“Shut up.”
Phil fell instantly silent.
A pervading numbness set in. Just like Whitney, Vanity had pretended to despise Phil, only to get friendly with him behind Stack’s back. At least this time he knew sex wasn’t involved. Vanity kept too damn many secrets, more secrets than he could bear. But she wasn’t the type to cheat.
To lie, though... Well, the evidence was right in front of him. For reasons he didn’t understand, she’d aligned herself with Phil, enough to give him money.
Somehow he had to put that all aside, the hurt, the disappointment. The suspicion. Later, he could decide what to do about Vanity. Right now, he needed to know the name of Phil’s dealer. He should—
A ruckus sounded, and a second later two men entered the bedroom. Bigger, brawnier and probably more capable than the previous two thugs, they eyed Stack, then nodded to Phil.
Phil looked more stunned than ever.
“Get your shit and go,” the bigger of the two men said to Phil.
“Friends of yours?” Stack asked him.
“You, be quiet,” the talker said, and then to Phil, “Get. Your shit. And get out.”
Jolted by the menace in that tone, Phil hurried to tuck the pot inside his shirt, then closed the sheet around the haphazard pile of clothes. He glanced at the jewelry he’d laid out.
“I wouldn’t,” Stack warned him.
Showing a modicum of sense, Phil bolted over the bed and made a run for the front door.
At the same time, the biggest of the two men attacked. In the closed space, it wasn’t going to be easy to maneuver. Stack had never been a street brawler. He didn’t cause conflicts in bars. When he fought, it was in the cage with room to move.
But what the hell, he’d improvise.
Stack let the big man swing. He ducked his head just enough to avoid the blow and landed one of his own. He quickly followed that with a brutal knee to the nuts, wrenching a scream from the man. As the big dude started to drop, another knee caught him in the chin. The guy fell with a thundering crash, his body awkwardly stuck between the bed and the dresser.
“You’re going to regret that.”
Stack turned and saw the other man grinning, showing a gold tooth.
“Who sent you?”
He didn’t answer, saying instead, “When I finish with you, your girlfriend is next.”
Furious over the thought of that, Stack kicked out. His aim was off, and instead of getting the man in the face, he caught him in the shoulder. It forced him to stumble back but didn’t do any real damage.
Off balance, the guy floundered.
Even as Stack took advantage, launching himself at the man, he recalled how Vanity had suddenly decided to get her house wired. He remembered the shadows lurking around her porch, the noise he’d thought was a deer.
Jesus, he’d done it again.
Vanity had known something was going on. She’d known there was a threat, and she’d still handed money to Phil.
Not once had she clued him in.
Rage nearly consumed him as the second man landed a few blows. Stack took them—hell, taking a hit was a necessity for any fighter—and gave back his own. Instead of making this one quick and clean, as he’d done with the first guy, he let his fists work.
“Fuck you,” the guy said when Stack hit his mouth.
“You won’t touch her.” Stack blocked the knee to his midsection, grabbed the man’s leg and dropped him to his back. Following him down, he gained a dominant position and pounded on him some more. Face, body, face, body.
There wasn’t much resistance left, and yet he couldn’t seem to pull back.
“Stack, hey. Enough, man.”
He heard the voice, saw the movement in his periphery, but it didn’t register.
“He’s had enough, Stack. Let up,” said another voice.
A hand caught his upper arm, but he shrugged it off.
It returned, clamping on more tightly. “Stack!”
By small degrees, he heard Cannon, and then Denver, both talking to him. In the distance he heard the sirens.
He hated himself, but he turned to his friends, one major concern on his mind. “Vanity?”
“She’s at the bar with Armie.”
Safe.
Deceptive, but safe.
Cannon pulled him to his feet, lifted one of Stack’s hands, then cursed at his battered knuckles. “You’re going to need more ice.”
Stack pulled away, looked around and sucked in a breath. Fuck.
He’d ruined his sister’s bedroom.
There were now two broken lamps, along with blood on the carpet, wall and bedspread. The jewelry he’d thought to protect had fallen to the floor.
