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Oh, and Stratton had given me a bonus off of the massive gate we’d just finished building for a hot-shot Texas oil billionaire.
All in all, my day was going fucking great.
Until it wasn’t.
And the reason why it wasn’t was standing right in front of me, yelling so loud and scaring me so badly that I could barely breathe.
“You fucking cunt!” he screamed. “I will ruin you. I’ll tie you up by your hands, stretch your feet out to the side, and ruin you!”
I nearly vomited all over his shoes, but since I knew that’d only piss him off even more, I stayed still and quiet, hoping that someone would come to my rescue.
I should’ve known that wouldn’t happen.
Stratton had gone to a doctor’s appointment a little over an hour ago, leaving me in the shop alone.
Which was likely why this man was standing in front of me doing what he was doing, because he knew I was alone.
So, let me explain a few things.
Over the last week, I’d done a lot of asking around. A lot of it had to do with the ass beating my brother had taken—but sadly none of them had been helpful enough to tell me what the thug looked like, or even who the thug was. So I had no clue whatsoever that it was actually Marcus—though I’d assumed it was.
But you know what they say about assuming stuff. So instead of pursuing it, I kept my nose clean and decided that both the man that had given me the warning and my brother—who also refused to tell me who it was—were right. I didn’t need to know.
So I’d then focused my efforts on finding out who ‘the man’ was.
And I’d found out quite a bit.
For instance, I’d found out that he worked across the street and down one from where my brother worked at the convenience store.
I’d also found out that his name was JR.
It didn’t suit him.
He looked like a man that would have a bold name, like John or William. Not a JR.
I also became incredibly interested in finding out what the J and the R stood for.
But since he didn’t go by anything but that to everyone on the street, I was stuck with not knowing.
“Are you even listening to me, you stupid bitch?” the man, who I assumed was Marcus Gomez, asked.
Marcus Gomez, according to Stratton, owned this street. He was the one person that Stratton told me to stay away from and avoid at all costs. No matter what.
And I’d done a pretty swell job of it in the two years that I’d been working for him.
Then ol’ JR comes on the scene and shit goes to hell fast.
I have a feeling that it wasn’t a coincidence that he shows up, and Marcus Gomez starts escalating things.
Marcus feels threatened, and JR likely has a lot to do with that.
“I-I am-m,” I stuttered.
I was about to throw up.
No doubt about it.
I looked around for a trash can, because I could taste my burger that I’d grabbed at lunch making its way up my throat.
“Marcus.”
That deep, husky alpha male voice had me freezing.
My potential upchuck stalled out as well as Marcus and I both turned to face the doorway to the office.
“What?” Marcus snapped.
“One of your girls is getting arrested by the cops,” JR said.
That was all it took to have Marcus cursing and running out of the door.
It’s only when I take my first deep breath and return my gaze to the man in my doorway that he breaks the silence.
“I told you not to ask around about him,” he said. “What did you think was going to happen when you asked every single person you saw about him? Those people tell him shit because they’re scared. They don’t tell you shit because they’re more scared of him than a little slip of a girl.”
I narrowed my eyes and fisted my hands as I placed them each on a hip.
“Let me tell you something,” I said to him. “My brother has seen enough shit in his life. So much shit that I’m sure you can’t even begin to understand. So yes, I’ll ask who and what I want if they know anything about my brother’s brutal beating that he received. I’m sorry for fucking caring about him. It may be foreign, but it’s a real thing. You should try it sometime.”
The man’s eyes narrowed.
“And what is your real fucking name? JR is stupid. You don’t look like a JR,” I snapped.
The man leaned his large, muscular shoulder against the door jamb, not caring in the least that he likely was getting dirty.
Then again, he was already dirty.
Today he was in jeans that fit him so well that I could see every single nuance and curve underneath of them. I could make out the bulge next to his knee that denoted muscle tone. I could see the curve of his thigh. The hefty weight of his package tucked in under his zipper, and a nice chunk of that running down the left side of his leg. I could also make out a finely curved ass that looked like it could make women weep.
