Page 93 of Massacre
King released my hand and slowly stood. “I’m not the motherfucker who lied for thirty-eight fucking years.”
“I thought we were past that shit. Don’t push me on this, King. That fucker is making a big stink. Threatening to call in lawyers and shit. Just let me take Amber down to the station so I can figure this shit out.”
“She’s not going anywhere,” King seethed, stepping in front of me.
“Who filed the complaint?” Blade asked when Declan’s radio crackled.
“Sheriff, all hell is breaking loose in town. Where the hell are you?” Deputy Stilton shouted.
Reaching for his radio mic, Declan groaned. “What’s going on?”
“That big fucker Massacre and Romeo are tag-teaming that suit who filed the complaint this morning. They’ve already broken Trudy’s front window. She’s hoppin’ mad and swatting them with her dish towel! Deputy Norris tried to break up the fight, but he’s lying on the ground holding his bloody nose. Just get here fast before they tear the town apart!”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Massacre
“According to Winchester’s older brother, he saw the fucker enter Trudy’s after leaving the sheriff’s station,” Romeo said as we walked down the main street of Diamond Creek. “I called over to the station and talked with Deputy Stilton. She said the fucker accused Amber of stealing something from him and that you threatened to kill him.”
“Ain’t a fuckin’ threat,” I growled, heading toward The Bake Shoppe. “He’s a dead man walking. After I beat his ass first.”
“Deputy Stilton added that Sheriff O’Rourke went to the clubhouse looking for you.”
“Good.” I smiled. “Then he won’t be around to stop me.”
“Winchester also said his sister needs a few more minutes. So drag it out until he can get into place.”
Grinning, I reached for the Bake Shoppe’s door and opened it. “Not a fucking problem.”
Walking in, I scanned the quaint place, my eyes instantly landing on the motherfucker near the back of the store. Plastering on my biggest smile, I walked over, flipped a chair around and sat, as the bastard leaned back in his seat and sighed. “Mr. Buchanon, son of Colin and Daniella Valentinetti Buchanon. Brother of Reginald Buchanon. Tell me, Mr. Buchanon, how is the lovely Catalina doing these days?”
Romeo placed his hand on my shoulder, stopping me from jumping across the table as he pulled out the chair next to me.
“You’ve got a problem, Mister.” The Casanova fucker smiled, taking a seat. “I hope you got right with Jesus, because you’re about to meet him soon.”
“Is that so?” The fucker smirked as Trudy walked over.
“Good morning, gentlemen and Romeo,” the older woman huffed as Romeo scoffed. “Oh, come on, Trudy. I said I was sorry. When are you going to forgive me?”
“When pigs fly,” the woman clipped, then smiled at me. “What can I get you?”
“Nothing. Thank you,” I said, never taking my eyes off the fucker grinning at me.
“Romeo?”
“Can I have my special, please, and two cinnamon muffins? I need to carb up for later.”
The woman huffed again and walked off.
The second she was out of earshot, I snarled, “I’m going to rip off your fucking head and shit down your throat.”
The man grimaced, flicking a piece of lint off his suit jacket. “As unpleasant as that sounds, I think I will pass.”
“It wasn’t a fucking option, asshole.”
The table fell into a tense silence; even the clink of mugs seemed loud. Romeo leaned back, a sly smile dancing at the edge of his lips, but he kept his peace—perhaps for once sensing the line between jest and provocation had thinned to a razor.
Trudy returned a minute later, balancing a plate of muffins and a coffee pot, setting Romeo’s order in front of him with a thud. “Don’t spill crumbs everywhere,” she muttered, but her scowl softened just a touch as she glanced my way. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”
