Page 60 of Torched Spades
“So, what wereyoudoing there?”
“Setting grease fires…” I snap. “What the hell kind of question is that? I was eating dinner.”
“Isthatwhat we’re calling Dr. Brennan these days?”
I pause mid-flick. “That’s one.”
“One, what?”
“One free shot. I don’t give two. You of all people should know that.” It’s not a threat; it’s a promise. I have nothing against Owen, personally, but if he gets in my way or disrespects Becca like that again, he’s going to see a side of me he’s only read about.
There’s a weighted pause, then he lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ll look into the plate, but you’re playing with fire, Johnny.”
I smirk. “You should be used to that, Owen.” Disconnecting the call, I toss my phone onto the passenger’s seat and flick the lighter again. This time, I leave the flame burning while listening to the hiss of the gas.
Six months ago, tonight would’ve played out much differently. For starters, Becca wouldn’t have had to get herself off in front of that bathroom mirror. After seeing her write those fucking words on it, I would’ve had her pinned against it with my hand around her throat and my cock in her ass until she wept tears and truth.
But even if she’d made it to that diner, the chain of events wouldn’t have been so pleasant. Becca would’ve left alone, and I would’ve hung Jack Ledger over a metal beam before sending him to hell in a blaze of glory.
Sliding my thumb up the Zippo, I slice it through the flame, one, two, then three times while imagining his screams. Leaving the playing card on the table was a calculated risk. I knew Becca saw me, but it’s nothing I couldn’t have diffused on Tuesday. However, the jealous, possessive man in me wanted her to know I’d seen and heard everything.
Especially him.
I wanted her to spend the next few days in turmoil, wondering if I’d even show up for our appointment, and if so, would I let it simmer on the sidelines of our conversation or push her against the wall and fuck the truth out of her.
Truth…
As if I have any right to demand that from her.
Giving the lighter one last flick, I slam it closed and toss it beside my phone before pulling into traffic, Ledger’s warning to Becca still ringing in my ears.
“Whoever this ‘patient’ is—pull up his arrest record and see what you’re dealing with.”
“Wrong move, Jackie boy.”
* * *
I stand in the middle of my bathroom, staring down at the full bottle of Naltrexone in my hand. I fill them to shut Owen the fuck up and to keep my ass out of jail, but I have no intentions of taking them. I’m not interested in turning into some tame, suburban, watered-down version of myself.
I got what I wanted before coming to Providence.
Being here is penance enough.
Just as I pop the cap, my phone rings. I’m already on edge, but one glance at the caller ID shreds whatever patience I have left. Leaning over to the counter, I hit the speaker button. “It’s been three fucking hours.”
“Check your tone, Johnny. I don’t work for you.”
“Checkyourtone, Owen. You sure about that?” I smile at his sudden silence. He knows I’m right. This asshole’s calling with an update to a commandIissued. In my world, that’s called chain of command. Chuckling to myself, I tilt the bottle in my hand and send thirty cock-deflating Tic Tacs down the sewer. “What do you have for me?”
“Is that the toilet flushing? Are you taking a piss?”
“Focus.”
“As far as the license plate, not much,” he huffs. “Either your spidey senses are tangled in the wrong web these days, or you’re being tailed by a forty-three-year-old soccer mom from Cranston.”
Tossing the bottle over my shoulder, I reach under my jacket and pull my gun from its holster. With one shot, there’s a brand-new bullet hole in the wall and a cursing man on the other end of the line. “Now try it againwithoutthe fucking commentary.”
“You’re psychotic; you know that?”
