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Dax would not be happy. Not at all. But I wasn’t going to ask him for lenience here.
I’d given Blaise a chance once before, despite Sabrina’s advice. But he hadn’t stopped at graffitiing the parking sign outside my work building. No, he’d escalated. Not merely by targeting mypersonalproperty as opposed to something assigned to me, but by doing it right in front of me rather than in the dead of night while alone.
It was cocky. Mean. Vindictive. An indication that there might possibly be no end to his destructive behavior unless someone stepped in and put a stop to it.
Both Felicity and Grayden had been given the opportunity to do that. Maybe they’d tried, maybe they hadn’t. Either way, their influence over him clearly wasn’t enough to keep him from crossing criminal lines. I wasn’t going to give Blaise the opportunity to target me or my belongings again.
Pulling into my driveway, I saw that Dax wasn’t home yet. He’d earlier notified me that he’d be home later than usual, so it was no shock.
Not wanting to waste any time tackling the orange stains, I swiftly changed clothes, grabbed the cleaning products from the kitchen, pulled on rubber gloves, and then quickly got to work.
The stain proved a bitch to remove from the seat, so my arm was aching when Dax finally whipped his car into the driveway a short time later. Blowing out a breath, I dropped the bristle brush on the seat and then straightened. My body should have become desensitized to his appeal by now, right? Well, it hadn’t. Not even close.
Still, my hormones didn’t have constant meltdowns around him these days. But there were moments when he’d do something that would make them sigh in appreciation. Like now, as he smoothly unfolded from the car with a powerfully masculine grace.
No shufflingor hopping or edging or pushing out of his seat. It was as if heflowedout of it, fluid as water. And then he stood there all tall and intense and suited-up, like he owned the freaking world or something.
He stalked toward me and rounded the hood of my car. As he took in the scene, his brow slightly puckered. “I take it you spilled something.”
“No. Well, therewasa spill,” I explained, removing my gloves. “But I’m not the one responsible. And it wasn’t an accident.”
His gaze narrowed, and his posture tensed. “Go on.”
With a weary sigh, I rested my gloves on the car roof. “Blaise chose to be a dick again.”
Something dark moved behind Dax’s eyes. “Elaborate.” The command was low, rumbly, menacing.
“I just saw him at the gas station. He was with two of his friends. He said some not-so-pleasant things to me.”
“Such as?”
I propped my hands on my hips. “He called me his ‘stepdad’s old whore.’ He blames me for how you cost Felicity her job and also claims I’m a ‘shit-stirring skank’ who made you turn against your own family.”
Dax’s jaw went so tight I would bet it hurt. He cast the partially removed stain on the passenger seat a hard look. “He did this?”
I nodded. “He poured some of his drink through my open window accidentally-on-purpose as he was walking away. Also”—I pointed at the scratch in the silver paint—“he thought it a groovy idea to key my car as well.”
Dax bent to take a thorough look at it. A stony, pitiless look descended over his face, making my scalp prickle.
“He’s not worried he’ll face any consequences, because he believes Lowe will protect him from you.”
“He’s mistaken,” said Dax, his voice a razor-sharp blade. Straightening, he pulled his cell out of his pocket, thumbed the screen a few times, and then put the phone to his ear. “Find Blaise Buchanan,” he ordered whoever answered the call. “A conversation needs to be had. You know where to take him.” He abruptly hung up.
Dax did that sometimes. Called someone. Dished out an order. Ended the call. And would tell me they were “employees of a sort.”
I jolted out of my thoughts as he began prowling back to his car. I followed after him. “What are you going to do?” No response. “Dax?”
“I’m going to ensure he never so much as considers repeating his actions.”
“How, exactly?”
He pulled open the driver’s door. “Don’t expect answers to questions like that, Addison.”
“Why not?”
His gaze latched onto mine, so serious and unyielding. “I deal with things my way. That will never change. Neither will the fact that I won’t speak of such matters to you. I don’t intend for that side of my life to touch you. Ever.”
I felt it was more of a case that he didn’t want to ever expose that side ofhimselfto me. The violent side that was never able to rely on the justice system so personally settled any scores. A side that clearly awaited judgement from me—it was written all over his face.
