One Foot in the Grave (Carly Moore #3) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,57

now I’d confessed it to him. He knew the power he’d had over me, the power he still had. I had to get away from him. I couldn’t stand to look at him for another moment. “Get the hell away from my car.”

“Carly.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out the can of pepper spray Marco had gotten for me, and held it up, aiming it at his face. “I’m not afraid to use this, so I suggest you get away from my car.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Carly, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear.”

“Go swear to someone else, because I’m done talkin’ to you,” I said, my Southern drawl coming in strong.

“Carly.” He showed no sign of budging.

I didn’t want to talk to him. I wanted to talk to Marco. I wanted to tell him about this—about the vulnerability that threatened to choke me—and it was then that something else dawned on me.

Part of the reason I was so upset was because I did have feelings for Marco, and no matter how much that man bent over backward to show me that he would always be honest and have my best interests in mind, I would never fully trust him, at least not with my heart. Wyatt really had broken me.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I felt close to breaking down into sobs. The sympathy in Wyatt’s eyes wasn’t helping.

“Hey, tough guy,” Roberta called out from behind me, “you want a piece of me?”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Roberta hobbling with her walker, coming toward us much faster than I would have thought possible. Gladys was marching right behind her, holding a flyswatter.

Wyatt’s eyes flew wide in surprise. “I’m not a threat. I’m Carly’s friend.”

“Then why’s she cryin’?” Gladys demanded. “It looks like you’re blockin’ her from gettin’ into her car.”

What did Gladys plan to do? Swat him? If I hadn’t been so close to breaking down, I probably would have burst into laughter.

“I just need to talk to her, is all,” Wyatt said.

“It looks like she don’t want to talk to you,” Roberta said, still approaching.

“Carly, call off your posse,” Wyatt said in a low growl, not looking amused.

“That’s right! We’re her posse,” Gladys shouted, whacking the handle of the flyswatter on her hand, then releasing a curse as she shook out her fingers.

“Gladys. Roberta,” I said, turning to face them. “I can handle him.” Then I spun around to glare at Wyatt. “Get out of my way.”

“We can’t just leave things like this,” he protested, holding his hands out at his sides to keep me from going past him.

“Get out of my way, Wyatt!”

But he refused to move. “Not until we’re done.”

“How dare you?” I shouted, anger rushing through my head. He’d set the rules for our relationship, and now he thought he could determine when I could leave?

Roberta reached us and rammed a foot of her walker onto Wyatt’s boot.

He yelped and jerked backward, but he was still blocking my car door. “Carly.”

I was pissed, more pissed than I’d ever been in my life, and before I could even think about it, I pressed the tab on the can. My aim had lowered, and it sprayed on his abdomen.

He let out a cry and stumbled away from the car, covering his face with his hands. “Jesus! What the hell did you do that for?”

“I warned you,” I said, already feeling guilty as I moved out of his path.

“Fuck!” he shouted, stumbling a few more steps. “This burns like hellfire!”

“I think that’s the point. Imagine what it would have felt like if I’d sprayed you in the face.” I clicked my fob and covered my face with my purse in case any lingering spray was in the air.

“Don’t you dare leave!” he shouted, more out of panic than anger, but I ignored him, getting in the car and turning on the engine.

He spun and turned toward the car, blindly reaching out to stop me as tears streamed down his face. What would have happened if I’d sprayed him in the face? “Carly!”

I quickly backed out straight so I didn’t accidently run him over or the two older women, then turned before he could reach the car. I gunned it, looking into the rearview mirror.

He was still stumbling around, probably because Gladys was now smacking him with the flyswatter and Roberta was jabbing him with her walker, and my guilt returned. Then I told myself that he’d brought it on himself.