"So you said." I grip the steering wheel tighter. "What exactly did she say that made you decide to bash her fucking brains in?"
"That you fuck anything that moves. That you're weak and demonic or some shit." Her voice gets quieter. "Called you diseased."
My jaw clenches. "And that made you snap?"
"No one talks about you like that," she says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Not to me."
Christ, my dick gets harder every time she says shit likethat. I shift in my seat, adjusting myself. Her eyes track the movement, and a flush creeps up her neck.
"So," she says, clearing her throat. "Where are we taking her?"
"Somewhere she'll never be found."
We drive for another twenty minutes, the city lights fading behind us as we hit the industrial outskirts. I take a series of turns down progressively shittier roads until we pull up to a high chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Reese peers through the windshield. "A junkyard? Seriously?"
"You got a problem with my disposal site?" I ask, punching a code into the keypad at the gate. "We could always drive out to one of my family's old properties in the woods, dig a six-foot hole, and drop her off there. But that's less time for you to make it up to me."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Make it up to you?"
"For making me miss the chance to bend you over my tailgate." I smirk as the gate slides open. "Besides, West always does it right."
"West?" She frowns. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
I drive through the gate, following a dirt path between mountains of crushed cars and industrial waste. "He was Penn's favorite little cocksucker before your sister stole his heart and his balls."
"Oh, Weston?" Reese's eyes light up with recognition. "I knew the name sounded familiar. I didn’t realize he ran a junkyard."
"He doesn't work here. He owns it."
I honk twice, then cut the engine. The door to the building swings open, and West fucking saunters out like he's on a runway instead of standing in a pile of industrial garbage.
"Oh my god," Reese whispers beside me. "No one ever said he was a hot cowboy."
My head snaps toward her so fast I nearly give myself whiplash. West is walking toward us in his dark blue jeans, flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms, and that stupid fucking cowboy hat he insists on wearing everywhere.
"Put your eyeballs away," I growl at Reese. "He's not hot."
West reaches my window just as I roll it down, leaning his forearms on the frame and tipping his hat back to reveal a face that too many women have called handsome.
"Who's not hot?" he drawls, his eyes sliding from me to Reese. "Cause all I'm seeing is two hotties in this old fuck-ass truck." He tips his hat at Reese. "Ma'am."
"Don't 'ma'am' her," I snap. "And don't look at her like that either."
"Like what?" West asks innocently, but the fucker's smirking.
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth might crack. "I will fucking kill you myself, Holliday. Keep your eyes, hands, and literally your breath away from my woman. We've got a package for you."
West's eyes flick to the tarp in my truck bed, then back to me. His smile doesn't falter. "I can see that. And who's your pretty friend?"
"None of your business except she’s mine. Now, grab the bitch out of the back and dispose of her. She’s barely hanging on I think. She might have already bit the bullet."
Weston tips his hat back at Reese, and I swear to god I’m about to get out of this truck and throw him into the compactor with the other one at this rate.
I fucking knew bringing her here was going to cause my blood pressure to rise exponentially.
An hour later, I'm finally shoving my key into our door, Reese following in behind me. West took care of the body without asking too many questions, though he couldn't stop staring at Reese like she was some kind of exotic animal. Every time he called her little lady or darlin' in that fake-ass drawl, I wanted to rip his throat out.
