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Zander’s gaze broke from Vince’s and shifted to Scotty. “I don’t know the whys yet and I don’t have proof—yet—but yes.”
“My God.” If that were true…the kind of betrayal Zander must feel.
“W-why did you leave then?” Scotty asked Zander. “Why not stay and get the proof you need?”
“Because I would have killed him and I need him alive. I had to get out of there. Derri is helping me search for answers. We figured my uncle wouldn’t be as careful if he thought I was dead and no longer a threat,” Zander said. “I was driving south with no real destination in mind. I only stopped in this town because my eyes were burning and I needed some rest. I stayed in a dingy motel overnight and the next morning, while checking out, I heard a guy complaining about possibly shutting down his garage. I’d always been good at fixing up cars so I bought the place off him then and there, and here I am.”
Vince sat up straighter. “And your uncle is headed here for me…” He let his words trail off as a dastardly picture came into sharp focus.
“He wants you.” Zander shrugged. “And I want answers.”
And he would use Vince as the prod to get his uncle to talk. He’d already hinted that Vince would be his bargaining chip, hadn’t he?
“You can’t do that!” Scotty shot to his feet, fists bunched at his sides as he glared at Zander, who remained on the floor, a bored expression on his face. “You can’t do that to Vince.”
“Scotty.” Vince held out a hand to him. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”
“But it’s not fine.” Scotty’s body trembled. “You can’t do that to him!” He jabbed a finger in Vince’s direction. “He doesn’t deserve that.”
“Scotty. Calm down.” Vince spoke to Scotty, but he kept his gaze on Zander. He didn’t want Scotty getting hurt, and it would take nothing at all for Zander to decimate him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest when Zander stood and faced Scotty. “Zander, don’t. I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t hurt him.”
But Zander ignored Vince. Scotty too. They just squared off as if about to start throwing punches and God bless Scotty, but he was so out of his fucking league. Vince swallowed the pain that lanced through him and struggled upright, lowering his legs to the floor.
“You can’t use Vince to get back at your uncle.” Scotty had apparently found his backbone? His voice? And he was using it to protect Vince. Well, he was trying. Zander wasn’t someone you reasoned with, and Vince had to make sure Scotty understood that before shit got out of hand. “I won’t let you.”
Zander chuckled at that as Vince pushed to his feet, standing—and wobbling—on shaky legs.
“You won’t let me?” Zander stepped closer to Scotty. “How will you stop me? Show me.” His hand shot out, lightning fast, and he grasped Scotty by the throat.
“No! No.” Fuck. Vince reached out to grab Zander’s t-shirt with his good arm. “Let him go! Don’t you fucking hurt him.” A stab of pain shot through him and his grip on Zander faltered, his knees giving out.
He would have crashed to the floor if hands didn’t immediately catch him.
Zander’s hands, tight and sure.
Scotty’s, not as steady, but there on him.
“Easy.” That was Zander muttering to Vince. “Lift him,” he said to Scotty. “Let’s take him back to the couch.”
They did, working together to lift Vince and carry him the short distance back to the couch, where they helped him to lie back down.
“Are you okay?” Scotty hovered over him, expression worried, wringing his hands. “You shouldn’t have gotten up.”
Vince opened his mouth to speak, but Zander leaned over him and snarled, “Don’t you fucking move from that couch. Not without one of us helping you.”
Vince grabbed Zander’s arm. “Don’t put your hands on Scotty. Not like that.”
“Vince, I’m fine,” Scotty protested. “You don’t?—”
“And you.” Vince swung his gaze to Scotty. “Don’t go picking fights with a fucking professional killer. He will literally kill you and I don’t want that. Please.”
A flush colored Scotty’s face and he ducked his head. “I just wanted to protect you.”
“I know.” Vince sighed. “And I appreciate it, but Zander has made up his mind. Nothing we can do about that.” He squared his shoulders. “Come sit next to me.” He realized then he was still holding on to Zander, who could’ve moved away but hadn’t.
No, Zander was staring between Vince and Scotty as if he’d never seen them before.
“You can sit next to me too,” Vince told Zander as Scotty settled at the end of the couch, picking up Vince’s legs and draping them over his lap. Vince scooted backward, toward the back of the couch, making room for Zander, then added quickly, “If you want.” Zander’s nostrils flared. “I know?—”
