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“No, with a woman.”
Figures the piece of shit would be screwing another girl while he fucks with Daisy.
They headed down the hallway to the last door, trying the knob. When he found it locked, Dean knocked forcefully.
“Take a hint, fucker, we’re busy.”
Dean clenched his jaw, resisting the impulse to break the door down, and knocked again, shaking the wood frame. He could hear movement on the other side of the door before it was thrown open, and Quinton stood there, all puffed up.
“What the . . . ?” Dean saw recognition dawn in Quinton’s eyes a second before he tried to slam the door on Dean.
Swiftly, Dean barreled into the room with Best and Kline behind him, knocking Quinton back into the room. Screaming erupted from the bed, and Dean glared at the hysterical blonde clutching the sheet to her chest.
“Shut up, we’re not going to hurt you,” Best snapped.
“You assholes are trespassing.” Quinton pulled his phone from his pants, holding it up. “I’m calling the cops.”
Kline stepped forward and snatched the phone out of his hand. “No, you won’t, because half your party guests are loaded and in possession. If the cops show up, you’ll be pissing off a lot of people.”
Kline handed Dean the phone, and he started scrolling through it, searching for the texts. Finding the first one, he stopped and read aloud. “ ‘I am going to make you sorry, bitch.’ ”
Dean looked up at Quinton, who had turned sheet white.
“I’m really curious . . . Exactly how are you going to make her pay? You going to beat her up some more?” Dean turned to the woman on the bed and said, “Did you know you were in bed with a guy who put his ex-girlfriend in the hospital?”
“Shut up,” Quinton said.
“Oh yeah, and not only did he get arrested for it, he violated the restraining order in less than twenty-four hours by texting her threats. Is that really the guy you want to be jumping into bed with?” Dean asked.
The girl stood with the sheet and started gathering her clothes from the floor.
“He’s full of shit—”
Dean placed his forearm across Quinton’s neck and backed him into the wall. The woman screamed again and ran for the door.
“Hey, buddy, I thought you weren’t going to lay a hand on him,” Best said.
“I’m not.” Dean waited until Quinton’s face was beet red and released him. Quinton fell to the ground, sucking in air. “I thought that woman was going to attack him, so I was just moving him out of the way.”
“You’re dead, mother—”
Dean squatted down. “Before you finish that sentence and hurt my feelings, let me tell you exactly what is going to happen here. You’re going to forget about Daisy Douglas and move on. If you so much as breathe in her direction, it will be my new mission to destroy you in every way possible. That means tipping off the police to possible criminal activity. Right now you’re looking at assault on Daisy and her sister, but one call, and maybe the cops find enough crank to tack on a dime or more to your sentence. Do you really think you’re going to get off?
“If the assault charges go to trial, the jury is going to take one look at the Douglas sisters, at the pictures of their injuries, and they are going to convict you for the pathetic piece of shit that you are.”
Dean noticed Quinton’s trembling form and went in for the kill. “Or you could save yourself the maximum on two assault charges, menacing, and whatever else the judge throws at you, and take a plea deal. If you’re lucky, you might get probation. You can go on being a worthless member of society again in a few years instead of twenty.”
Grabbing the front of Quinton’s shirt, he hauled him to his knees and stood up. “Or you can go after Daisy again and take your chances. Then again, you might end up at a prison where I know a few guards. Maybe they take a little longer to save you when another inmate jumps you for being an asshole. It would be a terrible shame to get your ass kicked daily with no protection, all over a girl who doesn’t even want your sorry ass.”
Quinton nodded, his eyes the size of silver dollars.
“Is that yes, it would suck, or yes, you’ll stay away from Daisy?”
“I’ll stay away,” Quinton said softly.
“Good. Remember, you send one more text . . . You even look at her w
hen you pass her on the street, and—”
