Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. What the FUCK are you doing?
He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I mean, it’s going to get dark soon, and—”
“No! We don’t know you. I mean, I appreciate the help getting the job, and the ride, but we can’t just—”
He nodded. “Got it.”
“I don’t mean to insult you,” she said, hopping up from the bench, still clutching the box in her hands as though it would protect her from Colt’s inappropriate suggestion.
“I’m not insulted,” he said, and it was true. In fact, it was the first smart thing she’d done since he met her. What surprised him was that, while he didn’t feel insulted, he did feel, unaccountably, disappointed. Whatever adventure they’d been on together today was ending here, and though he knew it needed to, part of him felt . . . sad. Everything would change tomorrow when they ran into each other at work. After the rumor mill got going, she’d stop meeting his eyes, start avoiding him as he passed her in the castle hallways. That look she had that bordered on hero worship would quickly fade until she acted like she didn’t even know his name. And part of him was already mourning the loss of her sweet eyes and ready smiles. Not to mention, he felt a little worried about them, leaving them all alone in this shithole. But he figured that wasn’t his business and they weren’t his problem. It was time to say good-bye.
He nodded again, rising to his feet. “Well, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”
Now that he was leaving, she sat back down on the bench and looked up at him with sad eyes. “Tomorrow. Right. And thanks again for . . . everything.”
Giving her one last, exasperated look, he turned away, striding back to his car, calling himself a stupid fool for getting involved with her, for helping her, for wishing that—
“Oh, you want this pop, dummy? Come’n git it!”
Looking across the mostly empty parking lot, Colt saw Ryan standing between the two shifty-looking men he’d noticed earlier as they tossed a can of Coke back and forth over his head.
“That’s for Ver’ty,” said Ryan, reaching in the air for the Coke can as it sailed overhead.
“For your hot-piece-of-ass sister? Well, now, you tell her to come over here and git it, dum-dum.”
“Yeah. Tell ’er to come and git it,” laughed the other man, throwing the can back to his buddy. “On her knees.”
Ryan jumped up in the air as the can was lobbed overhead, reaching for it without victory.
“Aw, fuuuuuck,” grumbled Colt, shoving his keys back into his pocket. He sighed, opening his trunk quietly and reaching inside for a crowbar, then made his way deliberately across the parking lot.
As he approached, one of the two assholes torturing Ryan looked over, holding the can in his hand while he sized up Colt.
“Go on back the way you came,” he said, tossing the soda from hand to hand. “Ain’t nothin’ here concerns you.”
“Actually,” said Colt, mimicking the man’s movements, but with the crowbar instead of a little can of pop, “it does concern me.”
The other fucker sneered, showcasing a row of rotten teeth. “That right?”
“Yeah,” said Colt, nodding slowly. “That’s exactly right.” He shifted his eyes lazily to Ryan. “You okay?”
Big tears welled in Ryan’s bright blue eyes. “They took the can a’pop for Ver’ty.”
“And now they’re going to give it back,” said Colt, a menacing growl in his voice as he cut his eyes to the dickhead holding the can of soda.
The redneck’s eyes slit narrow, and his lip curled with anger, but then his face cleared and he nodded, a mean smile spreading over his ugly face.
“Yeah. Sure,” he said. “Here you go, dummy.” Holding his arms out toward Ryan, the man cracked opened the soda can and cackled with glee as the pop exploded all over Ryan’s dress shirt and pants, covering his face and hair in a shower of Coke.
Ryan cried out, shielding his eyes.
“Stop!” screamed Verity from behind Colt, running across the parking lot. “Stop it! Leave him be!”
Colt faced her. “Stay behind me.” Then he turned back to Ryan, jerking his head toward Verity. “Go stand with your sister.”
“Yeah,” said one of the two motherfuckers, between gasps of hyena-like laughter, “go stand next to your sister, retard!”
Colton Lane had always had a temper.
Always.
Always.
It had gotten him into trouble before, that temper. He felt it now, rage and fury churning inside like a twister, turning and frothing, boiling