Page 115 of Executing Malice
“He’s just a little overly friendly,” I assure them.
“Oh, we’ve heard,” Thelma squeaks, eyeing Dante the way one would a snake at a picnic.
“The whole town knows,” Florence adds.
I will my face not to slip into a grimace. “He means well.”
“Certainly didn’t mean well with Dolores,” Thelma mutters, and gets a bony elbow in the side by Florence.
“Not that she didn’t deserve it,” the other woman rushes in as if to appease the situation.
I’m almost too afraid to ask.
“What happened with Dolores?”
Both women glance immediately towards the figure standing over my shoulder, and now I’m definitely sure I don’t want to.
Still, I shift my attention to the man reading the ingredients on a can of corn with the diligence of a scientist. My lips purse but I keep my cool when returning my focus on the two watching too closely.
“I hope you both have a lovely rest of your evening.”
Without waiting for a response, I pivot on my heels and start back in the direction of our abandoned cart. I can feel Dante moving behind me, following like a child who knows he’s about to get sent to bed without dessert.
Once we’re out of ear shot, I face him, eyebrows raised.
“Dante?”
His breathtaking brown eyes lift and meet mine. “Yeah, baby?”
I resist the urge to shake my head. “Explain yourself. What happened with Dolores?”
The can is set with the greatest care into the cart before he straightens.
“I had a talk with her. That’s it.”
My eyes narrow. “What kind of talk?”
Rather than shift or look uneasy, my hulk of a man folds his arms and meets my gaze squarely.
“I told her to back off.” His hand comes up when I open my mouth. “I’m not like these men, Leila. I’m not going to bow to pressure or intimidation. I sure as fuck won’t let anyone scare you. That’s my job.” He gives me the ghost of a grin before continuing, “I don’t know how things work in this town ... yet, but I’ll be damned if I let some prehistoric mummy tell me how I’m going to live my life. Let me ask you this: if she had told you to leave me, would you?”
“No!” I snap before he even finishes.
“Then why would I let that kind of behavior stand? Now, I wasn’t disrespectful. I didn’t yell or cause a scene. I simply told her she needs to mind her business, or I’ll make sure everyone knows hers.”
I’m furious and scared. Both are twin cobras twisting into knots deep inside me, but what comes out is pride. I’m so fucking proud of him for not giving into the fear the way everyone else does. I’m proud of him for confronting the situation rather than running or hiding. Most men in Jefferson — and he was rightabout this — most men would have cowed under Dolores’s iron fist. Even me. That’s how people are trained in Jefferson.
Conform or get out.
Still beneath that pride, I’m terrified. My heart is thumping with all the ways Dolores might retaliate. How she might try to take him from me.
“You crazy...” Shaking, I reach for him before I can register my actions. My hand closes across the back of his head and I pull him to me. “You ever do anything that foolish ... that brave...” I kiss him, hard and angry. “I’ll strangle you.”
His arms come around my middle and I’m dragged fully into his chest.
“Getting a lot of mixed signals, but...”
He returns my kiss with a tilt of his head. The attack is hungry and possessive. The urgent demand to match all the coiling emotions running rampant through my system.
