Page 7 of Trailer Trash

“Get your goddamned hands off her,” said a deep, menacing voice I recognized. “Now.”

Merv’s eyes narrowed, his hand still on my neck. “I’m taking care of the trash, Carlisle.”

“What part of that orderdid you not understand?”

Merv’s hold tightened, cutting off my air supply. “Don’t overstep your bounds, Carlisle.”

Jed stepped out of the hallway, looking like he was about to murder his associate. “The way you’re clearly overstepping yours?”

Great. They were having a contest of manliness while I was being choked to death. To hell with this nonsense.

I lifted my arm in front of Merv and then brought it down hard on his forearm, breaking his hold as I lifted my knee hard into his crotch.

He grunted as he bent over.

I was free, but I was pissed to the point of rage. I might be a five-foot-four blonde woman who often came across as flighty, but dammit, I was tired of taking shit.

I elbowed his nose as I swung to the side. He grunted, reaching for me, but I kicked him on the inside of his elbow with the heel of my shoe. Losing his balance, he fell face-forward like a toppled tree. His left hand was splayed on the floor, and I stomped on it, putting all my weight on my heel.

He cried out in pain, then reached for my ankle. “I’m going to kill you!”

I took a step backward as I pulled my gun out of my purse and pointed it at his face, which was now covered in blood. “Go ahead and try.”

If looks could kill, I would have been blown into a million pieces.

Jed stepped between us, my gun now pointed at his back.

“This is done, Chapman,” he said in a guttural voice that rebuked the challenge Merv had laid out. “Let it go.”

There was no way in Hades Merv was going to let this go, and maybe Jed knew it because the next thing I knew, Jed was wrapping his arm around my back and pushing me into the hall.

I pointed my gun to the floor, jerking out of his grasp, and walked into the open office. Skeeter wasn’t sitting at his desk.

“Where’s Skeeter?” I asked, spinning around to face Jed.

He shut the door behind him and flipped the deadbolt on the door. “Out.”

“I need to see Skeeter.”

Without responding, he disappeared behind a door—a half bath, judging from the sound of running water—and returned with a wet towel.

I put my gun back in my purse and was about to ask him what he was doing, but he grabbed my upper arm and dragged me over to Skeeter’s desk. He tossed the towel onto an empty part of the surface, then slid his hands under my arms and lifted me until my butt was scooted onto the edge of the wood.

I fought against his hold. “Let me go.”

“Quit fighting, Neely Kate. You’re bleeding. Let me look.”

Quit fighting.That was an order I’d been rebelling against for as long as I could remember, but I suddenly realized he was right—the back of my head and shirt were covered in blood.

His phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket with a grim look. He didn’t say hello when he answered, leading instead with: “There’s a situation.” There was a several-second pause before he said, “Got it.”

As if something had been settled, he hung up and pocketed the phone.

“Man of few words,” I said out of nervousness. I was used to men’s attention. Shoot, a lifetime ago, I’d used it to get what I wanted more times than I could count. But no man had ever set my nerves on edge like the man in front of me did. Not even my husband.

Jed didn’t respond, thereby proving my point. He gently swept my hair away from my shoulder before lifting his hands to the back of my head. His fingers prodded my scalp until I cried out as pain shot through my head.

He lifted the towel and patted at the spot as I clasped the edges of the desk beneath me to keep from crying out again.

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