Her phone buzzed again.
Echo:What’s the worst that could happen?
Quinn blinked at the screen, deadpan.
A slow, humorless smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Plenty,she thought grimly.
Plenty could happen with Layla around.
Instead of replying, Quinn tossed the phone onto the nightstand, face-down, and resumed staring blankly at theceiling, already mentally preparing herself for whatever fresh hell was about to come their way.
Chapter Eight
Tool sat at the bar,whiskey burning its way down his throat. He should’ve gone to the clubhouse—put more distance between himself and Brandi. But instead, he was here, two blocks away, too damn close to pretend her words hadn’t hit their mark.Coward.
She had no idea what she was talking about. He was a lot of things—reckless, stubborn, maybe even an asshole—but a coward? Not a fucking chance. If she wanted to throw words like that around, she needed to be ready to back them up.
Tossing a few bills on the counter, he downed the rest of his whiskey in one go and pushed to his feet. The bar door swung open under his grip, the cool evening air doing nothing to settle the fire raging in his chest. He didn’t stop as he hit the sidewalk.
With every step, the anger sharpened, fueling his determination. If Brandi wanted to call him names, fine. But she was about to find out exactly who he was.
And he’d make damn sure she never called him a coward again.
The evening air did little to cool the fire raging inside him. Tool rolled his shoulders, muscles tight as he stalked down the sidewalk. Two blocks. That was all that stood between him andBrandi. Between setting things straight and letting her keep thinking he was some weak, indecisive bastard who ran when things got hard.
Coward.The word scraped against something raw inside him. She had no damn clue.
A streetlight flickered overhead as he crossed the last intersection, his boots heavy against the pavement. The Coffee Bean’s windows glowed soft and warm, the faint hum of life inside barely registering over the rush of blood in his ears.
He spotted her immediately—head bent over a clipboard; brow furrowed in concentration as she moved through the back stock area. Focused. Unaware.
For a second, he hesitated. She looked… settled. Like she’d made her decision and wasn’t second-guessing it. And maybe that was the real reason he was there. Because Brandi had drawn a line in the sand, and he wasn’t sure he could let her keep it there.
Jaw tightening, he pushed the door open.
The bell jingled, and her head snapped up. Surprise flickered across her face, but it was gone in a blink, replaced by something sharper.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, setting the clipboard down.
Tool shoved his sunglasses up onto his head. “You want to talk shit, Brandi? Say it to my face.”
She folded her arms. “I did. But it looks like you finally grew a spine and decided to show up.”
His teeth clenched. “You don’t get it.”
“No, Tool, I do.” She took a step closer, chin tilted up, eyes flashing. “You don’t get to pick and choose when you care. You don’t get to act like I matter one second and disappear the next. And you sure as hell don’t get to call me out for moving the hell on.”
His fingers twitched at his sides. “You think I don’t care?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You think I don’t want—” He stopped himself, jaw working.
Brandi’s lips parted slightly, just enough for him to catch the sharp inhale she took. But she didn’t step back. Didn’t give him an inch.
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You don’t know a damn thing, Brandi.”
She huffed a bitter laugh. “Then tell me, Tool.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged. He could walk away. He should walk away. Instead, he took a step closer.
