Page 19 of Dolls & Daggers
However, none of that matters.
A slow, twisted grin stretches across Ryan’s face. “What’s the deal, man? She says you two can’t stand each other. So, what’s it to you?”
“Because Dove deserves better than a piece of shit like you. Don’t fucking talk about her. Don’t look at her. Don’t fucking come near her again. Do you understand?” I tower over him, grinding his shoulder blades into the wall, nearly lifting him off the ground. “I said, do you understand?” I growl through clenched teeth.
“Dude, let him go.” His friend sounds concernedbut not enough to step in, which tells me he’s not a cop.
“Yeah, Wren. Let me go. Why the fuck are you defending the honor of a girl who can’t stand you?” Ryan taunts, as if he’s not seconds away from losing his teeth.
She practically just begged me to fuck her. She can stand me enough to want my cock inside her.
I nearly say the words out loud, but that private—yet erotically public—moment belongs to Dove and me. No one else.
Ryan switches tactics, tightening his grip on my wrists. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“Oh, I’m sure Hunter knows people who dislike your kind.” I smirk, knowing full well Hunter’s going to be pissed I’m using him as leverage. I don’t clarify what I mean by "your kind," letting Ryan fill in the blanks. Could be someone who hates cops. Could be someone who hates cocky assholes who treat women like garbage.
Didn’t you just talk shit to Dove and treat her like crap?
It’s not the same.
I’m self-preserving.
This guy is just a fucking douche.
Ryan’s face drains of color. I hit a nerve. Everyone knows he and Hunter can’t stand each other. It’s amiracle—for him—Hunter even let him near Dove. Since she’s Bunny’s best friend, I would’ve thought she fell under his protection.
“Whatever. Count yourself lucky you can hide behind your little guard dog,” Ryan sneers. “But you better hope I never catch you alone. Putting hands on a cop? Bad move.”
We lock eyes as I release him roughly. He adjusts his shirt, flaring his nostrils before turning to his friend with a shake of his head. “Let’s go.”
I follow them out, watching as Ryan storms through the bar and disappears into the night.
Slowly, I make my way back to the pool tables, scanning the crowd for a flash of pink. Bunny and Dove are gone.
It’s just as well. At least this way, Dove will have time to cool off before work on Monday.
I balkat the draft of my article Dove just sent over. Red splatters across the entire thing like someone flicked a paintbrush over my screen. Dove’s comments litter the margins, entire passages are crossed out, and a big red note at the bottom reads:It’s been long enough. You should know what we’re looking for by now. Better luck next week.
“Fuck!” My fist hovers over the desk, ready to slam down, but at the last second, I pull back, scrubbing my hand down my face instead.
So much for Dove cooling off over the weekend.
“Rein it the fuck in, Wren,” I mutter under my breath. This woman has me tied in knots, and I keep tripping and falling flat on my face.
I tab over to my email, skimming Joe’s latest message about why he’s siding with Dove—again.Sighing, I open another email, this one approving my piece on the company owner’s wife opening another family center—this time in the Bronx—and how the neighborhood had been skeptical at first, but public approval has skyrocketed as the grand opening nears.
A note at the bottom reads:Show me more of this.
I let out a disgusted snort. This isn’t what I was hired for. I made it perfectly clear what I wanted to write about when I applied for this job.
Grabbing my phone, I open my message thread with Hunter, ready to complain—until I remember he’s still pissed at me. There’s no love lost between him and Ryan, but using his name to threaten a cop could have put his job at risk if Ryan had filed a formal complaint. It would have been his and his buddy’s word against mine, and we all know how that would’ve turned out.
My phone rings in my hand as ifshecan sense my weakened state from nearly three thousand miles away. Her name flashes across the screen like a warning signal. I hesitate, finger hovering over the accept button.
A soft clicking sound enters my office, pulling my attention away from the device. My gaze flicks to the open door, but no one’s there. Still, the clicking persists. Setting my phone down, I lean over my desk and?—
What the hell?
