Page 100 of Property of Chaos

“The good news is that the ground is pretty level already, so you won’t need much preparation. I pegged the boundary, so you’ve got an idea of size.” He kicks the dust around with the side of his boot as he talks. “I think we could finish this in a few days once the materials are ready.”

“Looks good.”

He wets his lips, seemingly assessing whether it’s wise to speak or not. “Everything okay with you?” Guess he chooses to talk.

“Fine. Why?”

“You look like the hounds of hell are at your door.”

Have been for a while now.“We’re well acquainted. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”

He shrugs. “Got to ask these things. I can’t have the association we get by doing this job for you bring trouble to our community.”

“It won’t.”

“Can you assure me of that?” He narrows his gaze. Fucker looks like a whole new man when he’s angry. Can see why Fang wasn’t keen to cross paths with Andy again.

“As best I can without divine intervention.”

He hitches an eyebrow at my dig. “I’ll place an order with the hardware store and lumber yard under your name. Send me word when the stuff is on-site, and we’ll be here within the week.”

I offer the guy my hand. “Appreciate it.”

“And we appreciate the business.” He gives a firm shake and then releases, moving toward his horse, hitched in the shade.

I drop my ass to the hay bale as he leaves, watching the man climb atop his steed and guide the animal down the driveway. Everything about him is cool and calm. Life isn’t a hectic rush, but rather something to negotiate away in blocks of easy time.

I envy that. The simplicity.

I can’t envy the community or togetherness—not when I already have that for myself.

My gaze drifts to Vanessa’s house in the distance, the edge of her roof visible across the fields. I thought I was doing the rightthing. Fuck—I did the only thing I knowhowto do. I protected what’s mine, and I took care of the person who hurt them.

He didn’t have much to say at first. The doctor put up a good fight—one that all men who believe they’re born on the side of righteousness share—and did his best to steer me toward the door with bullshit about doctor-patient confidentiality and harassment.

Changed his tune when I braced my hands on either side of the doorframe and refused to move, no matter how hard he shoved me.

Then the mask slipped.

The real man came out to play.

They’re bitter, these love and togetherness types. More often than not, I find it’s a front for the pain they hide below. The inadequacies. The lack of something more. Cohesive. Like love and tenderness. They live in these fragile little worlds and project their anger at the hand they’re dealt onto those they envy.

That’s the difference between fuckers like him and me: I don’t pretend to be something I’m not; I wear the brutalities that shaped me on the outside.

Not buried in a rotten heart, used as a weapon against those who could bring true salvation.

Because that’s what women like Vanessa do. They put in the real work, saving the souls of those around them with nothing but empathy and a willingness to do better.

Be better.

And I fucked it up.

I duck my head, drag a hand over my face, and sigh. What does she want me to do? Her fucking eyes light up each time I talk about vengeance. I offer her my red right hand, and she fucking glows from within. But put that offer into action, and now I’m the bad guy?

Fucking women are hard to understand.

Heels bouncing against the side of the hay bale, I thumb through my phone to Loki’s number and hit Call.

---