or not.
“Go away and don’t come back until it’s time,” Hunter said, turning his back on her and already forgetting about her as soon as he slammed the door shut behind him.
“But-” she started to say, but the sound of the door slamming shut effectively cut off whatever she was about to say.
“Now, where was I,” Hunter murmured as he scanned the room for this afternoon’s entertainment. When he found her standing by one of the many makeshift bars that he’d had set up for today’s gathering, he grinned. She was absolutely perfect for what he had planned. He’d barely managed to take a step in her direction when the doorbell chimed, taking his annoyance to a whole new level.
Oh, the little pain in the ass had balls, he’d give her that and a whole hell of a lot more if she didn’t figure out her place and soon. Maybe it was for the best that she found out how things were going to be now, Hunter mused as he turned around and yanked open the front door, more than ready to set the little pain in the ass straight.
“Fuck. Me,” Hunter growled when he spotted the small group waiting for him on his front step. The little pain in the ass was immediately forgotten as he took in the Prosecutor that had fucked him over, Ryan, a woman wearing a black business suit who looked as though she hadn’t been fucked in years, and about five seriously pissed off looking police officers.
“Clear the house,” the Prosecutor, that he was ninety percent sure he’d told to fuck off, said, as he walked into the house, or at least started to before Hunter stepped in his path.
“Not going to happen,” Hunter said, folding his arms over his chest as he glared down at the much smaller man. “I’ve got two hours and I plan on using them.”
“Actually,” Ryan said, drawing his attention away from the man scowling at him, “you don’t. Have two hours, that is.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Hunter snapped as he reluctantly stepped back when Ryan gestured for the officers to enter the house.
“Clear the house,” the prick said in a smug tone that dared Hunter to argue.
“Don’t even think about it,” Ryan said before the idea of tossing the smug bastard out on his ass had fully played out in his head.
“I have two hours, Ryan,” Hunter said, scowling at his best friend.
“No, you don’t,” Ryan said quietly as he pulled out a piece of paper, the same paper that Hunter had received two weeks ago when he’d been released from jail. “It’s twelve o’clock.”
“That’s bullshit,” Hunter said, sure that his court orders had stated two o’clock and if he could remember where he’d put the damn thing, he’d rub it in the bastard’s face.
“You need to have this house cleared out and your assistant here in five minutes or they’re going to take you to jail,” Ryan said, starting to look a little nervous as he looked around the open foyer for anything that resembled an assistant.
“She’s around here somewhere,” Hunter said dismissively while he watched with real regret as the bimbo that he’d been planning on losing himself in was escorted out of the house.
“Where is she?” Ryan whispered.
With a sigh, Hunter shoved past the line of partygoers bitching and whining as they were led to the door. He stuck his head outside and when he still didn’t see her, he shrugged. “I told her to come back in two hours. No big deal.”
“Actually, Mr. O’Mallery, it’s a very big deal,” the Prosecutor started to explain, definitely sounding smug, Hunter decided, as he debated whether a year in jail was worth breaking the little prick’s nose.
Probably not, he decided as he settled on sending the little prick a murderous glare instead.
“If she’s not here at exactly twelve o’clock then you’ve failed to meet the conditions of your house arrest,” the smug bastard said with relish, already gesturing to one of the officers to arrest him.
“You can’t be serious,” Hunter said, shooting a glance over at Ryan to find the man reluctantly nodding in agreement.
“Fine,” Hunter said, sighing in aggravation, “I’ll be right back.”
*-*-*-*
“Expiration is…” Kylie mumbled as she searched the Snickers bar that she’d found lodged beneath her seat for an expiration date, “February 2010.”
Worrying her bottom lip with indecision, Kylie contemplated eating the candy bar that was nine years past its expiration and obviously a parting gift from the last person who’d