Page 51 of The English Billionaire's Obsession

“Oh, God,” I say, staring across the dirty front yard.

The grass is patchy and muddy, and there is stuff all over it: an old rusted bike lying upside down, what looks like a used condom, several crumpled cans, and Loki, throwing himself against the bars of a cage and yapping loudly. I climb from the car without thinking, my heart breaking when I see the poor pooch. Tommy is next to me, and his security follows a second later.

“Easy, boy,” Tommy says, and Loki’s barking quiets. He tilts his head as if unsure whether he recognizes the voice. “It’s me. Relax. It’s all right. You’re a good boy.”

I move forward, but Tommy darts his hand out, touching my wrist.

“We have to get him—”

“Look.”

Tommy nods, and that’s when I see it. The man from the alleyway stands in the window directly above the cage. His red hair is greasier and wilder than last time, but it’s definitely him.

“What’s in the bucket, Ollie?” Tommy snaps.

“Hot oil,” Ollie says, and I think he might be telling the truth. He’s wearing a thick oven mitt on each hand. “See, I’m smarter than you’ve given me credit for, mate. A friend of mine got wind you were coming and saw all those cars. Set this little game up. Good, eh?”

“Where’s thisfriendnow?” Tommy says in disgust. “I thought you were supposed to have backup?”

“Lied, lied,” Ollie says, erratic as hell. “This was just a homeless mate with keen eyes, but I haven’t got an army. Trickedyouuuuuu.”

Loki whines, pawing at the cage’s bars like he’s asking us what’s taking so long.

“If you do this,” Tommy says, “I’ll beat you to death with my bare hands.”

Ollie tries to laugh, but there’s nothing funny in Tommy’s voice.

“I mean it. You’ve done enough already—the graffiti, the blackmail, the lies about having backup. That’s fine. I get it. You’re a criminal, but threatening somebody’s niece? And now mydog? You’re a dead man if you hurt him.”

“It’s just an animal,” Ollie laughs wildly. “Who knew you were such a softie?”

“Tommy,” I whisper, nodding to the ground floor.

A few men have emerged. They’re skinny and have sunken cheeks, but another appears behind them. Somehow, I know he’s the head drug dealer or maybe the owner of this sad place. He doesn’t look strung out. He’s bald and almost as tall and wide as Tommy.

“What’s this shit?” he snaps, walking into the messy yard.

“Your mate’s getting ready to do something stupid,” Tommy grunts.

“Back up,” Steve says from behind us when the man looks as if he’s going to walk right up to us.

The man pauses and laughs harshly. There’s something about how he wears his leather jacket like he thinks he’s the coolest person alive. “Easy, I’m not trying to steal your pig.”

My mouth falls open. The insult comes from nowhere and is so unprovoked. I wonder if I’m hearing things for a second.

“Excuse me?”

The man shrugs and laughs callously. “Calm down, sweetheart. Just a harmless joke. What are you lot doing on my property?”

“Are you cracked in the head?” Steve snaps. “Go upstairs and bring that little turd down here. If he hurts that dog…”

“That dog? That’s mine.” The man grins. “I’ve had him for years. If you want to take him off my hands, you’ll need to pay for the pain I’d feel at his loss, understand?”

“Right, so that’s what this is really about,” I say.

“The pig can talk.”

Tommy has stood completely still as the bald man insults me, and Ollie’s arms wobble from trying to hold up the bucket. Only the pulsing of his muscles, his tight-as-heck forearms, show the rage rushing through him. Then, suddenly, he explodes. Loki is barking. Ollie drops the bucket.

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