Page 127 of Average Joe

My father laughed, mounted his bike, and said, “I like her,” then backed out of the driveway and left with a bone-rattling rumble.

“Are you kidding me, Joe?” Marley whisper-yelled. “Satan’s Slayers?”

“I’m not one of them.”

“But you were.” She slapped a palm to her forehead, realization settling in. “For years.”

“I had no choice at the time.”

“Satan’s Slayers?” Marley’s voice rose an octave. “You know how dangerous they are, and you’ve brought them to my house?”

“Jesus, Marley. I can’t do this right now.” Not with the heavy metal in my hand. I headed back inside. I grabbed my shoes, my dog, my keys, and made for my own front door, mind spinning.

“Joe,” Marley called. I waved a hand over my shoulder, not sure what to say but acknowledging that I’d heard.

Unsatisfied, she followed with Bruce trotting behind.“Do I need to worry about your dad?”

“No.” I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Why was he here? How did he know to look for you at my house?”

“Fuck! Calm down for one minute, and I’ll explain.” I set Ginger on her feet and the package on the side table. Hands to hips, I drew in a deep drag of air. “You should thank that criminal for making an appearance at your place and kissing your head. He did that because he knew Harper’s guys were watching. That gesture made you untouchable.” I paused, waiting for my words to register.

Marley only blinked, arms trembling at her sides.

“My father just saved your ass. That was all about you.” Frustration got the better of me and I shouted. “Get it? He knows you’re mine, and that makes you his.”

Like a kettle about to blow, Marley’s face reddened. “I’m not his. I’m not yours!” Then she blew, arms swinging wide. She knocked the table lamp over, sending the package to the ground.

Out fell my Glock, skidding inches across the hardwood.

Marley shrieked, jumping back. “A gun? Why did he give you a gun?”

Ah, shit. “That’s mine. He’s only returning the damn thing.”

Her voice lowered to a deadly growl. “How are you taking care of things exactly?”

“I’m not shooting anyone, if that’s what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think right now.”

My head hurt, and I needed coffee and time to sort my shit. Mostly, I needed Marley to know how things would play out.

“Listen. I’ve got eyes on you at work. I’m here with you at home. Harper can’t touch you, even if he was suicidal enough to try. As for the fuckhead who followed you last night, no more going anywhere alone. Got me?”

Wrong thing to say.

“Got you? Got you? Are you serious right now? Is that an order, sir?” Wild-eyed Marley was back, the same girl who’d gone apeshit on my uncle.

Riled, tired, and vexed by Dad’s unannounced and unwelcome visit, I threw back, “That’s right. You’re not going anywhere alone until I set that Prius-driving shithead straight. I knew he was trouble. Should’ve taken care of him that first day.”

Marley snatched my gun off the floor and dangled it on her finger by the trigger guard. “Taken care of him, huh? What would you have done, Joe? Tell me. Roughed him up a bit? Beat him to a bloody pulp?” She licked her lips, eyeing the Glock, then pointed the damn thing toward the kitchen. “Or maybe you would’ve shot him. I mean, you spent five years with a dangerous gang.”

“Club” came out of my mouth by habit. “They’re a club. Now give me the fucking gun.”

“What did you do for yourclubexactly? How did you pay your dues? Why did you need a gun?”

“Stop pointing that thing and hand it over.”

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