Page 7 of Mister Prick

He brushed the hair away from his eyes as he walked toward the front of the SUV. “Brah. I swear. I’ve been trying to get that money. It’s like, really been weird around here since--”

“Don’t brah me, you deceptive little prick. I’m not your brah, bro, buddy, or friend. You owe me two hundred grand. No, you owed me two hundred grand. With twenty-four month’s interest, I’d say we’re closer to two eighty.”

“Dude. Two eighty is--”

With his right hand pointing the pistol at Marty, Vince reached into his bag with his left. “Two eighty is what you owe me. It’s not negotiable. I’m a prick when it comes to money. You knew that going into this deal.” He removed a pair of handcuffs and nodded toward the front of the SUV. “Put your hands on the hood.”

Marty ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Vince with thinning eyes. “Brah. Seriously?”

Vince waved the pistol toward Marty’s leg. “Say ‘brah’ again, and I’ll put a bullet in your thigh. Hands on the hood.”

Marty slapped his hands against the hood.

With the pistol pressed into the center of Marty’s back, Vince secured the handcuffs on each of the long-haired surfer’s wrists.

Things were getting more interesting with each passing second.

“What happened to the girl, Marty?”

Girl?

What girl?

Marty turned around. He gave an awkward shrug and then flipped the hair from his eyes with a quick toss of his head. “I don’t know. She disappeared.”

“Again?” Vince barked out a laugh. “You owe me a quarter of a million, and you don’t even know where the girl is?” He shoved the pistol in the bag that hung from his shoulder. “Am I the only one here who sees the irony in that?”

Marty returned an awkward look.

“Business is business, Marty.” Vince gestured toward the garage with his hand. The door slowly began to raise. “I’m going to keep you here until you find a way to get me my money.”

“I can have it tonight,” Marty said.

Vice looked him up and down. “Two years of avoiding me at all costs, and you can have it tonight?”

Marty gave him an apologetic look.

“Go through the door beside the truck.” Vince gestured toward the garage. “I’ll follow you.”

Marty did the hair flip thing again, and began to saunter up the driveway. Inside the garage, a red exotic car I didn’t recognize, a black truck, and several motorcycles were parked.

“Bump into that Ferrari, and it’ll cost you another fifty grand,” Vince said flatly. “Walk beside the truck.”

With his hands cuffed behind his back, Marty followed the order and shuffled into the garage, appearing defeated the entire way. Vince followed close behind. His confident strut stood as a warning of what he was capable of if Marty attempted to escape. After they both disappeared into the house, I let out a breath.

Holy shit.

Vince Devoe had my stomach twisted into knots. Surprisingly, they were knots of sexual tension and excitement, and I was enjoying it.

In no time, Vince walked out of the garage. The door slowly closed behind him. As he sauntered past Marty’s SUV, he paused, reached into his bag, and then crouched underneath the back of the vehicle for a few seconds.

He stood and wiped the dust from his sleeves. Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked to the car, opened the door, and gave me a look.

“Well, are you going to move over, or do you want to sit on my lap while I drive?”

I’d already made myself look like a tramp by climbing around the interior of the car in a skirt that was twice as tight as I would have liked for it to be for such things. As tempting as the lap option was, he didn’t look like he was in the mood.

I swung my legs outside the car, stood directly in front of him, and within inches of his face, smiled. “I’d sit on your lap if I thought it’d make you smile.”