Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(4)
What isn’t a mystery to me is that he’s the one who put her there. Rhys is the one who upended her fragile balance by kicking her out. It’s like she hadn’t even bothered looking for a place. She’d given up. Given in. And if he’d told me she was struggling like he promised, maybe she’d still be here.
In an instant, my urge to cry evaporates. Instead, the urge to rage on the hulking man standing on the front lawn, staring daggers in my direction, overwhelms me.
If Milo didn’t need me, I’d kill this big fucker with my bare hands and march myself to prison, convinced that I’d fulfilled my life’s purpose.
For now, I opt to clench my molars and glare back as I bite out as few words as possible. “I won’t take long.” I have three days to pack up all my big sister’s possessions, and then I’ll never have to set foot in this godforsaken town again.
The man’s head tilts, and a loose piece of dark hair flops over his forehead. It’s too long, and he’s used a touch too much product in an attempt to slick it back, making it appear almost wet. I focus on how unappealing that one lock of hair is so that my eyes don’t look at the rest of him.
The impossibly wide shoulders, the towering height, the dangerously dark eyes, the black tattoos that curl over his forearms, covering him from his wrist all the way up to where his T-shirt sits. It makes you wonder where else they go.
Yes, everything about this man screams sex.
I already knew that he was physically appealing. But now I also know that he’s indirectly responsible for Erika’s overdose. And I hate him for it.
“You can’t go in there.” His tone hedges no room for debate.
“Legally, I can go in there.”
He crosses his arms, which, with the size of his biceps, looks borderline uncomfortable. “Your name isn’t on the lease, and I never gave you a key. I doubt Erika did either.” A tendon pulses in his jaw, and the disdain in his gaze intensifies my anger.
“You doubt Erika did?” I repeat the words and nearly laugh as they leave my lips. “You’ve got a lot of nerve acting like you speak for her.”
“Says the woman who just announced she was going in to steal jewelry. We both know she wouldn’t want you in there.”
My mouth pops open. How dare he pretend he knows what terms my sister and I were on? “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
He stands taller, like a sentinel guarding a castle. It infuriates me. Where was this sense of contractual integrity when he booted her without honoring the pinky promise we made?
That agreement may have been childish, but it meant something to me.
The asshole’s facial expression gives nothing away. His delivery is perfectly even. “Not a joke in sight. If you want to enter the unit, you’ll need Erika’s permission.”
I bark out a loud, disbelieving laugh and shake my head at him. “Right, well, since you’re the Erika expert now, I’ll just wait here while you head down to the morgue and ask her permission.”
The mountain of a man flinches as though I slapped him, but then he takes a stuttered step forward, eyes searching. “Come again?”
“My sister is dead.”
God, saying it out loud is a shot to the heart. My voice cracks, but I forge ahead.
“My emotional bandwidth is shot, and my desire to talk to you is nonexistent. I’m next of kin, so if you want to call the cops and have me removed from the property”—I wave a dramatic hand over the front lawn as if welcoming a crowd to a show—“please be my guest.”
With that, I spin and barge into the house. I’m about to slam the door in his face with a flourish when he’s suddenly there, crowding me, towering over me, one massive hand gripping the door and keeping it from hitting him in the face.
I can feel the heat of his body, sense the threat in his stance, and smell the cinnamon scent in his hair product.
“And Milo?” His voice is all gravel, and I swear there’s a threat in his rough tone. One I don’t fucking appreciate.
But I also recognize his concern for the small boy because I feel it too. Acutely.
I let my eyes crash against his, both confused and agitated by his distress.
What I see in his dark irises is an apocalypse of storms. Fire and brimstone. And I’m certain mine are no better. As his gaze traces my face, I let my hatred take center stage on every feature, wanting to show him I’m not standing down, no matter how much he stomps around like he’s the fucking man of the house or whatever this territorial show is.
I decide on as little information as possible, but enough to get him to leave. “Milo is happy and safe.”
A brief flash of relief touches the man’s features as he retreats incrementally.
A soft moment.
A perfect spot for me to strike.
“I pinky promise,” I add cynically.
And then I slam the door in his face.
CHAPTER 3
Tabitha
I WAKE UP TO SOMETHING NUDGING MY FOOT, BUT I’M TOO fuzzy-headed to be all that bothered by the sensation. With a groan, I roll to my side. The bed is unusually hard, but I’m more worried about the way my stomach flips over on itself when I move.
A deep “Hey” filters from above as my consciousness finds some semblance of footing. Awareness seeps in slowly.