Who the hell is this?
He’d figured on that—the burner would come up as an unknown number on Colt’s phone. He answered:
Son of Glitter Man.
It was a stupid code name they’d made up years ago. No one but the kids in the Bad Blood Crew would use it. He added:
How the hell did fucking Kitty Jameson find me?
There was another, shorter pause. Then:
Did you say you were fucking Kitty Jameson?
Like right now? Duuuuude.
Asshole.
Then a text from a different number popped into the conversation. Colt’s brother Remy, of course. Because they did everything together.
Image of you and Kitty naked seared into my brain
Forever traumatized
You’re paying for my therapy
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Brandon replied:
I am NOT FUCKING KITTY, assholes.
Get your minds off dicks for one second and tell me why the hell you let her come here. Alone.
Why the fuck weren’t you keeping tabs on her?
Colton: Hahahahahahahahaha keeping tabs on her? Have you met her?
Remy: You’re adorable. Next you’ll be saying we should have stopped her from doing whatever the hell she wants.
Colton followed that with three “crying with laughter” emojis.
Damn it.
“I just need to be left alone,” Brandon muttered. “Why doesn’t anybody get that?”
He texted: You two aren’t seriously coming here, are you? I’m fine. I don’t need help.
Remy: La la la la I can’t hear you
Fuck.
Chapter 12
The Clover Hill Inn had a room available, so Kitty checked in for one night. After that… well, after that they’d just see. Because she’d decided that Brandon Fierro wasn’t getting rid of her that easily. Not while he was still in danger.
If he broke her heart, she could always kick him in the balls later. After they’d crushed his enemies under their boot heels.
By the time she’d finished the check-in process, though, it had all come crashing down on her—the weeks of worry, no sleep last night, the fight in the bar and the roller-coaster emotions of seeing Brandon.
Not to mention finding out that she was probably going to die alone, victim of an unrequited mating bond.