Page 30 of Dirty Mechanic
He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “I do miss her scrumptious thighs?—”
I don’t let him finish.
I grab his collar with one hand,and drive my fist into his gut with the other.
He doubles over with a wet gag, sweat beading on his temple. Alcohol rolls off him in waves.
I hit him again—harder—square in the jaw.
He slumps, still grinning like he’s already won.
“No?” He licks the blood away. “I know things about your precious nurse that’d curl your hair. Like how she tastes when?—”
My fist crashes into him again, drawing a grunt. He stumbles, then lands a solid blow that splits my lip and fills my mouth with iron.
“That all you got, old man?” he laughs. “No wonder she craved something rough.”
Heat flares in my veins. I scoop the fallen panties and shove him back against the wall, arm at his throat.
“You think waving her underwear makes you powerful?” I snarl. “She gave herself to me. You took. That’s the difference, you sick bastard. Now get the fuck out of my town.”
Mike’s eyes turn cold, calculating. “This is my town as much as yours. Maybe more.” He leans closer. “And Belle? She’s not yours either.”
I clamp down on my anger. “One day. Disappear, or I’ll keep my promise.”
His grin finally vanishes, replaced by a blade-edge. “You think you hold all the cards? I can end this so fast you’ll never see it coming. Tell the world how she put a bullet in my father’s gut—how you stood over him with a wrench.”
The air leaves my lungs in one sharp punch. Huntz was Mike’s father? Everyone knew he was shot and fell off the bridge, but no one knew who fired that shot. No one knew he crawled to the riverbank and attacked us, blood dripping from his bullet wound. No one—but Annabelle and me.
He lets it hang. “Left him bleeding by the river. Stay the fuck away, or our pie princess goes to jail. I have proof.”
Proof. My stomach twists. My vision burns red.
I want to smash his smug face through the drywall, but he already knows too much. I release him, snatch up the panties and face cream, and walk away. My fists tremble as truth drums in my skull: I cannot lose her. And how much more does Bishop know about that day?
Outside, I draw my pocket knife. Four quick slashes, and the Chevy’s tires hiss into ruin. It’s petty and reckless. But damn, it feels good.
The thirty-second drive to the clinic drags like an eternity. Dust lifts when I come to a stop by the clinic. I clutch the face cream in one hand and her panties in the other, tucked deep in my pocket and burning like evidence as I shoulder open the front door.
Inside, antiseptic air slaps me awake. My lip throbs with every breath. Doctor Marvey looks up from his clipboard, half-glasses sliding down his nose, but Annabelle’s nowhere to be seen.
“Morning. Annabelle still around?” I keep my tone steady, trying to act like I didn’t just almost beat a man to death.
He eyes my split lip. “She and Emma left fifteen minutes ago. Headed to Eric’s. Misty went, too. She said she’d meet you back home.”
Disappointment lurches, but I nod and start to turn.
“Derek?” Marvey calls.
I pause.
“Come here.” He waves me into the back room.
I follow, jaw tight. He grabs a first-aid kit and gestures to the sink. “Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding on my floor.”
