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“Let’s go,” she says, moving fast toward the front door. Instead of keeping up with her, I take a leisurely pace that allows me to soak up the way her ass looks in denim.
Mighty fucking fine. I smile at the way it curves over her thighs, and I just knew when she turned to the side, it would be the perfect question mark.
“Uh, Wilder?”
I blink and look up. “You caught me,” I admit with my hands in the air.
Maven turns with a frown. “What?”
“Staring at your ass. I admit it.”
“Of course you were,” she growls and nods toward the door just a few feet away. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. The door’s open.”
My body instantly goes into protective mode, and I step in front of Maven as I make my way to the door. “It’s not just open. Somebody kicked it open. It’ll have to be replaced.”
“Kicked it in? Are you sure?” She pushes me aside and only gets one step in before I grab her around the waist and yank her back. “What the hell are you doing?” she barks. “This is my house.”
“I know,” I growl in her ear and hold her a little tighter simply because I can. “But whoever did this shit could still be inside. Stay behind me or go back to the truck.”
Her body goes slack as my words sink in, and she nods reluctantly. “Fine.”
Her hand is on my shoulder as we enter the house, my nine-millimeter leading the way.
“The living room is to the right, and the kitchen to the left,” she whispers.
I nod and turn right, stopping abruptly. “Shit.”
“What…holy shit,” she sighs. “Holy fucking shit,” she says, and this time, I can hear the tears that are still invisible as she takes in the damage. The sofas are slashed to shit with stuffing bursting out of every spot.
The dainty-looking coffee table is broken in half, and it looks like wine or blood was poured over the cream-colored area rug. Someone has shattered photo frames and ripped the photos inside to pieces, but none of that compares to the shit spray-painted and finger-painted onto the walls.
“Whore,” I snort. “How original.” It’s a half-assed attempt to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work.
“Dead whore is a little scarier,” she says and shakes her head. “But fucked to death is the worst.”
I nod. “Fucking assholes,” I growl because I know this is Nogales’ fucked up message to the Reckless Souls.
“Why,” she screams and buries her head in her hands. “How does a breakup warrantthis?”
“It doesn’t, babe. This is how little boys react to having their toys taken away.” I cringe at that comparison. “Not that you’re a toy.”
“No,” she shouts. “Obviously, that’s all I was to him, or else why would he hide who he was from me? Easy,” she answers her own question, “Because I never fucking mattered to him. Never.”
“Or you bruised his ego,” I offer helplessly and make a call. “Gia, I need you to do me a favor. Find out where Cyrus went after he was arrested. Nogales, too. I want to know who bailed him out and if anyone spoke to him inside lockup.”
“When do you need it?”
“Now,” I answer. “And thanks.” I stare at Maven, so damn strong she’s still trying to stop those tears pooling in her eyes from falling. “It’s all right to be upset, Maven. Anyone would be.”
She nods. “I know, and I am upset, but I’m also, I don’t know, devastated. That’s silly, right? I mean, these are just things. Shit I can replace. Eventually.”
I know she’s thinking about money, and I promise myself I’ll help replace it all. For now, all I can do is take her in my arms and hold her, which is apparently the trick to getting the tears to fall.
I hold her close as she clutches my shirt while heartbreaking tears stream down her face and loud sobs echo in the vandalized living room.
“Let it all out, babe.” The next time I see Cyrus, I’ll put a bullet in him myself.
She lets out a sob against my chest, and then I feel her pull herself together. “He’s the liar, the manipulator, the abuser,andthe wannabe gangster, but somehow I’m in the wrong for ending things? Bullshit,” she groans.
