There was chocolate. Peanut M&Ms, to be exact. Chocolate was one of those things that I had to be in the mood for, but a night of beating someone up usually had me craving something sweet. Maybe it was my version of self-care.
I was munching away and lounging in a rather uncomfortable chair, Jude was snacking on chips and playing on his phone, and Dexter was on the phone with Toby. He was describing, in detail, Rick’s beating (although he kept Rick’s name out of it). He occasionally stopped to answer questions Toby must have had, occasionally asking me things, too.
“Hey, Thea, how long are your nails?” and “Do you get them done, or are they natural?”
I guess Toby really cared about details. I mean, did it matter if I had fake nails or not when I was scratching someone’s skin off? I didn’t know, seeing as I wasn’t the type to get fake nails.
I had nothing against them. I’d gotten a gel manicure a time or two, and they looked really nice, as long as they weren’t dagger nails. No offense to ladies who rocked that look, but it just wasn’t me.
I liked nice nails. My problem was that I had zero patience for sitting there unable to use my hands for like an entire hour. Itwas its own special kind of torture. I could deal with pedicures. I could read a book, or get some research done, or whatever, but manicures? I was just supposed to sit there and make small talk with some total stranger who was doing my nails?
No, thanks. I was not that social. Or that patient.
Rick groaned, his head rolled forward on his chest, and I popped the last peanut M&M into my mouth, crumpling the package up. I looked around for a moment, wondering what to do with it, and then I shoved it into my pocket. I guess I shouldn’t leave evidence around.
Jude must have sensed I was ready to move it along, because he folded up his chip bag and waved his hand at Dexter, who actually made kissy sounds into the phone—I fucking kid you not—before getting off the phone with Toby.
They went and stood behind the chair that held Rick, folding their arms across their chests. It was very biker gang looking. I kinda felt like I should be wearing leathers or something, but here I was, in sweatpants and a t-shirt. I so wasn’t up for the same vibe as the Smith brothers. They didn’t seem to mind, though.
I walked in front of Rick and snapped my fingers in front of his face. He flinched back, whimpering.
Such a wimp.
“What’s gonna happen to the cutie you were with?” I asked.
He mumbled and blubbered a bit, spit and snot sliding down his face. I kneeled down in front of him, and I could see that his face was already bruised. I guess I had hit him pretty hard—one eye was darkening and swelling, his lip was swollen, and his eyes were bloodshot.
He finally made eye contact with me, and his eyes skittered away from mine quickly. I didn’t really feel like touching him again, but I didn’t see a way around it.
I grabbed his face, making his eyes meet mine. “Ricky boy, what is your friend gonna do with the cutie you’re dating? What were you guys gonna do?”
“Nothing!” he insisted.
“We both know that isn’t true, so you can either tell me, and I can go deal with your friend, or I can beat it out of you. Your choice, Ricky. What do you think?”
I wasn’t surprised when he started blubbering again, tears leaking from his eyes. I could hardly make out what he was saying, but I caught something about the cutie talking about how he’d always wanted a threesome, something about wanting to get DP’d. There was a lot of protesting and “we weren’t gonna hurt him” and all sorts of shit like that, but they’d been plying the guy with drinks, for fuck’s sake.
I looked at Dexter and Jude, but Jude was already on his phone—he put it on speakerphone. I could hear it ringing, then Liam’s voice as he picked up. Jude filled him in, Liam did some typing and apparently hacking into cameras, confirmed that the cutie who had walked in with Rick left on his own—apparently he was wise enough to not trust the friend. Liam promised to look into the friend that Rick had arrived with as well, although he didn’t sense that the guy was rotten, which we could all confirm. Sleazy did not equal hellbound.
Ok, then. That was sort of anticlimactic. I was hoping to go kick some more ass.
We all turned and looked at Rick. He was still crying and blubbering, not really paying any attention to us, and Liam was still on the phone, clicking away on his computer.
“You wanna wipe him? We gotta call Corbin if so,” Jude said.
“He didn’t see anything. It’s not like she went all fiery on him or anything,” Dexter added.
“You’re all clear on this end. If he decides to go to the authorities, nothing will come of it. I think he’s probably wiser than that, though,” Liam announced through the phone.
“Yeah, we could probably just cut him loose,” Jude said.
“Why?” I asked.
“You wanna beat him up some more?” Dexter asked, looking at his phone. “Toby will never go to bed if I don’t get home and drag him away from his computer, but I could spare a few more hours.”
“I’m free, and I’ve got more snacks,” Jude added.
Some clacking, and then Liam said through the phone, “He won’t be missed until his shift, although I could easily call him out of work.”
