I blinked twice before responding. “No. This stops now.” This woman would get me killed. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Coast. He answered on the first ring. “Hey, you still awake?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Sober enough to drive?”
“Yeah. Work on the ranch starts early.”
“I need you to come to the McDonald’s in town with a car to pick up Merci. She’s drunk.”
“Sure, be there in a few.”
I set my phone on the table and watched Merci play with the straw on her shake, moving it up and down as she stared into my eyes.
“I want an apple pie.”
I raised a brow at her, staring at her for a beat before standing. “Drink your water first.”
“Don’t want water,” she argued. “I want an apple pie.”
“I don’t give two fucks about what you want. Drink your goddamn water, and then I’ll get you a pie to go. You can eat it while Coast drives you home.”
“Why?”
“Why do I want you to drink water? Because you’re drunk.”
Merci rolled her eyes. “Why’s Coast picking me up? Why can’t I ride back with you?”
I flexed my jaw. “Because you can’t keep your hands to yourself, and I only have so much self-control.”
Merci’s phone pinged on the table, and she ignored it, closing her eyes in drunken ecstasy as she ate her fries. My eyes skimmed the screen, and I yanked the phone over, flexing my jaw as I read the message. I scrolled up to read several more that had come in over the past few hours.
Unknown: I love you, and I’m sorry.
Unknown: She meant nothing. No man will ever love you like I do.
Unknown: If you’ve fucked one of your biker friends, it’s OK. I’ll forgive you if you just come home.
The most recent one nearly had me throwing her phone in the deep fryer.
Unknown: I always knew you were a biker whore.
“Why is that asshole still texting you?” I asked, snagging her unsteady gaze back to mine.
Merci shrugged. “Every time I block his number, he texts me from a new one. He’s like a hydra.”
“A what?”
“Read some literature. A hydra. Mythical creature. Grew two new heads every time one was cut off. I block him, then he texts me from a new number.”
“Get a new number,” I suggested.
“Why? He’ll just get it from the hospital. He’ll get tired of trying to get back with me soon.”
Merci hummed along to a song as she dipped a fry into a disgusting amount of ketchup. “Did you know you’re cute when you’re mad? Like a growly golden retriever.”
I closed my eyes and tipped my head back as I ground my molars.
“You get those little lines between your eyebrows,” she continued. “I don’t get why you’re mad at me though.” Her tone shifted, almost like she was worried.