Phil fell instantly silent.
A pervading numbness set in. Just like Whitney, Vanity had pretended to despise Phil, only to get friendly with him behind Stack’s back. At least this time he knew sex wasn’t involved. Vanity kept too damn many secrets, more secrets than he could bear. But she wasn’t the type to cheat.
To lie, though... Well, the evidence was right in front of him. For reasons he didn’t understand, she’d aligned herself with Phil, enough to give him money.
Somehow he had to put that all aside, the hurt, the disappointment. The suspicion. Later, he could decide what to do about Vanity. Right now, he needed to know the name of Phil’s dealer. He should—
A ruckus sounded, and a second later two men entered the bedroom. Bigger, brawnier and probably more capable than the previous two thugs, they eyed Stack, then nodded to Phil.
Phil looked more stunned than ever.
“Get your shit and go,” the bigger of the two men said to Phil.
“Friends of yours?” Stack asked him.
“You, be quiet,” the talker said, and then to Phil, “Get. Your shit. And get out.”
Jolted by the menace in that tone, Phil hurried to tuck the pot inside his shirt, then closed the sheet around the haphazard pile of clothes. He glanced at the jewelry he’d laid out.
“I wouldn’t,” Stack warned him.
Showing a modicum of sense, Phil bolted over the bed and made a run for the front door.
At the same time, the biggest of the two men attacked. In the closed space, it wasn’t going to be easy to maneuver. Stack had never been a street brawler. He didn’t cause conflicts in bars. When he fought, it was in the cage with room to move.
But what the hell, he’d improvise.
Stack let the big man swing. He ducked his head just enough to avoid the blow and landed one of his own. He quickly followed that with a brutal knee to the nuts, wrenching a scream from the man. As the big dude started to drop, another knee caught him in the chin. The guy fell with a thundering crash, his body awkwardly stuck between the bed and the dresser.
“You’re going to regret that.”
Stack turned and saw the other man grinning, showing a gold tooth.
“Who sent you?”
He didn’t answer, saying instead, “When I finish with you, your girlfriend is next.”
Furious over the thought of that, Stack kicked out. His aim was off, and instead of getting the man in the face, he caught him in the shoulder. It forced him to stumble back but didn’t do any real damage.
Off balance, the guy floundered.
Even as Stack took advantage, launching himself at the man, he recalled how Vanity had suddenly decided to get her house wired. He remembered the shadows lurking around her porch, the noise he’d thought was a deer.
Jesus, he’d done it again.
Vanity had known something was going on. She’d known there was a threat, and she’d still handed money to Phil.
Not once had she clued him in.
Rage nearly consumed him as the second man landed a few blows. Stack took them—hell, taking a hit was a necessity for any fighter—and gave back his own. Instead of making this one quick and clean, as he’d done with the first guy, he let his fists work.
“Fuck you,” the guy said when Stack hit his mouth.
“You won’t touch her.” Stack blocked the knee to his midsection, grabbed the man’s leg and dropped him to his back. Following him down, he gained a dominant position and pounded on him some more. Face, body, face, body.
There wasn’t much resistance left, and yet he couldn’t seem to pull back.
“Stack, hey. Enough, man.”
He heard the voice, saw the movement in his periphery, but it didn’t register.
“He’s had enough, Stack. Let up,” said another voice.
A hand caught his upper arm, but he shrugged it off.
It returned, clamping on more tightly. “Stack!”
By small degrees, he heard Cannon, and then Denver, both talking to him. In the distance he heard the sirens.
He hated himself, but he turned to his friends, one major concern on his mind. “Vanity?”
“She’s at the bar with Armie.”
Safe.
Deceptive, but safe.
Cannon pulled him to his feet, lifted one of Stack’s hands, then cursed at his battered knuckles. “You’re going to need more ice.”
Stack pulled away, looked around and sucked in a breath. Fuck.
He’d ruined his sister’s bedroom.
There were now two broken lamps, along with blood on the carpet, wall and bedspread. The jewelry he’d thought to protect had fallen to the floor.
