascades lazily over her shoulder. Those hypnotizing honey-browns peer up at the camera, innocent and unknowing of how much I want to fuck her out of my system.
I’m jealous of my damn dog and the baby blue blanket that’s draped over her body.
BISHOP: That shit’s not funny.
KYSON: What isn’t?
I forward him the picture and immediately get a response back.
KYSON: LOL, dude, I’m telling you she knows that I know where you are.
BISHOP: Keep her away from here.
KYSON: You tell her to stay away.
BISHOP: Are you a bitch or something? Why is everyone scared of this chick? If anyone makes you shit your pants, it should be Blue.
KYSON: Blue is like one of the dudes. Emmy is emotional.
BISHOP: Keep her away from me, or you’re going to have to deal with tears, chick flicks, and gallons of ice cream when I send her ass back to you.
KYSON: Yeah…about that.
KYSON: She’s on her way there.
My alarm notification buzzes on my phone, and the sound of a car rolling up and crushing into the gravel has me instinctively out of my conversation with Kyson about Emmy altogether.
Sitting up, I don’t bother moving the horizontal blinds to see if someone stopped in front of my trailer and didn’t just get too close.
I know they did.
I look down the hallway to see that Hardy hasn’t moved an inch, still sleeping like a baby on the only new thing I’ve bought for this place.
Although, he won’t be if someone starts to fuck with the door again.
So, I invite the asshole in.
Unlocking the front door as if Hardy and Scarlett forgot to do so, I step into the shadows near the small closet to block me from view.
It doesn’t take long for the jiggling of the handle to move, then the door to slowly creak open. My heart begins to match my adrenaline, sprinting like a familiar freight train as I patiently wait for our new visitor to step inside.
Movement from my bedroom catches my eye, and fucking Hardy isn’t lying in bed anymore. The lump of blankets that covered his body are no longer in my view.
Trait number three that he got from me—moving smoothly and silently without being seen or heard. I’ll have to thank his commander in the army for training him so well to hide from threats and stand by for the perfect opportunity to make a move.
With my index finger on the trigger of my trusted Glock, the front door opens wider, creating a black wall to block my view of my room. Either Scarlett’s ex-boyfriend or one of Bubba’s buddies came to play.
The intruder’s footsteps make the tiled floor whine as I slowly close the door with the pad of my index finger to get him back in my sights. Inching closer to the far side of the trailer where Hardy is, I don’t hesitate a second longer—no point—and send a bullet
