Page 251 of Bossy Hero

I try calling the house once more. Maybe he was taking a piss.

Again, it rolls to the answering machine. And again, he doesn’t pick up despite the substantially louder and longer message I broadcast through our living room.

Barely able to breathe from the intense pain flooding my midsection, I look out the windshield and meet Robbie’s dead-eyed gaze.

Squinting, I look closer.

Wait. No.

His eyes aren’t dead.

They’re frozen with fear.

He launches into a rambling rant, pacing frantically. “Who’d you just call, man? Why’d you say that? Who’d you call?” He bangs his fists on the hood of the car, demanding an answer. “Alan, who the fuck did you just call? Is someone at your house? Who’d you fucking call? Why did you say you’re on the way home? Who’s at your fucking house?”

Adrenaline pumps through me, sharpening my senses like a switch flipped. I bolt from the car, slam into him, and pick him up by his collar.

“What did you do, Robbie?” I growl the words, my teeth bared. “What The. Fuck. Did. You. Do?”

His panic melts into sorrow, and his eyes cloud over with a sheen of tears. This time, when he speaks, his voice is whiny and burdened with guilt. “Who’s at your house, man? You said your family was on vacation. No one was supposed to be there.”

My rage boils over, and I shake him roughly by the collar. “My brother is home.”

“You said they were on vacation until next week,” he insists. “You said?—”

His words are choked off when his cheap-ass shirt rips, and my hands slide upward until they’re surrounding his neck.

“I said myparentswere gone. Not my entire family. My little brother is home. What the fuck did you do?”

He grabs my hands, clawing at them to pull them from his throat.

A female voice calls out, “Hey, let him go!”

“Someone get help,” another yells.

I ignore them, my stare fixed on Robbie. His face turns scarlet, and he gasps for breath. Veins bulge at his temples. Loosening my hold on his neck, I lower him to the ground.

“I’ll try to call it off,” he sputters through serrated breaths. “Give me your phone, and I’ll try to call it off.”

Dragging him by the arm, I snatch my phone from the car and thrust it at him. “Call it off.”

Whatever the fuckitis. I’m guessing some type of robbery.

“Hey, what’s going on, guys? Why are you fighting?”

“Robbie, are you okay?”

Our fucking dates are in a state of panic. Like I give a shit anymore.

While he makes the call, I glance to the front of the car, where the girls hover. Confusion and fear color their features. All I can do is wave an open palm at them.

And I wait.

Suddenly, Robbie blurts into the phone. “Somebody’s at his house. Don’t do it, man. You have to get out?—”

His breath is choppy, and his face goes ashen as he listens to the person on the other end of the call. “What do you mean?” His voice cracks, then he wails, “No, no, no,nooo.”

“What’s fucking happening?” I roar at him.

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