I ignore him until Graham tells me we’re close.
“You don’t strike me as the type to do this,” Theo says.
“Everyone has a limit.”
The fucker grins at me.
Doesn’t say another word.
And he doesn’t move to get out of the car when we arrive either.
But I know if I decide I need him in there with me, he’ll be there.
Not that I’ll need him with the little surprise my security team slips into my hand when they let me out.
The house we’re stopped at is a duplex in a small mountain town not far from Snaggletooth Creek where a closed-up antique shop and a single active diner beside the gas station seem to be the only attractions. My intel says Chandler works at home, but I’m still unsurprised when my first knock goes unanswered.
So does the second.
The door finally swings open on the third though.
“What the fuck do you want?” the not-at-all charming man who belittled Emma for far too long snarls at me.
I don’t know why I grab him by the neck and push him into his house. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life.
But I don’t let go until we’re in the low light of his living room, which smells like dead rodents and stale whiskey.
He tries to swing at me, but I have the advantage of adrenaline.
And rage.
Pure, unfiltered rage.
“Sit,” I growl at him after ducking a second swing.
He doesn’t listen.
Asshole.
So I show him the mason jar as I duck a third time. “Sit, or I let the bees out.”
He freezes.
“Jar’s already mostly unscrewed. You take me out, they get out. Sosit your ass down. Now.”
He’s heaving from the effort of swinging at me, staring at me like he knows he’s trapped.
And it takes everything inside of me to not take a swing at him.
“I know you’re gambling again,” I say quietly. “I know about the porn sites. And I know about the loan you got with your grandfather’s forged signature. So we’re going to talk about how you’re moving to Nebraska and never setting foot within a hundred miles of Snaggletooth Creek, Los Angeles, or the entire East Coast for the rest of your life.”
“You don’t know shit.”
I know I’m so furious that I’m about to come apart at the seams, and I can’t quite remember why I’m not supposed to put myself in jail for a good cause.
And crushing Chandler Sullivan’s skull feels like averygood cause. “That business deal in Tiara Falls wasn’t in Tiara Falls. Tiara Falls doesn’t specialize in what’s in your basement.”
He goes white as a sheet.
