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Crispin Gentley.
“Oh, fuck—” Oh yeah, Booth and Casey remembered, a little too late, my relationship with Gentley. I saw their eyes were on me, a look of alarm in both.
I set my card down and leaned back in my chair. Crossing my arms, I asked coolly, “So did he already get his ‘package’ or does he still have to do that?”
“Uh—” Casey was at a loss for words.
“Maybe you should—” Booth started.
“What?” I snapped, suddenly pissed off. “Run? Hide? Fuck no.”
The decision was taken out of our hands anyway. Crispin pushed his way through the crowd, to the table. “Fuck, could you guys pick a fucking table more in the back?” he complained, not even looking at who was at the table.
My eyes were fixated on him, but he was looking over the dance floor.
“Let’s go, fuckers.” He kicked Casey’s seat, but he finally noticed something was off. His eyes trailed over Casey and Booth, then followed their gazes—to me. “Oh,” he murmured, straightening up, “it’s the Rosette Bitch.”
“It’s Matthews now,” I clipped out, glaring at him with hate filled eyes.
“Whatever, you’re still a bitch.” Gentley laughed a mocking laugh. “You’re not protected tonight. Why? Evans get tired of you? I would, I know that.”
“You’re just bitter because you never got a taste.” I was tired of being twisted into a fucking sex toy. “But then again, why would you? I remember you really liking the confines of that closet.”
“Oh, no, you fucking didn’t.” He laughed harshly.
I stood up. “It’s tiring, really. You always have to play the ‘slut’ card because you’re not able to come up with new material, but that’s okay. I saw your WAIS-II scores. You’re not capable of higher mental functioning. Maybe I should just pat you on the head every time you use the same insult.”
So I walked over and patted him on the head.
“That’s a good boy. Go for something intelligent this time.” I grinned, cockily, but I saw he was seething.
Gentley grasped my arm in a painful grip and yanked me behind him, dragging me away from the table.
“Let go of me, asshole.” I was the one seething now, braking my feet, but Gentley didn’t even notice. He just pulled me behind him until we were out the door. Once outside, he slammed the door shut, effectively cutting out anyone who’d followed. Which had been everyone. I caught a glimpse of Rooters raising his cellphone, but then Gentley was addressing a few who were lingering on the porch.
“Fuck off,” he addressed them very congenially.
They scrambled.
“What are you going to do? Beat me up?” I taunted, but my hand was itching for my taser. That I’d left in my purse, which was in Tray’s bedroom.
Gentley glared at me, a good full minute, before he said, “I fucking wish. Trust me.”
I did.
Instead I sneered, “What the fuck do you want, Gentley? Pull me out here, make it look like you’re putting me ‘in my place’? Trust me, I can hit back.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Would you shut the fuck up? You’re so damn annoying.”
“Oh no, fucker,” I began.
Gentley interrupted, “I’m not going to do anything. Fucking A, I can’t. If I did, and trust me, I want to, so fucking bad. But I can’t. If I did, Evans would have my ass in the hospital and I’d be lucky to walk back out.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Tray asked, a hint of violence in his tone.
Gentley and I had both been too caught up that we hadn’t noticed Tray’s approach. He looked to be returning from his vehicle and was regarding us suspiciously. It reminded me of the last time the three of us had been in the same vicinity. Tray had punched him and kicked him out. He looked like he was ready to do it again.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” he demanded, slowly climbing up the porch steps to stand next to me. There was a warning in his eyes as he stared at Gentley intensely.
