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I opened my mouth, indignation quickly replacing the terror that he just gave me, and then my body got heated. I poked a finger against his chest. “You’re the one who left. And you didn’t tell me anything. You were all hands-on and in my space. I was feeling a sort of way, and then bam, you’re gone. What’s with you and Jess?”
The alcohol was still there, still affecting me, but we’d stopped for pizza on the way home. That was helping.
His eyes narrowed to slits. “Montell and I are none of your business. And I didn’t want you to leave. I was coming back.”
“Then you should’ve said that.” I gave him a little sheepish look. “We went to the bathroom and then just kept going.” I pushed him back so I could sit up, and I tried to fold my arms over my chest. Tried. He was very close to me, close enough where I could feel his body heat. “I want to know about you and Jess.”
“She’s worried about you.”
“It’s more than that.”
“That is none of your business. It’s between her and myself.”
I frowned. “Not even Trace?”
Ashton pressed his mouth into a very firm and disapproving line and gave me a meaningful look. Okay then. I wasn’t totally sure what that meant, but it was between him and Jess.
“Why did you come to Katya tonight? Did something new happen with your father?”
I frowned. Something always happened with my father. “No. Nothing new except he’s scum that doesn’t deserve to be walking the streets. He should be in prison, or forced to hand milk a goat, on a mountain, in a yurt, all by himself. Can you make that happen?” He was still so close, and my body was all sorts of reacting to him. I had fuzzies going on in my tummy, and they were in a tizzy. “Can we talk about the body-claiming stuff? Why are you always so close to me? Not that I’m complai—”
He was staring at me, but then he went on alert.
His head snapped toward the door, and he held still like that for a second; then with a curse, he grabbed me and rolled. His body fell to the ground, but with the momentum, I was up and on my feet before I knew what was happening. He let me go, was up and took my hand in his.
“Wha—”
He twisted around, his hand covering my mouth, and he yanked me against his chest. “Be quiet. Someone’s at your door.”
My door?
It was probably my father. I hoped it wasn’t him. Shorty wasn’t supposed to know where I lived.
I pushed away from Ashton, taking a step toward the door. “It’s probably—”
The door swung open, and a guy was there. He froze, looking right at us. He was on his knees, his hands up, working on my door handle, but then a beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeep—
The door exploded, toward us.
Ashton flung himself in front of me, shielding me. Then he was up and on his feet, running back toward where the door should’ve been. Instead, a huge hole was there. A guy was lying down in the hallway, but he looked up. His tools were blasted around him, and one was in the wall behind him. He paled, his eyes big as he saw Ashton, and was up, on his feet, running to meet him.
The two clashed. He threw a punch. Ashton dodged and threw one of his own, and then that guy was bringing up a gun—
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The guy fell back, his body jerking with each bullet—that was coming from Ashton! I hadn’t even seen him pull a gun, and where had he even had that on him? The guy collapsed on the floor, and Ashton kicked the man’s own gun away, toward me. “Leave that alone.”
Kneeling, he checked his pulse before moving to pat him down. His wallet was taken and pocketed. His phone. Some keys. Ashton did a thorough job before he seemed content.
Walking back to me, he put his own gun away, slipping it into wherever he’d pulled it from. He knelt, grabbed the man’s gun, and emptied the chamber before pocketing it. His phone was ringing, and he answered it, moving into my bedroom. I was in shock—I knew this. My mind was working, but I wasn’t feeling.
That was weird.
I was watching Ashton going through my room. He rummaged in my closet, grabbing a bag. Some clothes were tossed in my bag. Shoes. He was talking to someone on the phone as he went into my bathroom and came back, another bag zipped up. I didn’t even know whose bag that was—no. It was mine. It was my Happy Earth bag. I was so proud of it because I’d bought enough clothes that the company put money toward cleaning the ocean.
