Page 25 of Ruthless Love

With Evie, I have more access to information than field agents would gather in a decade, and she’s right across the street. But still, I’m an ass, and I need to be wooed.

Maverick’s long breath leads to a question. “What do you want?”

“To call the shots. I control the play. Nonnegotiable.”

“And what if I refuse, Austin? You’re not the only one who can get close. I could snap my fingers, and any one of the Five will be at her door, introducing herself with cookies and vodka in hand, chatting about reality TV and chumming it up with whatever else the lady folk of suburbia do to become besties.”

I wait Maverick out in silence, not budging an inch. If she knows she’s rattling my cage, it’s over. She’ll own that piece of my soul for years to come.

“Fine,” she finally says with a coolness that would chill a polar bear. “She’s yours. You’ll have backup—”

“Not unless I ask.”

“Agreed,” she says with a noticeable reluctance. “Do you need her number?”

“No,” I say, flipping through my messages. “I’ve got a way in.”

Mav ends the call, and I smooth the scruff along my jaw, staring at Evie’s text.

Dimitri never texted me, but Evie did. As I glance at it, a cautious smile lifts a corner of my mouth.

E Banks: Sounds like a residential real estate gig might be as appealing as herpes and hemorrhoids ... at the same time. I hope you weren’t insulted. If a bourbon peach pie sounds more appealing, I’ve got you covered.

Which, of course, she ends with the little winky guy emoji, but in good taste forgoes the peach. Regretfully, I check out the date stamp, noting it was yesterday when she was in that douchebag’s arms.

After a few thoughts, I consider I need to take it slow. Be overly careful. Not look too eager to get to know her. And avoid any early attempts to waltz into her life or invite myself to her home.

Deciding to play the long game, I click her number.

“Evie? It’s Austin. My schedule has freed up. Maybe we can meet up sometime.”

“How about now?” she shrieks, her request boiling over to a full-fledged demand. “Right now! Hurry!” she screams again, then again, but her voice now sounds farther from the phone.

Chapter Thirteen

AUSTIN

Keeping a cool head and my panic in check, I’m at Evie’s door in half a second, banging loudly. “Evie?”

I’ve made enough of a ruckus to set off the neighborhood alarm system of barking dogs, and manage to stop a walking couple in their tracks. Pasting on a casual smile, I give them a wave and a friendly nod. Predictable in returning smiles and nods, they wave back and move along.

Good thing too, because who knows what the hell’s going on inside, and I really don’t need more civilians to worry about. Is it Dimitri? Or his henchmen?

I’m barely a breath away from kicking the damn door down when it flies open. Aggressively, Evie grabs the center of my T-shirt and yanks me in, then slams the door shut. Never before more grateful to be the bare-chested stallion Coop ribbed me about as teenagers, I peel her clutched hand away from my favorite running shirt and check it for holes.

“Wow. I’ve never had a woman so eager for me to taste her pie,” I say with a smirk.

Annoyed, she rolls her eyes and moves behind me, shoving me through her nicely decorated great room, past the spotless kitchen, and to the French doors off the back.

“S-s-see?” she asks, remaining behind me with her hands pressed against me.

I glance around the spacious backyard, tastefully decorated with high-end outdoor furniture placed neatly before a custom wood-burning fireplace complete with a pizza oven. Everything’s on a paver patio that’s similar to mine except much, much nicer. I envy every square stone, studying the construction, determined to work up a comparable design for my own place the second I get back home.

But then I see exactly what’s put the fear of God in her freaked-out little body, and I smile in amusement. On a center paver is a massive furry brown Texas tarantula slowly making its way from one end of her patio to the other.

“That guy’s huge,” I say, breathing out the words in pure awe.

“That g-g-guy’s trespassing,” she says with meek insistence, now digging her fingernails into my lower back. Not that I don’t enjoy the cheap thrill of her scraping my skin, but I’m getting a little concerned at how worked up she is.

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