“I am. By hunger,” Zee retorts, dramatically feigning a fainting spell as she walks.
I’m still laughing as we cross the parking lot toward my car when I see it. I stop walking instantly, tugging on AJ without meaning to. She stumbles to a stop beside me, and Henley and Zelda notice.
“Mads?” Henley asks softly.
I can’t answer, because my stomach is too busy dropping, a sick feeling forming in my gut as I eye my vandalized car.
Painted across the side of my car, ruining the matte-black paint job, is one word sprawled in huge red letters.
WHORE
For a moment, everything around me goes strangely quiet. The parking lot, the traffic, my girls. It all simply fades behind the sudden roar that fills my ears, accompanied by a frenzied ringing that makes my head ache.
My car. My beautiful baby, ruined.
“Oh, what the fuck?” AJ blurts suddenly, and I whimper at the sound of her rage, her anger almost giving me whiplash.
Zelda goes rigid beside me, frighteningly so, and Henley’s hand finds my arm gently. I can do nothing but stare at my car and the word that is still dripping with wet paint, the ugly letters stretched across the dark bodywork. Whoever did that must have done it recently, and I actually want to cry at the sight of my pride and joy now marred with such an ugly word.
Something twists painfully in my chest, something hurt and wounded, because it’s not even about the word. It’s the car itself. I fucking love my car, and now she’s ruined. I think I would have preferred an Autobot to stomp on her rather than see her beautiful paintwork tarnished with crass writing.
“All right,” AJ snaps sharply. “Someone is dying today.”
“Queue starts behind me. Get in line,” Zelda seethes darkly, and I swallow hard before dragging my phone from my back pocket.
With a shaky hand, I snap several photos of my poor baby and send them to the group chat with my guys.
MADDIE:Don’t talk to me. I’m in mourning. I’m also about to call the cops and report a vicious crime. I’m pretty sure I know whose handiwork it is.
Several replies come in, but I decide not to entertain them just yet. Instead, I read over Baxter’s message, and I have to swallow back the tears that ridiculously threaten to fall.
BAXTER:Bring it here when you’re done reporting it.
“Don’t touch it, Zee,” Henley calls softly, and I look up just as Zelda lowers her hand. I don’t even know when she got close enough to the car to touch, but she snarls at the writing before crossing her arms over her chest.
AJ joins her, eyeing the crudely written word, and mutters, “Call the cops, Mads.”
So I do, forcing myself to breathe through the phone call to the police, giving them my report and answering questions mechanically while AJ paces nearby like an angry Doberman ready to tear the throat out of whoever vandalized my baby.
When the female officer finally asks, “Do you have reason to suspect anyone?” I pause before tightly muttering, “That depends. Can you tell me if Toby Moore was released on bail? He was arrested last week for assaulting me, but I didn’t hear anything after his arrest.”
The kind woman on the other end of the call hums under her breath before she tells me, “It looks like he was released on bail. It looks like he was released the very same night he was arrested.”
Freezing, I look over at my girls, all of whom have stopped to look back at me with varying degrees of shock and anger. Clearing my throat as I rub a subconscious hand across my chest, I ask, “You’re telling me Toby is currently walking around as a free man?”
I don’t actually hear the officer’s response, the ringing in my ears growing louder. I don’t know why I’m so shocked, because I already had a feeling I knew who the culprit was. The only person I’ve actually pissed off enough to ruin my pride and joy is that useless fuckstick. Yet hearing that he was released on bail and has been freely roaming the streets for the past week and a half makes me want to start screaming into a fucking traffic cone and carry a brick in my purse for the foreseeable future.
By the time everything is documented and the report has been made, I’m exhausted. I’m fully drained, fed up, and over the entire situation with Tobe the Chode. If I could snuff out the existence of a man without repercussions, I would choose Toby Moore. He’s been nothing but a thorn in my side for months on end now, disturbing my peace in a way only a troubled ex can, and I’m about sick of it.
A sadness clings to me while I send evidence of the vandalism, and the officer I spoke to promises to send someone to check the cameras around the mall and nearby streets, assuring me they’ll do all they can to find the culprit. It feels stupid to be so sad about a car, but I can’t help it. The car mattered to me, and Toby knew as much, which is probably why he screwed it up with ugly red paint.
The girls, bless their unhinged hearts, all offer to kill him more than once as they help me shove my bags into the Jeep. I decline the offers, wanting to wring the bastard’s neck myself, and I promise to treat them to dinner another time. With an understanding only my best friends can provide, they each give me a tight hug and force me to promise to call later. The moment I agree, they leave, and I climb into my car and simply sit there for a long moment, pondering, not for the first time, how things escalated to this point.
With a sigh, I drive straight to Zone Out, the drive taking forty-five minutes. All those minutes involve receiving stares, several people snapping photos or videos of my car as I drive past. It’s a genuine miracle I manage to ignore them all, heading straight for Bax without losing my mind.
The second I pull into the garage, one of Bax’s mechanics notices the side of my Jeep and swears loudly enough that it echoes through the large building. And honestly? It’s such a valid reaction. It’s the only reaction this type of crime deserves.
Bax appears not a moment later, climbing from beneath another car and wiping his hands on a rag tucked in the pocket of his black overalls, the arms tied around his hips and leaving him in a tight white shirt that is stained with several dark streaks.
