head before escaping into the cold night.
I have a few choice words to say to Black, and although it won’t start with my fist in his face, by the time we leave, he will be feeling the effects as if it had.
Men like him don’t deserve to walk the earth.
*** *** ***
Pulling up a few doors down from the house, Jaxon puts the car into park, ducking his head a little to see the extravagant home in front of us.
The white exterior practically lights up the street, and the huge cylinder pillars just make the home more obnoxious. His front garden is so green it makes me wonder if it’s painted.
He wants people to know he has money and he flaunts it in every aspect of the home from the outside. It’s most likely the same from the inside.
The entire house, though it could be classed as stunning, is cold. It doesn’t have that homey feel that most of the others on the street have. The garden is perfectly cut, with neat, trimmed bushes, and yet that seems to be the problem. It’s impersonal. There are no signs of garden ornaments, seating areas, or even potted plants. There is no woman’s touch or any signs it’s lived on.
“His car,” I murmur, seeing it parked on the drive beside the house, right in front of the two-car garage door.
“Move out,” Jaxon orders, pushing open the car door. The rest of us pile out, stopping in front of the car, watching as a light upstairs flickers on.
“What the flip are you lot doing here?”
What the fuck?
We all pause mid-step at the sound of Aiden Carter’s voice. He’s standing shirtless across the road with his daughter, Sunday, in his arms, bouncing her on his hip. She pulls on his hair, but the minute she catches sight of us—or more specifically, Jaxon—she drops forward, arms out. Aiden catches her, sitting her upright.
“Mine.”
Aiden’s gaze narrows at her sweet voice. “He’s not yours.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Mine.”
He turns his withering gaze to Jaxon. “You’ve corrupted my daughter.”
“I’m a loveable guy.”
Leaning against the gate, Aiden glances over our shoulders to the house we’ve come to. “If you’re thinking of doing business with that prick, I’d forget it now. He’s an arsehole.”
“That’s Andrew Black.”
Not wanting to get into it whilst yelling over the road, we stroll over the street to Aiden.
“Let me get Sunday to Bailey,” he informs us, losing his cool and collected personality. “If I had fudging known that pr— If I had known he lived there I would have set it on fire weeks ago. Did you know all this time?”
His accusation doesn’t bother me or the others. “Did we know he lived here? Yes. Did we know you did? No,” I tell him.
Jaxon speaks next, his voice firm. “And no, you aren’t coming over. We have something to do first that is between family. You can let us know what happens after we leave.”
Aiden grins, nodding. “Happy to. I was getting kind of bored with slashing his tyres every week.”
“Why the fuck did you do that?” Eli asks.
“Language in front of my child or you’ll be swallowing your tongue,” Aiden bites out.
“You just threatened me in front of her.”
Aiden’s eyebrows pull together like it’s Eli with the screw loose. “Whatever. And the reason I’ve been slashing his tyres is because he revs his engine at silly o’clock in the morning. He wakes my princess up. I’m not having that.”
I watch him dubiously and so does Jaxon, who replies, “We’ve had Sunday overnight, Aiden. She doesn’t get up until nine.”
“Yeah, and he wakes us up at fucking seven.”
I roll my eyes before giving Jaxon a pointed look. “We’ve got to get this done. We don’t have much time.”
“Can I at least stand here and watch? He won’t think anything of it since I always bring Sunday out when she’s teething. The outdoors soothes her.” He sighs, shrugging. “And it pisses him off.”
“No.”
“Look, I haven’t been out for a while. I need all the kicks I can get. Even if I’m not the one getting into a fight.”
Sighing, Jaxon shakes his head. “Just don’t come over.”
He gives us a nod whilst bouncing Sunday on his hip. We leave him to it, walking up the path to Black’s house.
Rapping my knuckles on the door, we step back, waiting for someone to answer.
When a woman who has had far too much work done to her face opens the door with a silky robe tied around her waist, I