Playboy is going to be pissed that he missed this. Once he hears about it, he’s going to pout. I just know it, but when I called him about having my six at the store, he said he had someone in his tattoo chair.
He’s going to be insufferable.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ezra tries again.
“He said you had a camera,” Bobby insists like it’s evidence. “You always have a camera. Did you take pictures? Did you see?”
He’s not making a lot of sense, but it’s enough. Ezra holds herself very still like she’s not sure what to do or what to agree with.
Does it even matter?
“I need to know what you saw and what you said,” he hisses the words, his eyes darting around like he just remembered where he is.
He looks like he’s on something, but I’m not sure. Bobby has never been the smartest student in the classroom and being erratic doesn’t come as a surprise. That’s just how it always was.
People gave him leeway, probably more than they should have at times, because people thought he was a little off and a little slow. I think most people probably thought of it as grace.
But look at where we are now.
Bobby motions with the gun. “You’re coming with me. We need to talk,” his voice is insistent, as if the longer this goes on, the more it seems to tip in his favor.
He’s becoming more confident by the moment. It’s dangerous.
When Ezra stays quiet for a beat, uncertainty rolling off her in waves, I step forward and Bobby swings the gun in my direction. Good. That’s where it belongs.
I step in front of Ezra and motion to Opal for her to get down. She crouches behind the cart and I’m glad there’s so much inside of it already. Snake would fucking kill me if anything were to happen to his sister.
Ezra clings to my cut, I can feel the tightness of her grip, the way she’s seeking comfort and strength. The tremble in her body, the fear I know she’s feeling right now, makes me want to roar and beat Bobby until he’s a bloody heap.
I’ve learned not to strike too early. At least right now I’m shielding my Ez.
“You need to stay back,” Bobby’s voice is weak and thready, like he’s already starting to crumble.
“If you only want to have a conversation,” my voice is cold, “why do you have a gun in your hand?”
His eyebrows pull together, as if he’s confused, but he shakes it off and stands a little taller. “I’m going to find out the answers to my questions. I have to find out. If I take this to the boss without even knowing what she knows,” he’s glancing away from me, like he’s talking more to himself than to me.
I almost sigh because this is pathetic. But if he wants to monologue the whole thing for me, I’m not going to stop him. Whatever he’s on isn’t helping the situation.
“I need answers, or I’m dead,” there’s more resolve in his voice and his eyes snap back to mine and they’re slightly more focused.
“She doesn’t know anything,” my words are flat.
“That bitch knows something. If she talked, she’s dead,” he spits the words out. Ezra’s hand trembles against my back.
I chuckle, the sound is dark and brings an eerie calm to the store. Like it’s holding its breath. Waiting.
“You’re afraid of your boss,” my words curl around him, my voice dropping an octave, “but you have no issue pointing a gun at me and my woman.” Bobby’s eyes widen, but I’m not done. “Not to mention if you wanted to keep a low profile,” I can see him thinking about my words, processing them, “making this kind of scene in the grocery store was monumentally stupid.”
Fuck.
The moment I say ‘stupid’, his eyes snap back to mine and fill with crackling fire, unhinged at its core and driven by chemical madness along with years of spite.
Not everyone showed Bobby grace.
Still, here we are.
I hear a low click, human, not metal and my muscles tighten. Sidewinder is in position.
