“If you make a single comment about my driving, I’m stuffing you in the trunk,” I warned.
“I’m less concerned about your driving than I am about the idiots you’re sharing the road with, if that makes you feel any better. If we get out of Jersey without an accident, I’ll be a happy man.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
Chapter Four
While we madeit out of New Jersey without an accident, an asshole in a newer but cheap pickup took offense to my fender. Unfortunately for the asshole, steel beat plastic, and his truck took the brunt of the damage. I pulled over, growling curses over the idiots who should have their licenses revoked for being a danger to everyone on the street. “Wayne, I’m just saying, if someone who isn’t me tries to boss you around, I’ll look the other way if you decide to pop them in the mouth when you choose to ignore them.”
“Most people tend to discourage lycanthropes from violence.”
“If anyone threatens your safety, I fully expect you to violently protect yourself.”
“And should someone threaten your safety?”
“I can take care of myself, Barnes.” I snorted at the idea of even another lycanthrope doing more than giving me some bruises. “Just worry about your safety for now, and if the situation looks particularly questionable, you can make an annoyance out of yourself.”
“I’m never annoying.”
“We can discuss that later.”
“You have my attention.”
Great. I already regretted my decision to not wear my perfume. If I needed to get into a fight, he’d discover I had my secrets, too.
We hybrids tended to get mean when the fists—or fur—started to fly.
Before I’d been infected, the brute of a man who emerged from the truck might have scared me. My virus viewed brutes with disgust and dislike, which led me to believe I’d contracted her from a brute of a man.
My virus went on alert, and if I let her, she’d growl, force me to shift to the hybrid form, and give the asshole a beating he’d never forget. I glanced at my car, which had bits of the truck’s fragile red fender decorating the rear.
My poor little car. If it took another hit like that, I might have to think about replacing it.
Wayne got out of my car, circled it, and examined the fender, chuckling over the situation. “I’m impressed, Joyce. You won that round.”
I ignored Wayne and turned my attention to the brute with an inability to pay attention to where he drove. It took me a moment to detect his scent, which was heavy with the markers of a male lycanthrope, harsher than Wayne’s scent, and sharp from his annoyance.
Wayne tensed for a moment, but then he turned, relaxed, and leaned against my car, crossing his arms over his chest. I realized he lied using his body language, offering the illusion of being calm but positioned to use my vehicle as a launching board if he needed to get involved.
“Where’d you learn to drive?” I asked, pumping as much scorn as possible into my voice. “I hope your insurance is better than mine, because mine ain’t going to be paying you jack shit thanks to your non-existent driving skills.”
“That’s not polite,” the lycanthrope replied. He took a step forward, and my virus went from annoyed to infuriated. I stayed put, aware of if I took a single step towards him, I’d go from calm to trying to rip his face off. “You should be more polite.”
I needed to be more polite? My virus and I agreed on one thing: if he wanted me to be polite, he’d have to come back another day. “You should’ve paid more attention to where you’re driving, then. Why don’t you start with apologizing for being a shit driver?”
“You should have been driving faster. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing with someone like that? Ditch the man, ditch the car, and come home with me. You’ve got the virus, and you’ll make pretty puppies for the pack. I’ll get you something better. I’m impressed it didn’t fall apart when I hit you.”
Behind me, Wayne growled, and I glanced over my shoulder. He stayed with my vehicle, maintaining his relaxed posture. It occurred to me he wore a suit on a Saturday, and he did his outfit a great deal of justice. I looked the brute over head to toe, my brows furrowing at his scuffed, dirt-encrusted jeans, his torn wife-beater, and his untamed hair in dire need of a wash. “Seriously?”
“Very.”
“How about you just give me your insurance info so I can tell your insurance company you can’t drive worth a shit and busted up our vehicles because you can’t watch where you’re going? Hey, Wayne. Why don’t you take some pictures and give the cops a call if he doesn’t decide to do the right thing.”
While my words implied that I asked a question, only an idiot would miss the command in my tone. Wayne wisely grabbed his phone and did as I asked.
The pixie dust and influencer helped with his general inclination to do as I said, but I hoped he wouldn’t figure that out later. He might not, assuming I kept my requests reasonable and aligned them with his usual behavior.
“There’s no need to bring the cops into this,” the brute growled.
