“Yeah, she definitely got her oil changed there,” Knife laughs, but I don’t take my eyes off Dee.
“What was his name, Dee? Benson or some shit like that.”
“Ben, and?—”
I cut her off with a hand. “Then there was Ray, the mailman.”
Knife snorts. “Don’t forget the two prospects we kicked out after they made their Dee sandwich and bragged about it all over the club.”
Dee glares daggers. “Fuck you, Knife. Does Rebbie know the kind of scum you’re hanging around today?”
Knife shrugs. “Rebbie doesn’t know I was seeing you today, but since she talks to you every day, I figure she talks to scum daily and wouldn’t mind me being here.”
“Nice,” Dee bites out. “You were once a friend, Knife. You don’t have to be an asshole.”
He folds his arms. “You had a man who bought you anything you wanted, didn’t cheat on you, treated you better than you deserved—and instead of appreciating it, you fucked around on him, even with his own men. You didn’t have to be a cunt, but you were.”
“Watch how you talk to my sister, you fucking asshole,” Mark snarls, stepping closer. “Or you and I will have problems.”
Knife’s grin turns cold and eager. “Bring it on.”
He wants Mark to swing—wants the excuse. As much as I would love that, I have to shut it down.
“Stand down, Knife.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
He grunts, but he takes a step back.
Mark turns his beady eyes on me. “You’re lucky my sister allows you to even see my nephew after the shit you’ve pulled.”
I tilt my head, studying just how fucking stupid he really is. “What have I done exactly?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You know.”
“No,” I say calmly. “I don’t. So, feel free to tell me. And while you’re at it, you want to explain why I got reports you were in my territory last week? Because I’m pretty damn sure you were warned never to show up there again unless I know and have a man on you.”
Both Mark and Dee go stiff. A flash of panic sparks across their faces—quick, but not quick enough. The hope that maybe Dee wasn’t involved dies a swift death.Motherfucker.
“You don’t own the whole damn town,” Mark mutters.
“Show up there again,” I say lightly, “and they won’t find your body.”
His eyes widen. “Is that a threat?”
“That’s a promise.”
Before he can try to grow a spine, a little voice cuts through the tension.
“Daddy!”
Caleb barrels into the room—dark hair sticking up like he ran here full speed, big brown eyes just like mine, wearing navy joggers with little dinosaurs on the knees, light-up sneakers, and a red holiday sweatshirt with a T-Rex holding candy canes. I step through Dee and Mark while they’re distracted and scoop Calebup. The second his arms wrap around my neck, my eyes fall shut. God, this kid destroys me in the best of ways.
“Hey, kiddo,” I whisper, squeezing him and inhaling his sweet scent. “You ready to spend some time with your old man?”
“Yes, Daddy!” he says, bouncing in my arms. “Are we going to put up a Christmas tree?”
I glance around the townhouse. No tree. Not a single decoration. Not even a damn stocking. I look at Dee. She smirks and shrugs like the trash she is. I was such a fucking moron.
“We sure are,” I tell Caleb. “And there are plenty of presents waiting to go under it.”
