Page 63 of Vicious Sentiments

Every time it’s clear though, my chest tightens and Julian notices.

“Fuck him. Take your time,” he refers to the car behind me.

But I can’t take my time. I feel the little red car’s impatience behind me. I can see him squinting and sighing from the rear-view mirror. In a haste, I let go of the brake but then jam my foot back on it. There’s a car down the way. What if they speed up?

The car behind me honks, and I jump in my seat. Looking in the mirror, I see Marney has taken notice and has turned in her seat, glaring at the red car.

Getting a hold of myself, I look again to see if it’s clear, and it is, but nope, I don’t move. Oh, my god. What am I going to do?

The car honks again. This time laying it down and dragging it out.

“Asshole.” Julian swivels in his seat. “Ignore him. He can go around.”

Right. Right. Yes, he can go around. I forgot that. Feeling a bit better, I take a breath and re-situate. But when I miss the turn again, the man doesn’t go around. He starts rapidly beeping his horn and I can suddenly hear yelling.

“Are you serious?” Julian scowls and rolls his window down. The man’s voice comes in clear and is laced with profanities.

“Don’t you know how to drive, you stupid bitch?” he bellows.

My cheeks burn and my hands start to shake.

“What a douchebag,” Marney says.

Julian opens his door and gets out. For a moment, I’m relieved, thinking he’s going to come around and switch spots with me, but then he doesn’t turn towards the McLaren, instead heading to the driver’s window of the red car.

“Oooh,” Marney squeals. “That guy is in troubleeee.” She scrambles onto her knees and turns to look out the back window.

My eyes are glued to the side mirror and I watch the man’s eyes get big as he scrambles to roll his window up. When Julian reaches him he doesn’t face the window and instead angles his body beside it, his back to us, and before I can registrar what’s about to happen, his elbow juts out in a smooth movement.

The man’s window spider-webs and then shatters. The man jerks back, flinching against the glass that litters his chest. With slow and controlled movements, Julian turns and lowers himself to the sill covered in shards. He doesn’t hesitate as he rests his arms on the mess and tucks his head in the window.

He’s saying something I can’t hear, but his face is calm, a contradiction to the action he just took, and if not for the broken glass, I would think they were just having a civilized chat. Julian doesn’t look like a person who would go around knocking out peoples windows. He’s dressed in slacks with a crisp button down and an expensive watch on his wrist.

I note that he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I knew this but seeing it is another thing. It’s kind of sexy and I can’t help but feel a little pleased. That man had me in a tizzy, anxious and panicked. I’m glad Julian broke his window.

The second I think it, a knot forms in my chest. What about the woman he supposedly killed? And here I am admiring his violence.

The man starts nodding nervously, and I wish I knew what Julian was saying. When he’s done, he reaches a hand in and pats the man onthe cheek. The man freezes in horror at the contact, and then Julian uncoils himself from the car, straightening and adjusting his cuffs.

With an unhurried gait, Julian comes back to the McLaren and slips into the passenger seat. As soon as he does, the red car burns rubber, the tires screeching on the pavement and going around me. The man pulls out at full speed and nearly clips a car in the process.

“Now.” Julian leans back over me, hitching a hand behind my seat. “Where were we?”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Over dinner Marney tells Margo and Dillon what happened but with added exaggeration.

“He pulled the guy out of the window by his collar and held him up in the air!” she exclaims, shoving a bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

“I doubt it, unless Julian is Superman,” Dillon says, rolling his eyes.

“I do get told I resemble Henry Cavil.” Julian gives a modest smirk, and it makes Dillon’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

“I hope the guy wasn’t one of the neighbors,” Margo gravels. “We don’t want a reputation.”

“The guy was a total jerk, he deserved it,” Marney says, and I can’t help but agree with her.

The spread for the night is two whole roast chickens, parmesan brussel sprouts, mashed potatoes with gravy, and strawberry cheesecake that is sitting at the end of the table.

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