Page 11

Oz stalled my advance, wrapping his big arm around my waist and hoisting me over his shoulder.

“Put me the fuck down!”

“You have anger issues, Dial. You’re always flying off the handle and acting crazy,” Cyrus yelled after me.

“And you have a lying issue, you stupid son of a bitch!”

Ozzie took hurried steps to the back of the house, putting some much-needed distance between me and Cyrus. He was carrying me like I was a sack of flour. I was a solid girl, all muscles, and he toted me around like I was a feather pillow.

“Put me down, Oz.” I attempted to even out my voice, so he’d think the threat was over.

“Are you gonna chase after him if I do?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

He planted my feet gently on the ground, and with zero hesitation I tried to take off running, like I was a housewife on one of them reality shows, but he grabbed my waist, pressing my body into his. “You need to calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when I beat the brakes off him.”

Our parents had taught us that violence was a last resort, and Cyrus and I had reached the end. I’d done my due diligence, asking the same question several times, and that bastard had still seen fit to lie to me. If I’d known Ozzie was involved, I would’ve never agreed to this bed-and-breakfast flip. Cy needed my money and had decided to provide limited information to get it. If that didn’t warrant an ass whooping, I don’t know what did.

“Is working with me that fucking bad?”

“Yes.” I wriggled in Ozzie’s arms, but he was much stronger than me. I wasn’t going anywhere until he deemed me ready.

“Would you stop fussing?”

“You can’t hold me forever.”

“I can.” His breath tickled my ear. “Can we just take the fight out of this?”

All I knew was how to fight. People had underestimated me for most of my life. And when I proved them wrong, they’d always find a way to put an asterisk next to my name. When I was ten, I was the only girl competing in the youth dart competition at the fair. I smoked all the boys and took home the small plastic trophy. The other kids tried to claim that I only won because the judges felt sorry for me. So, the next year I came back and whooped their asses again. After that, they made the competition gender based, because the boys were sore losers.

Ozzie walked us over to the back entrance of my childhood home and pushed me inside, directing me toward the laundry room. He was betting that a cooling-off period would provide clarity, but it was just delaying my knuckles connecting with Cyrus’s jaw.

“Did you know about this?” If I couldn’t punch Cy, Ozzie could act as a suitable substitute.

Ozzie removed his cowboy hat, placing it on top of the dryer. “I thought he told you. He said you were good with it.”

“And you just believed him? In what world would I ever be good with this?” I circled my hand around the space between us.

“I thought maybe we were turning the page.” He shrugged a lazy shoulder.

“We aren’t turning any fucking pages.”

“Are you mad at me or him?”

“A mixture of both. I had my suspicions you were the mystery investor; I just didn’t wanna believe it. And every time I asked, your best friend stated in no uncertain terms that you were not involved. That’s a bald-faced lie.”

Ozzie nodded, clearly not wanting to throw his bestie under the bus.

“If he’d told me the truth, we could’ve avoided this. But he wants to stand out there acting like I’m the angry, irrational one.” The thought only upset me further. “I am not crazy.” Swallowing hard, I tried to push down the tender emotions threatening to overtake me. The confined space and the company made me feel uneasy. I turned to the small window and inhaled several breaths, but shit was still nagging at me. “I’m not crazy, Oz.”

“I know it.”