Page 61 of Falling in Reverse

I push off the desk, plucking a pencil out of a holder, and amble in her direction, watching her tense at my presence. “You’re going to work with me, or?—”

“What?” She scoffs at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind, but I haven’t. Having Bay around means I make sure she’s under my thumb at all times. Again, it’ll cause another dilemma in my personal life, but when isn’t there one?

Twirling the wooden pencil between my fingers, I quickly contemplate how this would work in my favor and voice it out loud because, fuck it, might as well. “I want tabs on you at all fucking times. That means me waltzing around you without?—”

“Huge problem, big guy.” She wraps her fingers tighter around the backpack on her shoulder. “I’m already working with someone. And that someone is going to be your worst nightmare, if you don’t fuck all the way off.”

“Looks like you’re going to switch sides.”

“I’m not—” I bump into her body, shoving the pencil horizontally between her lips so she shuts the fuck up.

“This isn’t a negotiation. I’m fucking tired of Wallace, but I’m not looking to start World War III in this bitch either. I bet he wouldn’t mind it, though.”

“Why, because you’ll lose?” With the lead and wood in her mouth, I swear that’s what she says, it wouldn’t surprise me, but that’s not what I’m afraid of.

I’m uneasy about how Emilio will handle it and how he’ll do some stupid shit. The moral of the story here is keeping my family safe, first and foremost, then ending this civil war between two towns. And we can’t do that when Emilio is still heading The Landings.

Especially when he’s creating another gang that only gives him more muscle.

“Say another word, and I’m going to shove that pencil down your throat,” I warn her, still pondering over how the fuck I’m going to save this. I obviously don’t know her plan, what she has cooked up with Wallace, and he won’t meet with me. “I need your boy’s attention. I need a get-together lined up.”

She doesn’t respond, taking my threat literally, or that she honestly doesn’t give a fuck what I want.

“You’re the closest thing I have to him.”

She spits out the pencil and it rolls down her front. “I’m not your in. I’m not in a gang. I’m not into this stupid shit. Why would you want to meet with Wallace anyway?”

I give her a are you fucking serious look.

She’s aggravating, to say the least. Like straight-up a pain in the ass. But she’s not some docile creature that hangs out at home and waits for Wallace to tell her all about his day.

She was at the port when they were loading the guns. She was driving the fucking car when they hijacked the 18-wheeler.

Bay Astor is no saint and all sinner.

“That’s my business,” I deadpan.

“And you’ve got me fucked up if you believe I’m going to allow Levi to waltz into anything with you.”

Touche.

“This isn’t about who has the bigger dick,” I convey. “It’s about?—”

“Get out.”

My palm heaves into her chest, sending her back a few strides before her backpack hits the door. “Listen, you little shit, I’m not into you. So, don’t go thinking this is some ploy to get into your panties. I’ve never been into you. We met when we were kids, and I can’t say that I’m upset about not seeing you since then. However, you’ve punched me in the head once, kicked me in the balls, and now you’re going to give me something to make up for it before I slice you up into pretty little ribbons and send you back to South Shore in pieces.”

She rocks her head back and forth as though I wouldn’t do it.

“Say the word, Little Terror,” I taunt. “I’m so not above making a woman bleed for what I require, and I’m your best bet. Reeve will charm the panties off you, Torin will want to fuck you every two seconds, and all I want is a meeting. You’re smart enough, right?”

“I don’t want anything to do with any of you,” she replies through her teeth, those crystal blues peering up at me like she’s about to pick that pencil up and stab me with it next. “And I’m sure as hell not desperate for Emilio in my life.”

“See, I don’t believe you. I think Levi just got a new chess piece, and I need to know it’s not about to go against me and my boys.” I pluck my cell phone out of my jeans. “Throw your number in there.”

I expect her to argue with me some more, but she plucks it from my grasp. Her fingers, painted with hot orange nail polish, fly over the keyboard before shoving it back into my chest.

Hitting the dial button, it rings and rings and rings, and what do you fucking know, it fucking rings.

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