I’m not picky.
“Fuck,” he hisses, not giving an obvious shit that if his cover wasn’t blown before, it is now.
Stepping out of the dark, my fist slams into the back of his skull, sending the man forward as my brother comes out with a baseball bat clutched in his hand. He doesn’t linger to move closer, then surprises me when he swings back and connects with the bastard’s head, knocking him out cold with a heavy thud against the worn tiles.
The lights turn on, and Hardy is heaving short breaths through flared nostrils as he glares down at the heap of skin and bones on the floor.
“Nice hit,” I comment, shoving my gun into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Thanks.”
“You wanna go check on Scarlett?”
“Your phone still hooked up to the alarm system at home?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, no.” He raises his chin to face me, clearly wanting to end this shit as much as I do. “How are we handling this?”
Shared trait number four—getting shit over with ASAP.
“Depends. You squeamish with blood?”
“Nope.”
I nod. “Alright, then. Pineapples is the safe word. Let me know if you need out.”
* * *
Hardy and I have beers in our hands when the long-haired blonde that is my sister’s so-called ex-boyfriend/stalker decides to grace us with his consciousness.
My brother moves out of his seat when I outstretch my arm to halt him to remain still.
He’s pissed.
If anything besides the four traits I’ve already discovered, he definitely has my temper. And this fuckhead is in for a real treat with the two of us as his company.
“Thanks for joining us,” I drone, my lips hovering over the end of my beer. “I’m so glad to finally meet my sister’s ex-boyfriend. Chad, right?”
Chad glances over at Hardy, obviously confused because ‘ole boy over here probably doesn’t even know I exist.
“Hey, asshole,” my brother greets with a malevolent tone to his voice. “I thought I told you to leave Scar alone.”
“She won’t return my calls,” he answers, patting down his chest. We found two knives and another handgun in his jean jacket, which are now in Hardy’s possession.
And also, what’s up with everyone getting concerned about other people not answering their fucking phones, geezus Christ.
“And why would she do that?” I press, brushing the wet beads of my beer away with my thumb. “I hear you got quite the angry disposition.”
Chad furrows his brows. “That only happened twice…and I was drunk. And that time with Madelyn was…” He steals another look at Hardy. “Dude, I’m sorry, it was a mistake.”
Hardy tenses, clenching his bottle so hard that his knuckles are turning white. He senses my gaze and fills me in.
“This is the second accident my daughter has been in. Scarlett was babysitting, and Chad over here drove them to get something to eat at this pizza joint. Little did our sister know that he drank a fifth on the side of the establishment and proceeded to drive them home.”
My head slowly turns back, anger brewing in my veins and up my spine. My jaw steels as I take in the skinny piece of shit who couldn’t take out a grown man, so he decided to use my baby sister for kicks and smacks to make him feel like one.
“Then what?”
“Madeline got whiplash, and Scarlett went through the windshield.”
The table rattles as I slam my beer bottle down. “Remember the safe word?”
“Yeah.”
“Good, because I’m about to show you what I’m all about.”
I allowed my brother to kick Chad’s ass with his baseball bat in the woods behind Mom’s trailer while Chad’s curses turned into cries and pleas for help. When the word pineapple failed to be mentioned through Hardy’s lips, I realized we had yet another thing in common.
No mercy for those who fuck with our family.
I lied to Hardy when I said I took Chad to Allegheny Police Station, and he went to check on Scarlett at the house.
Instead, I shoved two M-80’s down his throat and lit the fuse. The report on the bastards wasn’t as loud as I wanted them to be; however, he cried enough for it to be worth it.
While half his jaw hung from his face, the last words he ever heard was, this is for the Bishop girls because I blew his brains out and left him for the coyotes to eat.
“I know, I’m so sorry, Arm.” I run my fingers along the wall of peeled wallpaper of my hotel room, looking for the light switch. “I tried not to be gone for too long.”
My thigh drives into the sharp corner of a piece of furniture, and I curse out, immediately rubbing the exact spot where I ran into it earlier.
Kicking it—or trying to—with my foot, my already rooted rationality rears its ugly head.
I shouldn’t be here.
If Bishop doesn’t give two fucks about his dog, then why the hell did I just make a four-hour drive to deliver him back?
Because you haven’t seen him in weeks, and your weak ass misses him.
Armageddon whines, probably sensing how pathetic I am.
“Yeah, I know, buddy. It’s pretty distressing that a thirty-something-year-old can’t get it together. I’m surprised you’re still alive.” My fingers finally locate the light switch, and I flick it on. “We’ll go out tomorrow and find your daddy when—“
“You found him.” My heart leaps into my throat as I pivot, hitting the same table that assaulted me seconds ago and reach for my gun.
It’s out and aimed in the direction of the octave tone that just startled me.
The very one I can’t misplace in my head.
Sitting in one of the cheap chairs with Armageddon resting obediently between his calves is the man I’ve been searching for.
The one that brings that pitiful mood in me.
Dressed in a gray t-shirt that hugs and snuggles every single muscle that I’ve stared incessantly at for years and tattered dark blue jeans, Bishop lazily allows his gaze to absorb my black leggings and high-waisted tee.
I feel every inch that his eyes touch and
